Page 53 of The Saxon Lord's Bride

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Something in my voice reached him, because the argument faded from his face as he nodded.

“Good. Tell Wulfric the first group is moving.”

Wystan vanished into the trees as the clearing began to empty in layers. Children went first, followed by the old people and anyone too injured to move quickly, while the rest carried food, blankets, water skins, cooking pots, and whatever small pieces of their lives they could lift. The refugees had arrived exhausted the night before and were now being moved again before they’d had time to recover, yet no one complained, and that frightened me more than the complaints would have.

Gilda passed carrying an iron pot beneath one arm.

“Put that down.”

“It is a good pot.”

“It weighs more than the child behind you.”

“The child complains more.”

The child, a thin boy of perhaps seven, looked deeply offended.

We stared at one another until I shrugged.

“Fine. Stay near the north trail.”

“I know how to survive a battle.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve survived several through pure stubbornness.”

“Aye.”

She walked away before I could stop her, and though every instinct told me to go after her and remove the pot by force, there was no time.

The Norman horns were deeper than Wulfric’s, a low, cold sound that rolled through the trees until the whole camp seemed to hold its breath.

Wystan came running.

“They are at the first barrier.”

“How many?”

“Wulfric says near ninety. Some on horse.”

My stomach dropped. We had fewer than half that number who could fight, and many of ours were villagers holding spears because the alternative was standing empty-handed while men on horseback came through the trees.

“Tell him the children are moving, and I need warning before he falls back.”

Wystan nodded and ran.

“Not through the center,” I shouted after him. “Use the west path.”

He changed direction without slowing.

The first wounded man reached us minutes later. It was Osric, blood covered one side of his face. I caught him by both shoulders before he could stagger past.

“Where?”

“My head.”

“I can see that. Are you dizzy?”

“Nay.”