LITMIR.BIZ

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be preparing for your betrothal.’

      ‘If God wills…’ Annis placed the mirror back on the dressing table and forced her face to remain bland. She had no intention of marrying her stepfather’s son, the odious Eadgar, with his damp hands and even damper manner. Neither did she intend on retiring to a convent as her uncle had suggested. There had to be another way.

      ‘You will have to marry sometime. Eadgar is a fine—’ Mildreth stopped and her face grew distressed. ‘Mistress, I cannot lie. I have grown fond of you. Eadgar is a terror. All the maidservants fear him if they are caught alone with him. Please say nothing.’

      Annis caught Mildreth’s hand. A faint pink tinged the maid’s cheeks, making her almost pretty. Annis felt happier than she had been in weeks. Her journey to Lindisfarne had not been in vain. She had discovered an ally of sorts.

      ‘We share the same view of Eadgar.’

      ‘They said you were kind, my lady, and you are.’

      ‘It is far too soon to speak of remarriage in any case.’ Annis straightened the neck of her gown. ‘My husband is barely cold in his grave. There will be time enough to speak of marriage after I have finished mourning him. I came here seeking my uncle’s advice and, having received it, I will return to my home.’

      ‘As you say, my lady.’

      A sudden fierce tolling of the bells resounded in the room, crowding out all thought or speech. Every fibre of Annis’s being tensed.

      ‘We are going to be attacked!’ Mildreth wrung her hands. ‘Murdered in our beds!’

      Annis forced a breath from her lips. Despite the increasing shrillness of the bells, she had to stay calm. It could be anything. Blind panic would not serve.

      ‘Attack? Really, Mildreth, you must not let your fears take hold. Who would dare attack this place?’ She forced her voice to sound normal. Annis wasn’t quite sure whom she was trying to convince, her maid or herself. ‘The bells will be ringing for another reason. A pilgrim misjudged the tide and is stuck on the causeway.’

      Mildreth gave a tremulous smile and ducked her head as the bells continued to peal. Annis offered up a small prayer that her words were correct. They had to be. Who would risk eternal damnation by attacking one of the most holy and learned sites in Northumbria, if not Europe?

      The protection it offered was the reason her family chose to store the bulk of their coin with the monks rather than keeping it in locked chests on their estates. The vast majority of landowners in Northumbria used this simple but effective way of ensuring their coin was truly safe.

      Then, as suddenly as the bells started, they stopped. The silence became deafening.

      ‘It will be nothing.’ Annis’s voice sounded loud, echoing off the wooden walls. ‘A ship might have been stranded and a monk panicked. My uncle says some of the newer monks can be excitable. Whatever it was, it is sure to have been solved.’

      ‘As you say, my lady.’

      Mildreth gave another nod, but her thin face bore a distinctly unhappy look to it. Annis reached out and touched her hand.

      ‘All will be well, Mildreth. We are in God’s place. He will look after us.’

      ‘There have been portents,’ Mildreth said and then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘One of the monks said he saw dragons flying across the moon. And strange fires in the night. Whirlwinds in the skies. Something to punish us for our wicked, sinful ways. They were speaking of it in the Abbot’s scullery only yesterday.’

      ‘Tales to frighten young maidservants, without a doubt.’ Annis gave an uneasy laugh. ‘By Michaelmas, after the harvest, no one will remember. It is the way of things.’

      Annis rose and crossed quickly to the small window that overlooked the sea. Yesterday, she had admired the view of clear yellow sand and bright sparkling water, empty save for a few fishing boats. Today, an entirely different sight lay before her.

      ‘I may have been wrong, Mildreth. The monastery has company.’ Annis fought to keep the sound of rising panic out of her voice. She must not jump to conclusions. She was too impatient, her imagination too active, or so her uncle had told her several times this visit.

      The early morning sunshine threw sparkles on the water but the sea was no longer empty. Three boats with serpents on their prows, round shields on their sides and red-and-white striped sails were in the shallow bay. One had drawn up on shore while the others followed closely behind.

      As Annis watched, warriors disembarked from the first serpent ship, wading through the surf. They were dressed in trousers and chain mail, carrying their helmets and round shields. An air of wildness hung about them. No two were dressed alike. Heathens. Pagans. Raiders.

      Annis leant out the window to get a better look. The leader had dark hair that touched his shoulders and several days’ growth on his beard. An intricate design of a serpent and beast fighting covered his shield. The warriors behind him ranged from a wild man with flowing hair and beard to a slim, blonder version of the leader. The leader glanced up towards the window. His startling blue gaze held hers for a heartbeat. A brief smile touched his lips as he turned to greet the group hurrying from the monastery. Annis put her hand to her throat.

      Had he seen her?

      Her uncle stood at the front of the group in his white habit, taller than the rest, but not as tall as the barbarian leader, with an air of confidence and command. Annis gave a half-smile. She had been wrong to worry. Her uncle’s skill as a politician was renowned throughout Northumbria and Mercia. She was certain he would have the measure of these heathen warriors in no time.

      Her uncle held out his hand to be kissed in the traditional manner. The pagan warlord ignored it, and inclined his head before he handed her uncle a tablet.

      The colour drained from her uncle’s face and his hand shook.

      What did these barbarians want?

      Haakon Haroldson stared in disbelief at the fine-featured Abbot. He had shown the elderly man the tablet and the tablet was quite specific. He had made certain of that, taking the trouble to read it after Oeric the Scot’s scribe had written the demand out. And he personally placed Oeric’s seal on it.

      The felag had come for gold coin lawfully owed them. If they could trade or provide some measure of protection while they were here, so much the better. But no one cheated them.

      This summer’s sea voyage was proving reasonably profitable. The new design for the boats had worked, skimming the ocean’s surface, increasing their speed. The Scots desired the Vikens’ thick fur pelts and amber beads.

      There was simply this business to conclude. Then they sailed back home with honour.

      ‘We have come here for the money Oeric the Scot owes us.’

      The Abbot raised a brow. ‘I am surprised at a Norseman speaking Latin.’

      ‘We are traders. We learn the languages as they are needed.’ Haakon kept his eyes fixed somewhere over the Abbot’s shoulder. There was no need to give his life’s history, not yet. Later, perhaps when their business dealings were complete and they were enjoying a cup of mead together. He held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘We come in peace. We only want what is promised us.’

      ‘How can I tell this tablet is genuine?’

      ‘We would have hardly come here if it wasn’t.’

      ‘I have heard of raids by your sort against defenceless farms.’

      ‘Other traders. Not us. We come to do business, not to make war.’ Haakon permitted a smile to cross his features. ‘Although we have been known to provide protection, should it be required.’

      ‘This is God’s chosen place. We have no need of protection here.’

      Haakon was pleased neither his half-brother, Thrand, or, more importantly, his leading oarsman, Bjorn, understood

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