Chapter Thirty

The girl who was her enemy called Ursula again. She did not like being brought back to her body any more. The pain that might have been hunger was stronger, nagging at her, and there was thirst too and other kinds of discomfort that even the power of magic did not entirely blunt.

They were all there when she opened her eyes. All staring at her hungrily, wanting things from her and giving nothing back. Guthrum, still drunk from the revelling of the previous night, sweaty and corpulent beneath his finery, stood at the front of the crowd of warriors and frightened, abused townswomen. She felt the women’s pain as a great rolling tide of misery that repelled her. Her friend, Gunnarr, the one who had stood vigil by her side on the way to this awful place, stood nearby looking anxious. Things were not going quite as he had planned; Finna had taken the role of Guthrum’s confidante that he had sought. Ursula felt Gunnarr’s resentment and his disgust. The resentment she understood, but she did not at first recognise the source of his disgust. Her eye was inevitably drawn to the one who’d called her yet again, the one who’d dragged her to this place of misery. Ursula noted that the blind girl wore a huge brooch of precious stones, that her straggly unkempt hair had been washed and plaited and that the clothes that covered her thin body were of the richest colours, of the finest cloth and edged with the most intricate and costly silk braid. She was still the same underneath, though, still a curious absence; nothing more than a steely will hidden in mist. The magic in Ursula burned hot and dry and she was exhausted by it. The magic brought her back at Finna’s calling and she did not like that. For the first time Ursula did not feel free, but chained by the power that held her in thrall to the whims of Finna.

‘See what we have brought to feed you, Goddess,’ Finna said.

It was then that Ursula saw them – the chained prisoners. Even then she did not guess at what was to come.

Dan woke to the tickle of Taliesin’s beard against his ear and Taliesin’s voice whispering urgently: ‘Wake up now or you’ll never wake.’

Maybe there was magic in that or maybe not – either way Dan did as he was told. It was dark and he was surrounded by shadows and the stink of human waste. Dan gagged. His sense of smell was all too acute, as if he retained the senses of a bear even after he had lost the form. It was some time since Talieisn had bathed and his clothes smelled like those of a tramp who’d lived rough for a couple of years.

‘Where are Aethelnoth and Braveheart?’ Dan whispered.

‘Braveheart is muzzled and tied up, but he will be well cared for – the Vikings were impressed by his ferocity and he’s been given as a gift to Guthrum. The news is not so good on Aethelnoth.’ Dan felt the sudden chill of fear and guilt; if Aethelnoth had died because he had not been awake to fight for him there would be another death on his conscience. Taliesin seemed to guess at his concerns and patted Dan’s arm reassuringly. ‘He fought well enough and was captured as a warrior. He was barely injured …’ Taliesin paused.

‘So?’

‘I’m sorry, Dan, but the Goddess has demanded the sacrifice of twenty warriors.’

‘What goddess?’ Dan asked, but he knew the answer even before he’d finished speaking. Ursula. ‘What has happened to her?’

‘She always did love magic,’ Taliesin said softly. ‘I fear it has consumed her and driven her mad.’

‘Can you tell that, or is it just a guess?’ Dan spoke more sharply than he had intended.

‘I can feel her power, but I can’t get near her,’ Taliesin said. ‘But why would she demand sacrifice if she was sane?’

Dan shook his head more to shake away the idea of Ursula turned mad than to disagree. ‘I have to go to her!’

‘Then your best bet is to get yourself recognised as a warrior and readied for sacrifice.’

It was not such a stupid idea, but Dan was not sure that he could control the bear sufficiently to allow himself to be readied for sacrifice.

When Dan looked around him, he could see that he was corralled in a sheep pen with women, children and old men. He did not know what was to become of them, but he doubted that they would kill the women – not from chivalry, but because they could be put to good use. He was less confident about the children and the old men.

The pen was formed of nothing more secure than a loose fence, designed to contain sheep not men, but it was guarded by three well-armed warriors. When Dan touched his sword belt, he was surprised to find that Bright Killer was still there. Taliesin shrugged modestly. ‘I have some power here. I made you look like an old man.’

‘They might have killed me.’

‘They would have killed you if they’d recognised you as the bear man. Some gratitude would not go amiss.’

Dan mumbled his thanks. ‘What if I got all the able-bodied people left here to help me attack the guards?’

Taliesin raised an eyebrow. ‘There are no able-bodied people here.’

But Dan wasn’t listening; he’d spotted a young woman sitting alone. Something about her posture suggested that she still had some fight left in her. Dan moved stealthily to sidle alongside her.

‘Do you want to help us get out?’ he asked. She gave him a penetrating look. He did not know if Taleisin’s glamour was still on him, but if it was she saw through it.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘There are three guards – my friend and I might be able to manage two. Could you take a third?’

