The Harrowing

Not Beorn of someplace, Tova thinks. Or Beorn somebodysson.


‘As I said,’ he answers. ‘What about you? What do I call you?’

‘Tova,’ says Tova.

He nods appreciatively. ‘A good name. My mother’s sister’s name.’

She catches her lady glaring at her, and at first she doesn’t know why, but then she remembers. They were supposed to be keeping their names secret.

Beorn turns to Merewyn. ‘And you?’

She’s still moving gingerly, Tova sees. She must have hurt her ankle when she fell.

‘Merewyn,’ she replies reluctantly.

‘You shouldn’t be out wandering these hills on your own. There are enemy raiding parties everywhere, swarming these hills, hunting for folk like you. You need to find somewhere to hide, and quickly, until they’ve gone back south.’

‘Raiding parties?’ Tova asks, feeling a chill run through her body. ‘There are others out there? More Normans?’

‘You mean you haven’t heard?’

She exchanges a glance with Merewyn. What is he talking about? ‘Heard what?’

‘Listen, girl. I don’t know where the two of you have come from, or where you’ve been these past few days, but it’s not safe for you here.’

‘The Normans are coming?’ Merewyn asks. ‘You know this for sure?’

‘I know,’ he insists. ‘Not just a few of them, either. Hundreds. Thousands, even. King Wilelm is on the march, and his entire host with him. The biggest army ever seen north of the Humbre, the likes of which you’ve never even imagined. They’re laying waste everything they can find, slaughtering every living thing: every man, woman, child or beast whose path crosses theirs. No one is safe. If you had any sense you’d already be long gone. I thought everyone had already fled. Haven’t you seen the fires? The hall burnings?’

Tova stares at him. Hall burnings? King Wilelm marching?

‘I don’t understand,’ she says.

‘Because they’re the enemy,’ Beorn replies. ‘Because that’s what they do. I’ve seen it happening with my own eyes, so believe me when I tell you.’

‘Oh God,’ Merewyn says in a small voice. She raises a hand to her mouth. ‘The smoke. It was them. The Normans. It was their doing. It must have been.’

‘Smoke?’ Tova asks, frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Yesterday. ?lfric saw it yesterday evening, just before dark. When he came back, he told us. He spotted it while he was out riding the manor bounds. To the south, some miles away, he said. Thick black smoke, like a whole village had gone up in flames. He came back as soon as he saw.’

‘You never said anything.’

‘Because we didn’t know what it meant. We didn’t want to make people afraid for no reason, so we agreed to keep it to ourselves. ?lfric, Orm, Ketil, Thorvald and I. We were the only ones who knew. Oh God. We shouldn’t have waited. We should have warned everyone straight away. We should have started making ready to leave, just like Thorvald said. And now what if it’s too late? Tova, what if the Normans have been? We need to go back. We have to.’

Tova clasps Merewyn’s trembling hand in her own. ‘We can’t. You know we can’t.’

Her eyes are wide. ‘Do you think they got away? What if they didn’t?’

‘They will have. They must have. I’m sure of it.’

‘How can you be sure?’

Desperately Tova glances around, but Beorn has gone. He’s walking away, down the track.

‘Beorn, wait!’

On hearing his name he stops and turns.

Tova runs after him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To find their horses and search their packs. To see if they have anything I might use. Then I’m heading north.’

Tova’s heart sinks. ‘You’re leaving us?’

‘You don’t want to come with me. Believe me, you don’t.’

‘Where are you headed?’

‘A place called Hagustaldesham, near the old wall, the one built by the Romans that runs from sea to sea. A long way from here, in St Cuthbert’s land.’

She’s never heard of it. ‘Why? What’s there?’

‘It’s where all those who still oppose King Wilelm are making their stand. He didn’t crush the rebellion, only scattered it. Some have given up the fight; others have submitted to him, but not all. Those who are left, who still believe we have a chance of defeating the foreigners, they’re gathering there. Our last stronghold.’

The rebellion. She hasn’t heard anyone speak of it in months. Not since their menfolk came back in the weeks between harvest and Christmas. The great rising, led by the ?theling Eadgar, which was supposed to drive the invaders from the kingdom and back across the Narrow Sea. The war that promised victory and ended in ruin.

She asks, ‘You fought in the rebellion?’

‘Girl, I don’t have time to stand here all night talking.’

‘You can’t just abandon us,’ she protests. ‘Not if there are more of them out there.’

‘Hagustaldesham is where I need to be.’

James Aitcheson's books