That’s when I panicked. My gaze settled upon his still form. Lying there he looked so peaceful, nothing at all like he’d been in life. His mouth and eyes hung open, not so much in pain, I thought, as in surprise. That was when it struck me what I’d done. What I’d become.
I knew what I had to do. First I took off my undergown and went to the stone basin in the corner, which was filled with water drawn from the well. I splashed some in my face and almost choked because it was so cold. My breath came quick and short, forming clouds in front of my eyes, and I was shuddering, partly from the cold and partly from fright, but there was a voice inside me telling me I shouldn’t waste any time, that the longer I spent here the greater chance I’d be discovered. As quickly as I was able, then, I rubbed down my hands and my arms, trying to cleanse the worst of the blood from my skin, then dried myself with the blankets on my bed, before throwing open the kist and searching for fresh clothes. There was another shift buried in there, I knew, threadbare in places and frayed at the hems, but it was the best I had apart from the one which lay in a sodden pile by Orm. I found it and tugged it on, followed by the thickest dress I had, then my winter cloak on top of that and lastly my shoes.
There was nothing I could do about Orm’s body. He was too heavy for me to move, and if I did it would do no good; there was so much blood. And so I left him where he was. Sooner or later they would find him. I could only hope it would be later, by which time with any luck we would be long gone.
Maybe I should have stayed and told them what had happened. Maybe if I had, if I’d told them everything I’ve just told you, they’d have believed me. Maybe they would have forgiven me, but I didn’t know that, and so I did the only thing that made sense at the time.
I fled.
I gathered everything I thought I might need, and then I ran like I’d never run before, from the house along the path and past the church to the kitchen, where the servants sometimes slept during the winter. That night was mild, but I knew Tova felt the cold more than most, so I hoped to find her there, and I was right. She was curled under the blankets next to Cene, who was one of our best running hounds and had always been Skalpi’s favourite.
Cene stirred first and began yapping, so loudly that I knew he would wake the other servants in their quarters across the yard if he carried on much longer. I did my best to calm him at the same time as I woke her. Once he saw it was me he stopped, but I knew that any moment someone might find us. I told Tova to get dressed and pack whatever she needed. Cene went after her; I think he sensed she was nervous and was trying to protect her, but I found some meat in the storehouse and put it down for him, and hoped that would keep him quiet for as long as it took.
I saddled horses for both of us, and led them towards the bridge, where Tova was already waiting for me, and there was Cene again, at her feet, circling her, bounding with excitement. He thought this was all a game, and began to follow us as we rode away. I told him to stay, and God be thanked he didn’t try to come after us, although it wasn’t long before he started barking again, and whining, and barking some more. I was sure the noise would rouse everyone on the manor, and it wouldn’t be long before they realised we were missing.
I didn’t dare look back as we made for the hills, riding as fast as we could through the darkness, leaving Heldeby behind us.
That was the last time we saw home.
*
‘After that we found Beorn, or rather he found us,’ she says. ‘He came just in time to save us from a band of Normans. He said he would take us to Hagustaldesham, to safety. And here we are, talking to you now.’
‘Orm killed Skalpi?’ Tova asks weakly. She can hardly speak. It can’t be true, she thinks. Please, God, don’t let it be true. Like everyone else, she’d long ago given up hope that he might ever come back. But to be betrayed by his own son . . . he didn’t deserve that fate.
Merewyn’s voice, when she speaks again, is small. Even now, days after it all happened, still her hands tremble, and not just her hands but her shoulders too.
‘He did. He killed him. I know it. He wouldn’t speak the words aloud, but there was no mistaking what he meant.’
‘He was drunk,’ Oslac says. ‘Have you thought that maybe he didn’t know what he was saying?’
‘Mead often loosens a man’s tongue,’ Beorn points out. ‘And he didn’t deny it when you asked him directly.’
‘That’s not the same thing as admitting it, though, is it? What if he didn’t do it? Then she killed a man for no good reason.’
Beorn says, ‘She was defending herself. What do you think she should have done?’
Only the priest stays quiet. He’s torn, Tova thinks. On the one hand he doesn’t approve, but on the other he knows he’s in no position to judge.
Tova asks her, ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before?’