“They’re unloading food, barrels, equipment, horses. Men who mean to steal what they can and leave don’t bring that much with them. Those men crossed the sea prepared to stay. At least, that’s what it looked like to me.”
Wulfric’s gaze held mine.
“We know this.”
I nodded. That was what I’d missed from the hill. They weren’t panicking because they had no idea what to do. They were preparing because they knew exactly what was coming.
“Then you know they’ll push inland.”
“Aye.”
“How many roads lead here?”
The older man answered. “Three.”
“Which can horses use fastest?”
His eyes narrowed. “The south road.”
“Who’s watching it?”
“Men are there already,” Wulfric said.
Right. Stop treating medieval people as though nobody had invented common sense until fluorescent safety jackets.
I looked toward the village again. People were moving quickly, but not randomly. A woman handed a sack of grain to a boy and pointed toward one of the houses. Two men carried a chest toward the larger hall. An elderly woman shouted at someone I couldn’t see.
They had a plan. The question was whether the plan would survive frightened people. That was territory I understood.
“I saw children.”
Wulfric’s face hardened. “They will be moved if need be.”
“If?”
The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
The boy with the spear suddenly became fascinated by the mud as Wulfric stepped closer.
He was even larger up close. Fantastic.
“Take care, stranger.”
“I am taking care.”
“Then take more.”
I should have been frightened, and I was frightened, but fear was familiar. Fear was useful when you gave it work.
“I’ve watched people wait too long to leave a burning building because they didn’t believe the fire would reach them,” I said.
No one moved.
“I’ve watched parents run back inside because they thought one of their children was still there when the child had already been taken out another way. I’ve seen people crushed in doorways because nobody told them where else to go.”
The woman’s grip tightened on the little girl’s shoulder.
I pointed toward the village. “You know war. I don’t.”
