Hedda and Sihtric were both writhing on the floor, one clutching at his arm and the other at his face, and I did nothing but gawp. Then Wulfnoth was clutching at my arm and saying we had to go quickly, and the brothers were trying to drag the big man outside, and that’s when I noticed that Wiglaf and Plegmund were no longer there. Were they dead? If they were, I didn’t see their bodies. Had they run away? I didn’t know.
Wulfnoth thrust a sack into my hands and told me to hold on to it, while he snatched up the torch from where it lay, guttering dimly, on the floor. He led us out into the cold of dusk, where Gytha was waiting for us. There was blood all across her cheek, and somewhere people were shouting and she was shouting too, screaming in my face, except that I couldn’t work out what she was saying, but she seemed to be angry, and I felt a tug on my arm and then I was running as best I could, still clutching the loot that Wulfnoth had given me, because I wasn’t thinking properly, and because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do.
Smoke was billowing around us; the roofs of the dean’s hall and the surrounding buildings were all burning, and I couldn’t work out why, until I heard the horns blaring out close by, and war cries and hooves thundering. Through the swirling blackness, I caught a glimpse of men in helmets and byrnies, with fire and steel in hand.
Choking, fighting the smoke and the falling ashes, we managed to find the horses, still tethered to the post where we’d left them behind the church. They were panicking, the whites of their eyes bright in the fireglow. I made my way to Whitefoot, climbed quickly into the saddle and then fled, following the others’ shadows as they galloped away.
I don’t tell it very well, I know. Forgive me. It doesn’t make much sense, but then it didn’t at the time, either. I’m sure if you’d been there, Oslac, if you’d seen what I saw, you’d be able to give a better account of it than I have. But the way I’ve described it, that’s how it felt.
Shock must have numbed me after that, because that’s the last I remember, until after many miles’ hard riding we stopped. I realised then that Sihtric wasn’t with us, and neither was Cudda. We’d left them behind.
I wished I’d been left behind. That’s where I deserved to be.
Gytha’s bruised eye had closed up and blood was crusted across half her face. Wulfnoth was hurt too, his hand and wrist burned, the skin white and tender, and he hobbled when he moved. Tall, bony Cuffa wasn’t wounded, but he kept wailing like a child for his brother, begging Wulfnoth to let us go back to look for him, until Gytha struck him across the face and told him to shut up or else she would keep on hitting him until he did. Halfdan as always was quiet; he lay on the ground and stared up at the sky for the longest time. He didn’t use his signs to try to talk to us. Sihtric had been his closest friend, and now he was probably dead.
The plunder? We had one sackful. That was all we had to show for it. The one Wulfnoth had thrust upon me, which somehow I’d held on to through everything. And it wasn’t even full, either; all there was is what you see here. As for the rest, I don’t know what happened to it. Maybe in the rush to get away it got left behind. Maybe my students and Osbert and the other canons managed to recover it in the end, before they fled.
If they still live, that is.
*
‘So now you know everything,’ Guthred says, wringing his hands, his head bowed. ‘Now that you do, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to leave me here and go your own way. It would probably be for the best. Everyone I’ve ever crossed paths with, I’ve only ended up failing, disappointing, hurting in some way. Yes, better that you just go. Leave me. Let me do what I have to do. Let me go to Lindisfarena alone.’
For a few moments everyone is silent. No one wants to be the first to speak, Tova realises.
She knows what she’d like to say. She’d like to tell him to his face that he is a bad man, but he already knows that. She’d like to tell him that he’ll get no sympathy from them, but he’s made it clear that he isn’t looking for any.
Maybe we should just do what he says, she thinks. After what he’s done, he deserves nothing less.
But then another part of her says, at least he’s trying. He’s doing what he can to make amends, though it may be too late. Is what he’s done so bad that it can’t be forgiven? Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?
What Merewyn did was far, far worse. And Tova hasn’t forsaken her.
‘We’re not going to abandon you,’ she says and glances around at the others. ‘Are we?’
Beorn says, ‘You heard what he said. He doesn’t want our help.’
‘We can’t just leave him. We can’t.’
‘I’ve made it this far by myself,’ Guthred says. ‘I can go the rest of the way on my own if I have to. I’d understand.’
‘No,’ says Merewyn firmly. ‘We stay together, like we agreed. We made that decision together, and we’re going to keep to it. Isn’t that right, Beorn? What matters is that we trust one another. We have to, if we’re to survive.’
‘Trust has nothing to do with it,’ Beorn retorts.