Sihtric’s stone hissed and scraped on the steel. The water rippled, the bare branches clattered in the wind, a night creature splashed into the river, a vixen howled like a dying soul, and somewhere an owl hooted. I could have been married four years ago, lord! And I must be nineteen by now, lord! Maybe even twenty?
He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had brightened, as though he had been encouraged by my words. Sihtric, my servant, squatted beside me and stroked a whetstone along the blade of his short-sword. The rest of us were in leather and mail, had helmets, and carried shields, axes, swords, or spears. I could hardly see him in the darkness, but knew he wore a leather jerkin and had a sword at his side. The ship’s master was called Ralla and he stood beside me with one hand on the steering-oar. There were thirty-eight of us in that nameless boat, which was a trading ship that worked the upper reaches of the Temes. We were hidden beneath the leafless, bending branches of three willow trees, held there against the current by a leather mooring rope tied to one of those branches. Our boat, which had no name, lay close to the Wessex bank. In summer those streams would be dry, but now they foamed down the long green hills and filled the river and flowed to the distant sea. The winterbournes were flowing from the chalk uplands of Wessex. The river was in spate as melted snow fed it from countless hills. We floated on the River Temes, and beyond the boat’s high bow I could see the stars reflected on the shimmering water.
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