Bernard Cornwell the Last Kingdom Series 10 Books Collection Set (The Last Kingdom, the Pale Horseman, the Lords of the North, Sword Song, the Burning Land, Death of Kings, the Pagan Lord... by Cornwell Bernard

Author:Cornwell, Bernard [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789123522620
Amazon: 9123522623
Goodreads: 44586640
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2017-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

The Field of Barley

Eight

It was late morning and Immar was standing as sentry on the western wharf, or rather he was sitting in the summer sunlight on the western wharf with a pot of sour ale and with two small boys, both from Aldwyn’s tribe of orphans, sitting at his feet and listening awestruck to whatever tall tales he told them. Immar was a young Mercian whom I had saved from being hanged the previous year, though he had been forced to watch his father dancing the rope-death on my orders. Despite that experience he had sworn loyalty to me and now wore mail and carried a sword. He had learned his sword-skill remarkably quickly and had proved to be a ferocious fighter on two cattle raids, but he had yet to be tested in a shield wall. Still, the two small boys were captivated by his stories, as was Alaina who had wandered to join them and now listened just as keenly.

‘Nice little girl,’ Finan said.

‘She is,’ I agreed. Finan and I were sharing a bench on the landward wharf, watching Immar and idly discussing the chances of having a west wind instead of the persistent but gentle south-easterly that had blown all night and morning.

‘You think her mother is alive?’ Finan asked, nodding towards Alaina.

‘Mother’s more likely to be alive than her father.’

‘True,’ he allowed, ‘poor woman.’ He took a bite of an oatcake. ‘Be nice for Alaina if we could find her.’

‘It would,’ I agreed. ‘But she’s a tough little girl. She’ll survive.’

‘She made these oatcakes?’

‘She did.’

‘They’re horrible,’ Finan said, throwing the rest of his oatcake into the river.

‘It’s the mouse shit in the oats,’ I pointed out.

‘We need better food,’ Finan grumbled.

‘What about those two horses in the stable?’ I suggested.

‘They don’t mind eating mouse crap. It’s probably the best food they’ve had in years! Poor beasts. They need a month or two on good pasture.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ I said, ‘I mean why don’t we kill the two beasts, skin them, butcher them, and stew them?’

Finan looked at me aghast. ‘Eat them?’

‘Must be enough meat on those two horses to last us a week?’

‘You’re a barbarian,’ Finan said. ‘I’ll let you persuade Father Oda.’

Father Oda would disapprove of eating horse meat. The church had forbidden its followers to eat the flesh of horses because, the clerics insisted, that flesh only came from pagan sacrifices. In truth we pagans are reluctant to offer Odin a sacrificial horse, the beasts are too valuable, though when times are desperate the gift of a prized stallion might placate the gods. I had made just such sacrifices, though always with regret. ‘Father Oda doesn’t have to eat the stew,’ I pointed out, ‘he can live on mouse shit.’

‘But I can’t,’ Finan said firmly, ‘I want something decent. There must be fish for sale?’

‘Horse meat tastes good,’ I insisted. ‘Especially an older horse. My father always swore that an older horse’s liver was a meal fit for the gods. He

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