Better than Gold by Theresa Tomlinson Page A

have to do as Oswy tells him now.’
    â€˜Lady, you must come too,’ Sigurd begged.
    â€˜Yes, you should go with him,’ Egfrid added his voice. He found he couldn’t bear the thought of her being captured.
    But Cynewise refused. ‘Wyn can go. Where is Wyn?’ she asked. ‘I stay here to see my husband’s death rites. My fate is in the three dark spinners’ hands.’
    Sigurd looked at Egfrid. ‘The boy is your hostage,’ he cried. ‘And though I love him, by rights he should be killed. Lady, they have cut off your husband’s head!’
    Wyn cried out, emerging from the queen’s tent.
    Egfrid gasped in shock at Sigurd’s words, but he hauled together every scrap of courage he could muster. ‘I am willing to die,’ he said. ‘My father has killed your husband, lady, and by the rules of blood-feud it is just. I’m no faint-heart.’
    They stared at him. Vomit suddenly rose in his throat, and he staggered away from them a few steps to be sick.
    Chad strode to his side. ‘If you must die, so shall I,’ he said quietly. ‘The boy will not die alone.’
    But Cynewise shook her head. ‘There will be no more killing,’ she said firmly. ‘This boy saved my life, using those very warrior skills that you yourself taught him. No, Sigurd. Take my horse and ride fast to Wulfhere. I order you to do it as captain of my guard—you are my man still. Take my mare and ride away with Wyn. You must both serve my son now.’
    At last Sigurd bent to kiss the queen’s hand, while Chad threw a saddle over the queen’s mare and led her forward. Wyn scrambled up behind Sigurd and they rode southwards, back towards the high ridge of hills.
    The queen, the monk and the boy, stood together in silence, as the dreadful sounds of dying men reached them from the far riverbank.
    â€˜What will we do?’ Egfrid asked at last.
    â€˜We cannot do anything till the waters go down,’ Cynewise said. ‘We wait for now. I will see you safely back to your father and in return I shall beg that he allow my husband Woden’s rites.’
    Egfrid knew the importance she placed on this, but he doubted that his father would be generous. Oswald Whiteblade’s body had been hacked to pieces and staked out for a raven-feast.
    They gazed across the river at a scene of utter devastation. Bodies floated downstream, though many of them were caught in reeds and rushes at the water’s edge. On the far hillside, Bernician warriors walked from corpse to corpse, stripping weapons and cloaks from dead or dying Mercians. Here and there it seemed the water ran red with blood.
    â€˜Did our Christian God want this?’ Egfrid asked.
    Chad shook his head and the boy saw traces of tears on the monk’s cheeks.
    Darkness fell and the three of them kept watch all night, sitting close together wrapped in furs. The rain ceased, but the night was cold and none of them could sleep or eat. Dapple curled close to Egfrid, sharing warmth, while the queen wept quietly for her husband and her warrior band.
    â€˜You could still ride away,’ Egfrid told her, as he stroked the hound’s silky ears. ‘Take Golden-mane. I will not stop you, nor will Chad. I doubt my father knows that we are here. I’ll even give you Dapple, if you want him.’
    But she shook her head. ‘My son is safer if I’m not with him,’ she said. ‘And if I hand you back, at least I’ll feel that I have done the honourable thing.’
    Chad offered words of Christian comfort to the queen.
    â€˜Hush,’ she told him. ‘Woden is my god and Freya my goddess, like Penda. My loyalty stays with them.’
    As light came, they saw that the Bernicians were wading into the water to drag bodies back onto land. Cynewise vanished into her tent to emerge a short while later, looking very much the queen again. She’d combed her hair and dressed