She weighed up the possibility. ‘I have this,’ she said and, turning her back on Dan, fumbled under her overdress to produce something that glinted dully in the moonlight.

Dan tested it with his thumb; it was sharp enough. ‘Do you know what to do?’

He saw her teeth flash in the darkness. ‘My father will help,’ she said, indicating to an elderly man sitting nearby. ‘He has killed men before.’

If her father had posed any danger, he would already be dead. Still, the Danes were drunk and not expecting trouble and if Taliesin were able to cast some spell, the old man might be some help. ‘All right. Which one will you take?’

She pointed at the drunkest of them – a young lightly built man, barely out of his teens.

‘When my friend starts to sing, start moving. When he stops – do what you can.’

He thought she smiled.

‘Good luck,’ he said and made his way back to Taliesin.

‘I’ve got an idea, Taliesin. I don’t know if it will work but I need to get to Ursula and I’m not going to do it here or tied up as a human sacrifice.’ Dan could smell blood; the smell carried on the smoky air made him hungry and that made him angry. The bear was still there, scarcely under control.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Can you still use the magic of your voice – like you could when you were only a bard in Macsen’s land?’

‘I was never “only a bard”, boy. My gifts were always exceptional.’ Taliesin had slipped into the Combrogi tongue. Dan explained what he wanted Taliesin to do and eased Bright Killer from its scabbard.

Taliesin produced his harp from under his cloak. Dan could sense the magic as soon as Taliesin plucked his first note; his voice had not weakened or coarsened over time and a hush fell upon the captives. The beauty of the sound even calmed the irritation of the guards. No one moved and Dan’s attempt to be inconspicuous, running with his body in a crouch position over bent knees, ought to have been very noticeable, but no one saw him.

The largest of the guardsmen was still a few inches shorter than Dan. He was a thickset man, leaning with his back against the fence, staring out towards the distant bonfire. He was lost in the spell of Taliesin’s music. It was not difficult for Dan to slip under the fence and grab him from behind. It was more difficult for Dan to keep his aggression under control.

‘You make a sound and I’ll kill you,’ Dan said and it was easy to make his words sound convincing because they were probably true. A part of him wanted to kill the guard. Taliesin was right: his soul was in danger. He had never felt that way before; he had never actually wanted to kill before. That shocked him. He let the man feel Bright Killer’s blade against his neck. He had to be careful not to nick him with the edge. He was afraid that the smell of blood might arouse the bear.

The guard’s companion, standing just a few feet away, gave no sign of having noticed anything untoward. He was gazing at the misty haze around the moon, beguiled by the voice of Taliesin.

‘You and your companion here are going to escort me to the Goddess, and then you are going to leave me there, just as if you were on official business.’ Dan did not succeed in keeping the pent-up aggression from his voice, but that might have been a good thing. The guard nodded his head rapidly, a tiny staccato movement; the blade was very close to his throat. Dan wrinkled his nose, as the man’s personal hygiene was no better than Taliesin’s and he stank of stale sweat.

There was a sound of struggle, a muffled shout and then silence. Dan hoped that the girl had subdued her man.

‘Do not try anything clever with me,’ Dan warned. ‘My friend is gifted in magic. Should you disobey me, he will kill you when you sleep and it will not be the easy death of the sword. Let’s go!’ The guard believed him, Dan could tell. The man shook slightly as he beckoned to the other man.

‘We have to take this one to the Goddess.’

‘But we took all the ones she wanted already,’ the second guard whined. Dan suspected that he wanted to stay and listen to the music. His eyes widened as he saw Dan’s sword against his companion’s neck. To do him credit he went for his own seax, but the man Dan held stopped him with a curse.

‘Do as he says. What is an extra prisoner to us?’

Dan allowed himself to be flanked by the two guards. He cut the rope which tied the gate of the corral shut with one good blow of his strong blade. The Danes looked impressed and Dan realised that he had not yet seen a blade to rival Bright Killer in craftsmanship or edge. Dan waited for a moment to be certain that the rest of the plan would work. He nodded at Taliesin. The crowd parted to allow Taliesin through and when he got to the gate he changed his tune into something a little brighter, a joyous little dance. As he left the compound the Viking captives followed him in a daze, like rats enchanted by some Pied Piper. They were not far from the edge of Cippenham and in the darkness, with the town deserted, it might be possible for them to get some way along the road before their escape was noticed. Watching the hesitant way some of them walked, Dan was not certain they would get too far, but they would at least die free. The girl who had helped him blew him a kiss as she passed. She was little more than a kid. He nodded an acknowledgement.

Dan felt pleased. He didn’t know what had happened to the third guard but he had achieved something without violence, without unleashing the wrath of the bear. He sheathed his sword, confident that the guards would not try to hurt him.

He had no idea what he would do next.