“Well,herre,” Arne said after Tormod had had enough time to assess the situation. “Do we wait for them and catch them unsuspecting, or do we attack with fire arrows?”
“They are not with Cadell,” Tormod stated.
“How can you be sure?” Ulf asked. “Did your wife tell you this, or did you merely decide it for yourself?”
Tormod glared at Ulf, who gazed back unflinchingly. Tormod sensed the rest of the warriors holding their breath. He, however, had no wish to fight any of his cousins. Not when this new threat approached. Although, pieces were fitting together, that before had not seemed related.
“My wife told me.” Tormod waited for Ulf to argue and was surprised when he did not. “Her stepmother’s brother holds thelands to the south. I think Lord Marcant wants Cadell’s lands. This is not our fight. I believe this is a fight between Britons and we are being made scapegoats. The situation begins to make sense now I know of these things. She does not lie to me, to us. Of this, I am sure.”
He stared at Ulf as he spoke, daring his cousin to challenge him, knowing if both Ulf and Arne accepted his position, the whole village would be fully behind him.
Ulf looked at Arne, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Tormod.
Arne turned to his brother. “If these men had knowledge of Cadell’s failed attack, then why do they sail for the same point? Not a single man returned from the attack, which makes them either very foolish or—”
“Or they are not in league with Cadell,” finished Ulf. He frowned and gazed out at the boats. Then he seemed to come to an acceptance of the situation. “Should we wait?”
“No,” said Tormod. “We should let them know we are ready to fight them, let them know we are not here for them to attack with impunity.”
Ulf smiled and gripped his axe more tightly.
A knot of tension unfurled in Tormod’s belly. He knew Björn had his back, he had made his peace with Arne—or as close to it as he would come in this lifetime—and Ulf was now ready to accept him as jarl. Until he left for a village of his own. A slight pang of regret hit him as he realised that was something that might happen in the foreseeable future. He could not expect his cousins to remain with him forever. “Quickly, ready the arrows and fire as soon as the boats are within reach.”
Staying low and thanking the gods for a rock face behind which the fire could burn, Tormod waited for the archers to be ready. Each had a boy helping with the arrows. Each volley would take time to light and fire, and the rest of them needed to keep their distance, but they would do it. They would see off these invadersand hold their land. They had done more with it than it seemed anyone had in the past, and if these Britons could not see the value in what they had held, then they did not deserve to hold it. Besides, his future sons would be half-Briton through their mother and have as much right as any other to the land. He smiled as he realised that he was beginning to see a future in which Aoife survived birthing his children.
Within mere moments the fire burned strong. They must be quick before the plume of dark smoke gave their position away. The archers looked at Tormod. He signalled to them to begin, and the night was filled with the twang of bows and the sound of arrows flying true through the air.
There were shouts on the water and then a single scream cut off quickly. Tormod watched as four of the arrows struck their targets. One killed a man instantly, and the others landed on the boats. The sailors shouted and cursed, trying to douse the flames and pull the arrows out. They managed it with one, but the others must have embedded deeply enough in the wood they could not extract them.
Another volley. And another. One of the boats was burning now, those aboard trying desperately to put it out and then giving up and jumping into the dark, deep water and swimming for the other boats. One boat started to turn, but it was shown no mercy. Arrows rained upon it as fast as Tormod’s archers could fire. Another turned, and soon the three remaining boats were heading back across to the south side of the river, two smouldering and the third burning.
The Norsemen stood and watched the attackers flee. No need now to lie in wait. Tormod felt a strange mix of emotions; glee at seeing their enemies turn tail, but also a soul-deep disappointment the prospective battle had come to naught. Tormod was satisfied with the victory, but this could not go on.
“Tomorrow we will hold aThing. Let every villager know. Send riders out to the farms in the morning. No part of our land is more than a few hours’ ride. All who wish to attend should be able to make it and we will decide what to do about this.”
“No more deals with Lord Cadell,” Ulf stated.
“No,” Tormod replied, holding Ulf’s gaze.
“And what of his daughter?”
“My wife will have her part to play in our decisions, as all members of this village will.”
Ulf nodded and Tormod strode off back to his rooms more secure in the knowledge Aoife would be seen as one of them.
Chapter Thirty-three
An hour into theThingand Tormod had made up his mind about how to go forward. Aoife stood near him but on the outer edge of the circle and every so often he saw her tense when her people were spoken of. The first time, he had smiled over at her just to reassure her that simply because he must listen to every accusation, did not mean he must believe it — and he certainly did not believe any of it reflected on her.
“And what does the Lady Aoife have to say about all of this?” Ulf asked. Again. Why was his cousin insisting on emphasising that his wife was a Briton?
Tormod ran his hand over his face. What was his cousin up to? He had hoped their victory would have put Ulf’s fears to rest but apparently not. “How can you expect my wife to know what her father, whom she has not seen for two years, plans to do?”
“These are her people who attack us.”
“Theywereher people, Ulf. As you are kin to the other Norsemen. Do you know what Ivarr the Boneless has planned for today? Tomorrow? Next summer?”
“No…”
