Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [216]
“Vikings,” he breathed.
He turned and ran. The mist now seemed like a cloud, enveloping him. The rustle of his feet on the ground seemed like a pounding drum; he ran across the empty marsh, almost blind with fear. And in the middle of the marsh, with a gasp of terror, he ran into a tall figure, who held him in his arms. They fell to the ground together.
It was Aelfwine.
The thane’s son smiled as he held Osric tightly. The mist was damp on the woollen habit he wore, and on his thick yellow hair.
“No one can see us,” he breathed.
“Vikings.” Osric struggled to get free but made no headway. “In the harbour. Let me go.”
Still it had no effect. Aelfwine grinned and shook his head. His face came closer.
There was only one thing to do. Osric let his body go limp. He let Aelfwine kiss him; and after a moment he felt the grip on him loosen.
Aelfwine drew back, smiling.
“That’s better,” he murmured, gazing at the boy affectionately.
Then Osric kicked, as hard as he could, and as Aelfwine doubled up in agony, he scrambled up and ran towards the monastery. Almost at once, he could hear Aelfwine following, cursing behind him. But Osric knew the tracks better; he sped through the frozen marshes. And in his mind there was a single thought: he must warn the people in the settlement.
Almost out of breath, he raced into the little courtyard, only to find it empty. In a state of near panic, he looked about. How could he warn those people across the river at Twyneham? He saw the bell.
A minute later all six monks were standing in the little courtyard gazing with astonishment as the boy Osric frantically rang the chapel bell: not with its normal, steady toll, but with a desperate clanging that echoed through the mist. And while this was going on, Aelfwine, white with anger, hobbled towards him.
“Vikings!” Osric was shouting. “Vikings!”
The monks looked at one another. What was the boy talking about? Everyone knew that the Vikings never appeared in the winter months. But when one of them tried to restrain him Osric shook him off furiously.
It was Aelfwine who first realised the truth. With a few quick steps he came to Osric’s side and seized his arms.
“Don’t touch me!” the boy screamed.
But Aelfwine, with a single wrench tore Osric away from the rope and clapped his hands over his mouth.
“Silence,” he ordered. He stared at Osric and the boy saw that his eyes had lost the shining look of lust that they had had minutes before and that now they were grave. “You saw Vikings? A boat?” Osric nodded. “Then you should not have rung the bell.” He let him go.
Now, as he looked about him, Osric understood what the thane’s son meant. For the mist was growing thicker. In their clearing at the edge of the wood, the monastery’s buildings were now invisible, not only from the river but even from twenty yards. And as he saw the terrified faces of the monks, he realised with a terrible sense of shame what he had done: he had told the Vikings where they were.
They were all silent, listening intently. There was no sound. Then Aelfwine spoke, and his voice had a quiet command.
“It will be safer if we go into the woods.”
This was clearly right. They could keep moving inland; and if the Vikings found the little monastery empty, they might set fire to it, but they were not likely to bother to search for a few monks. Very quietly, the six men and the boy moved together past the chapel and out towards the cover of the trees.
Then they heard it: a deep cough, followed by a low call, some distance away on the left towards the river. The Vikings were already searching for the bell.
Quickly the little party moved forward. The edge of the woods was only twenty yards away.
There was a whistle. This time it came from in front of them. Aelfwine cursed. The Vikings were obviously in the woods as well. The first call was directly ahead of them; but seconds later there was another, this time to the right. How was it possible, Osric wondered, that they could have moved so fast? It was a question that neither the Saxons nor