The Last Seven: England: The First Viking Age (The Ninth Century Book 7) by M J Porter

Author:M J Porter [Porter, M J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781914332449
Publisher: M J Publishing
Published: 2022-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Since our last visit, Grantabridge has changed a great deal. I eye it now, from my vantage point to the western side of the river, feeling my heart thudding in my ears.

How the fuck are we going to make it across the boundary of the river, and into their stronghold, rescue my aunt, and leave again, without being bloody seen?

I turn to Edmund. His expression is easy to read in the dulling light of the day. It’s hopeless. There are Viking raiders everywhere, including on this side of the river, watching the bridge to ensure that no one can get past their guard. Beyond them, are more and more people. The Viking raiders haven’t come alone. They’re brought their children, their wives, their slaves and even their pets. From here, I can hear dogs barking. The bastards mean to stay in Grantabridge, and they mean to do that by holding my aunt as their captive. They’ve learned valuable lessons since trying to hold Repton after they ejected King Burgred. They’ve determined that if they can’t kill me, then there’s something better that they can do.

Around their settlement is a deep ditch, as well as a rampart. The trees which once hid Edmund and I have been felled, and now there’s a huge space close to the bridge. It’s evident they don’t mean to be caught off guard again.

And inside there, as far as we can tell, is my aunt. I suppose I should be grateful that my aunt wasn’t taken by Bishop Smithwulf, but at least if it had been him, I might have stood half a chance of using diplomacy to win her back. Bishop Smithwulf, a man of God, even with his ungodly attempts to ally with Wessex, would have seen reason. The Viking raiders bloody won’t.

‘We’ll have to swim the river,’ Icel murmurs. There’s no inflexion to his words. I can’t tell whether the thought pleases him or fills him with foreboding. We swam the Nene to get here. I think we’ve just about dried since yesterday morning.

‘What of the ditch and rampart?’ Hereman queries.

‘We’ll have to get through it, somehow.’

‘So, what? We swim the bloody river and then work out what we do next?’ Edmund’s voice is filled with disgust for Icel’s half-thought-out plan.

‘Then what would you do?’ Icel queries. Again, there’s no anger there. I think we’re all just trying to work out what we can, and can’t do when faced with such an insurmountable obstacle.

‘I wouldn’t swim the bloody river without some sort of fucking plan,’ Edmund huffs angrily, running his hand through his long hair. He needs to shave. We all need to shave.

I look back to face my warriors. There are just more than twenty of us now. It’s not enough to take on the might of the Grantabridge jarls, but I don’t think it needs to be. As much as it pains me, we don’t need to kill every one of the bastards. We just need to make sure we retrieve my aunt and escape with our lives.

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