Blood Feud (Rebellion Book 1) by Bernardi Paul

Author:Bernardi, Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Once they were seated at the end of a table, Oslac leaned in close, “Well, that was a little unnerving than I would have liked.”

Agatho snorted, “You don’t know the half of it. Just as Uchtred mentioned Gundulf, I saw two fellows mutter something to each other before leaving their seats – and two perfectly good plates of food, I might add – and going outside.”

“Your meaning?”

“My meaning, Lord, is that I would wager my last silver penny with the Devil that they are Gundulf’s men. Meaning that the Danish bastard is nearby, and they go to warn him of our presence.”

“How can you be sure? They might just have been going out to piss.”

“True enough, Lord, but you know I am a suspicious man by nature, and I say it’s too much of a coincidence – and I don’t believe in those. I can’t say I recognised either of them, if I am honest, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were part of that raiding party that killed your brother.”

The reminder cut straight to Oslac’s heart; Gundulf was still to pay the price for that little matter. He realised Agatho was probably right, and he would hate to be cheated of the chance to wreak his revenge.

“Right. I’d say we should be cautious for now and not take chances. When things have settled down a bit here, we should leave – one at a time – as though we need to empty our bladders. With luck, no one will notice our departure.”

“And then?”

“And then, Wudric, we find our way back to Oswulf, hoping all the time that Gundulf is not waiting in the shadows for us. Oh, and if you manage to grab a weapon or two from the bench outside on your way out, that would not be the worst idea ever.”

***

Oslac was the last to leave Uchtred’s hall, picking his way between the tables, swaying from side to side as though he were drunk, grabbing people’s shoulders to steady himself. Outside, he quickly took stock. Away from the hall’s raucous and stifling atmosphere, the air here was still, quiet and – above all – fresh. He breathed in deep lung-fulls, glad to be away from the heady mixture of smoke, stale ale, and even staler sweat. It was late now, and the village seemed to be devoid of movement. He prayed it would stay that way.

The door wardens were nowhere to be seen. Most likely, they had wandered inside to warm themselves for a while; the heat from the fire and the waft of the roasting meat must have been sorely tempting to men with frozen hands and feet. Reaching down, he grabbed the nearest sword from the bench, feeling a pang of guilt as he did so. Swords were not cheap; often, they were treasured heirlooms, handed down from father to son over many generations. This one showed no great mastery on the part of the smith, however. Clumsy and heavy, Oslac almost regretted his choice, but he did not have time to work his way through the collection to choose more wisely.

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