text: During the rest of that long warm day, they did as Aedwen had suggested and spoke to some of the travellers they passed. One man, who was leading a heavily laden cart drawn by two oxen, seemed pleased at the chance to stop and talk. He was accompanied by two thickset men who looked like brothers, or maybe cousins. They both had the same small piggy eyes and massive shoulders almost as broad as the oxen. Each of them carried a stout cudgel and Dunston thought they would be deterrent enough against all but the most determined brigands. When the carter halted, the two guards slumped into the grass at the edge of the path. They said nothing, but their gaze did not waver from Aedwen and Dunston.
  
  The carter offered Dunston a drink of ale from a costrel which he took from the bed of the cart. He didn't offer any to his escorts, who just glowered from the shade of the verge. It was good ale, fresh and cool and despite his reservations about being seen on the road, Dunston found he trusted the carter implicitly. Unlike the cudgel-bearing louts, the man had an open face, a quick smile and guileless eyes.
  
  He was taking a load of salt and smoked fish to Bathum and had been on the road for two days already. When asked whether he'd seen a large group of riders he answered immediately.
  
  "I saw the king himself riding out to hunt with his nobles. A fine sight it was, all those horses trotting high-hoofed in the sunlight." He looked wistful at the memory. "Like something out of a song."
  
  "The king, you say?" Dunston asked. "When was this?"
  
  "That was on the morning I left Exanceaster. The king arrived a week ago with so many hearth warriors and thegns, they must have eaten all the meat in the city by now. Perhaps that's why they went hunting." He laughed.
  
  "Have you seen any other riders more recently? A band of them?"
  
  The carter took back the costrel from Dunston with a nod.
  
  "Oh yes," he said, taking a draught of the ale. "A group of horsemen galloped past and I called out to them. Asked them whither they were headed in such a hurry. I didn't really expect a reply. They looked a rough sort, if you know what I mean. But the last one shouted out to me as he passed. He looked even more vicious than the rest. I'll never forget what he said."
  
  "What was that?"
  
  "He said, 'Just be thankful we're not looking for you.' Then he laughed. It sent a chill right through me, I can tell you. I pity whoever it is they are after. They looked fit to murder someone."
  
  Dunston didn't tell the carter how right he was. Instead he asked him about the men.
  
  "I can't tell you much," he answered, lifting the cap he wore and scratching beneath it at his sweaty hair. "They were driving those horses fast and they were past us in a flash." He thought for a moment and took a swig of ale. "All I can remember really is that they carried spears and I'm sure at least a couple of them had swords. I wondered whether the fyrd had been called, I've heard nothing. Have you?"
  
  Dunston told the man he did not believe that the levies had been called to arms.
  
  "May God be praised," the carter said finally, pushing the stopper into the mouth of his flask. "I was worried that perhaps the heathens had attacked again." The man crossed himself then and the talk of Norsemen had spoilt his good humour. "Well," he said, "Godspeed to you and your granddaughter. I'd best be getting on my way. Come along, you two."
  
  Grumbling, his guards climbed to their feet.
  
  As the red-faced carter goaded his oxen forward once more Dunston called after him.
  
  "Have you seen by chance a monk travelling south on the road?"
  
  "A monk?" the man replied. "No, I can't say that I have. Good day to you both now."
  
  Dunston pondered over the information the carter had given them as they had walked southward.
  
  "Perhaps Ithamar has already reached his destination," Aedwen said.
  
  "Perhaps."
  
  They trudged on through the heat of the afternoon. When they passed settlements and steadings Dunston could see the longing for rest in Aedwen's eyes. But he felt too exposed to stop. It was too dangerous and so they pressed on, hurrying past hamlets and thorpes that Dunston did not recognise. He had seldom travelled this way before and he'd been alone in his forest home for many years.
  
  They had just left a small settlement behind them and Dunston could sense the reproach from Aedwen. The sun was lowering in the sky and by not seeking shelter at the farm, he had consigned them to another night in the forest.
  
  "Where do you think Ithamar is?" Aedwen asked suddenly.
  
  Dunston sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.
  
  "If nobody has seen him on the road, I don't know."
  
  "Can't you track him?" she asked.
  
  He snorted.
  
  "I can read sign better than most," he said. "But I'm not a miracle worker. Ithamar is two days ahead of us and this road is too well-travelled to find tracks. No, unless we find something to lead us to him, all I can think of is to continue following the horsemen." Even as he said the words the idea sounded mad to him. Five armed warriors on horseback. Even if he was able to catch up with them, what then? What good could come of catching this mounted, murderous quarry?
  
  They walked on without speaking. Dunston brooded. This was madness. If only he had never found Lytelman. He could have been sitting back in his hut, resting after a day of forging or hunting, Odin sleeping at his feet. Now Odin was gone and as likely as not he would be dead soon too. He glanced at Aedwen and for a moment, the shape of her nose, the sunlight picking out the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, reminded him of Eawynn when they had first met all those summers ago. She had been not much older than Aedwen he realised with a start. He sighed. God's teeth, he had been young then too. How quickly the years washed by, sweeping away loved ones and youth and leaving only fading memories.
  
  He shook his head and cursed silently at his own foolishness. Not because of the course they now followed, but at his dwelling on the past and bemoaning his decisions. There was no changing the past, just as there was no holding back the water in a raging river.
  
  The path sloped down into a shaded vale. Alders encroached on the road to either side and it seemed as though a mist hung in the still air. There was nobody on the road now. Nobody apart from the two of them. Anyone with any sense had already sought shelter for the night or had made camp, he thought, with a rueful smile. They should get off the road and find a place to make a fire. He looked up at the sky and the shreds of cloud that floated high, tinged with the pink of sunset. It looked to be a clear night, it would be cold, but they had brought blankets and cloaks from Beornmod's hall, so they should be comfortable enough.
  
  They entered the shadows beneath the alders and Dunston wondered about the mist. Could it be so cold down here? Perhaps there was a stream running through the woodland. Mist often formed over cool water, though not on sunny afternoons. He frowned and sniffed the air.
  
  His mouth slowly stretched into a grin. By the rood and all the saints, he must be tired not to have realised what it was that he saw in the valley.
  
  "What is it?" asked Aedwen.
  
  "If my nose does not deceive me, we will not be cold this night and we will not camp alone."
  
  Aedwen lifted her head and scented the hazy air.
  
  "Smoke? Do you think it is safe for us to camp with other travellers?"
  
  "That is smoke," he replied, with a broad smile. "But not from a traveller's campfire. Now, there should be a path somewhere into the wood. Come. Quickly, before it is too dark."
  
  He led her on at a faster pace. The gloom under the trees grew thicker, as did the haze of smoke. It drifted across the road in a fug.
  
  "Here," Dunston said at last, peering down at the ground and looking at the tracks in the mud where a path led off from the road into the shadows of the forest. He stood, with a slight frown on his face. Could that print of a soft leather shoe be from the same wearer as the track he had seen at Cantmael? Possibly. But it was getting dark and he could not be sure. He stepped over the muddy patch.
  
  "Careful," he said, "don't step there."
  
  "Where are we going?" asked Aedwen.
  
  "Quiet now," he said, holding a finger to his lips. He held DeaÞangenga before him, just in case he was wrong. "Stay behind me," he whispered. "And with luck we will soon enough have warmth and company for the night."
  
  He saw her questioning look in the gathering dark, but chose to say no more. He turned and walked silently into the woods, towards the source of the billowing smoke that now stung their eyes, and filled their throats.