“How do we know you are not a traitor?” Ylva said.
“You do not, not for sure. But if I were really going to betray you, why would I do it like this? Why not simply murder your jarl in his bed? In our bed.” Aoife straightened and held her head high, her hair brushing her shoulders from under her headscarf.
Ylva frowned. “You were supposed to bring us safety. But Björn said he thought even your own people hated you. And I see now that it is true. If anything happens to either of them tonight—”
“Enough,” said Ragna. “The battle will be won by the victors and if any die, then they will feast in Valhalla and be happy. You know that, Ylva. It will be a time for rejoicing.”
Aoife tried to understand what Ragna was saying, but struggled with the concept. “They would be happy to die?”
“In battle, yes. A glorious death.”
Ylva smiled at her—not a cruel smile, but one of superiority. “It is why our enemies rarely win. Even in death we are victorious.”
Aoife was beginning to understand that the mindset of these people was entirely different from her own. And while she couldn’t quite grasp it, it did make many things understandable.
She thought of Alt Clut. She had taken her family away, so they were not there for the fight. Did Tormod see her as a coward for that action? She regarded all the women in the hall; the children too. All armed, all ready to fight. Not bound by a society which kept them helpless and at the mercy of the most powerful men.
She took a step towards Ylva. “Tormod was ready to fight tonight. He will not fail any of you. I will not fail my husband. I will not fail this village.”
Ylva did not take a step back but neither did she now seem aggressive towards her. Instead she smiled and put a hand on Aoife’s shoulder. “No, he will not fail this village, and perhaps you will not either.” Ylva patted her shoulder.
It was a better result than Aoife had hoped for.
The women and children turned and faced the door together.
Chapter Twenty
Once the boat hadmade landfall, the Britons seemed to hold position for a while. Perhaps they were securing it or simply waiting to see if their arrival had raised any alarms.
Tormod kept his eyes on the spot where he knew them to be, although the Britons had chosen their landing place well. Well enough that Tormod guessed at least one of them was a previous resident of the peninsula.
Three, four, five sets of feet splashed into the water, then a sixth. The men huddled for a moment, low voices no longer carrying. They didn’t duck or head for the rocks, as they seemed certain no one was watching them.
Tormod froze when he heard movement from behind him and a seventh man made his way down the jagged rocks to join the others.
“Their guards are dead,” this man said when he arrived at the group. “The villagers are mostly in the hall. It is a feast night. They celebrate Midsummer like the pagans they are. Oh, and I saw their jarl and the Lady Aoife outside, heading for near here I believe, but there is no sign of them now.” The man laughed. “They did not seem happy with one another. If she is killed, it will be easy to blame the Norse for it. And we can use that to justify our actions in defence of her.”
Tormod noticed one man did not laugh with the others and indeed stood a little way off to the side. The dissenter from the boat, perhaps.
“I waited north of here in case they found that the guards were dead. I was nearly caught by one of the scum rutting like a beast with a woman.”
Björn and Ylva, no doubt. Tormod held his breath.
“It meant I couldn’t watch the village, but they are still feasting, although it seems to have grown quieter in the last while. They are drunk most likely, in their hall, waiting for their dead guards to warn them.”
Tormod clenched his fists at the mocking laughter.
“Now, start with the livestock and then burn the houses, quickly and quietly. Try not to let anyone raise the alarm. We are outnumbered and they fight like the very devil himself.”
“And the Lady Aoife?” the man who stood to one side asked.
“We are to spare no one.”
“But…”
“No one.”
Much as Tormod detested this man, he could tell the idea of killing a kinswoman did not sit well with him. Finally he grunted in what Tormod took for agreement and the men set off towards the village.
