“Methinks ye must have had a nasty dream as well, my friend.”
He mounted the animal and urged her forward with a general pull to the right. Hopefully the animal knew which way the town lay. By gloaming, they’d arrived. It was quite a busy place, overrun with Normans. Their mail and shields indicated these were more than common soldiers making patrols. Calls and shouts carried across the inlet as they moved about at their important duty. Investigating the slaughter at the inn, no doubt. Sean planned to stay clear of all the goings-on. He walked Roana to the blacksmith.
“Hail!”
No response from within.
The place was cold and empty. Sean could clearly see the coffer where the man had put Tadhg’s knife for safe keeping. It was unlocked. He brought Roana around back to see to feeding and watering her. She was a good animal and would hopefully be back with her owner afore long. Thomasina’s smiling, green eyes flashed through his mind. He jerked the saddle off her back and headed inside the lean-to. Several misshapen iron horseshoes and a hooded suit of mail lay on the bench beside the bellows that hung beside the cold hearth.
He stopped within the darkened space and looked around. The blacksmith was nowhere to be seen.
“Anyone here?” Sean spoke a little louder but didn’t wish to call undue attention to himself.
The soldiers moved along the buildings outside in twos and threes, swords in hand as if hunting down prey. Sean swallowed. They seemed intent on catching whoever they were searching for. He wondered how it would all turn out but doubted the men who came in with Ivan would ever be caught. That wasn’t the usual way these things went. The Saxons would all protect the killers because they didn’t want the Normans here either.
Once Roana was brushed down and settled in, Sean gave one last look around for the blacksmith. He went to the coffer, dropped his items beside it, and lifted the lid. Swords, helmets, and trinkets filled the space. Tadhg’s prized knife with the blade that swiveled from either side lay tucked between two helms. Sean picked it up.
“Hey! What are you about?” A man’s voice boomed.
Sean jerked around, knife in hand, to face the man who had rented him the horse.
“Hail! I’ve returned the horse I borrowed. I was retrieving my knife. Ye were nowhere to be found.”
The man nodded, recognition crossing his face. “Aye. My thanks. Any problems with her?”
“No, she’s a sound animal.”
“Sorry about your lying little friend—”
“Stay!” A soldier stood in the opening behind the blacksmith. “Drop your weapon.”
Sean was confused who he gave the order to since neither he nor the blacksmith were holding a weapon. He glanced at the treasured knife. Suddenly understanding, he hunkered down to place the knife carefully on the ground. The soldier closed the distance, another one followed close behind, and hit the hilt against the side of Sean’s head. He saw stars, grabbed at his head, and tumbled over onto the ground. The man kicked him with his tackety boot. Sharp pain shot through Sean’s hip. The two soldiers jerked him to standing.
“So we’ve found you, you devil spawn.”
Sean opened his eyes but had trouble focusing on the soldier, his recognizable helmet and nose guard told him all he needed to know.
“I dunna ken what ye’re talking about.”
The soldiers glanced at each other and laughed as they yanked him up tighter between them. “A huge man with long, blond hair. I’d say this is the man.”
“What man?” Sean asked. His arms felt about to come out of their sockets.
The Normans dragged him into the street where more soldiers gathered to watch, their swords at the ready. Sean dare not fight but he caught sight of Tadhg’s knife being stepped on by the soldiers who came up behind his two assailants.
“Please.” Sean dug his heals in to try and stop the men from dragging him.
One of the nearby Normans stepped forward to plant his sword hilt into his stomach. Sean doubled over in pain. The soldiers on either side jerked him back up.
“Of what am I being accused?”
One man dressed in leather and mounted on a black destrier watched from the shadow of a tree to the right, his dark eyes locked onto Sean. He leaned toward someone who stood beside the horse. “Is this the man you saw?”
Sean struggled to see the other man. Sweat dripped down his face, blurring his vision but it was a small man. No higher than the horse, wearing dark clothing. A cloak—the airwhooshedout of Sean.
Ivan!
“Aye, that’s the one I saw. Like a mad man swinging his swords around the good Norman soldiers, hacking them to their death.”
