Free Warriors of the Storm by Bernard Cornwell

damned languages?’
    Finan laughed. Leofstan’s arrival and my splenetic hatred of the man seemed to have cheered him, and now the two of us led a hundred and thirty men on fast horses to patrol the edge of the forest that surrounded and protected Eads Byrig. So far we had ridden the southern and eastern boundaries of the trees because those were the directions Ragnall’s men would take if they wanted to raid deep into Mercia, but not one of our scouts had seen any evidence of such raids. Today, the morning after Leofstan’s arrival, we were close to the forest’s western edge, and riding north towards the Mærse. We could see no enemy, but I was certain they could see us. There would be men standing guard at the margin of the thick woodland. ‘Do you think it’s true that he’s celibate?’ Finan asked.
    ‘How would I know?’
    ‘His wife probably looks like a shrivelled turnip, poor man.’ He slapped at a horsefly on his stallion’s neck. ‘What is her name?’
    ‘Gomer.’
    ‘Ugly name, ugly woman,’ he said, grinning.
    It was a windy day with high clouds scudding fast inland. Heavier clouds were gathering above the distant sea, but now an early-morning shaft of sunlight glinted off the Mærse’s water that lay a mile ahead of us. Two more dragon-boats had rowed upriver the previous day, one with more than forty men aboard, the other smaller, but still crammed with warriors. The heavy weather threatening to the west would probably mean no boats arriving today, but still Ragnall’s strength grew. What would he do with that strength?
    To find the answer to that question we had brought a score of riderless horses with us. All were saddled. Anyone watching from the forest would assume they were spare mounts, but their purpose was quite different. I let my horse slow so that Beadwulf could catch up with me. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ I told him.
    ‘It will be easy, lord.’
    ‘You’re sure?’ I asked him.
    ‘It will be easy, lord,’ he said again.
    ‘We’ll be back this time tomorrow,’ I promised him.
    ‘Same place?’
    ‘Same place.’
    ‘So let’s do it, lord,’ he suggested with a grin.
    I wanted to know what happened both at Eads Byrig and at the river crossing to the north of the hill. I had seen the bridge of boats across the Mærse, and the density of the smoke rising from the woods on the river’s southern bank had suggested Ragnall’s main camp was there. If it was, how was it protected? And how complete were the new walls at Eads Byrig? We could have assembled a war-band and followed the Roman track that led through the forest and then turned north up the spine of the ridge, and I did not doubt we could reach Eads Byrig’s low summit, but Ragnall would be waiting for just such an incursion. His scouts would give warning of our approach and his men would flood the woodland, and our withdrawal would be a desperate fight in thick trees against an outnumbering enemy. Beadwulf, though, could scout the hill and the riverside camp like a phantom and the enemy would never know he was there.
    The problem was to get Beadwulf into the forest without the enemy seeing his arrival, and that was the reason we had brought the riderless horses. ‘Draw swords!’ I called to my men as I pulled Serpent-Breath free of her scabbard. ‘Now!’ I shouted.
    We spurred our horses, turning them directly eastwards and galloping for the trees as though we planned to ride clean through the forest to the distant hill. We plunged into the wood, but instead of riding straight on towards Eads Byrig, we suddenly swung the horses southwards so we were riding among the trees at the edge of the woods. A horn sounded behind us. It sounded three times, and that had to be one of Ragnall’s sentinels sending a warning that we had entered the great forest, but in truth we were merely thundering along its margin. A man ran from a thicket to our left and Finan swerved, chopped down once, and there was a bright red