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"Else we would have cloven their skulls," Bjorn spat.
"Why here?" Karn wondered aloud. The fenland was not a place for collecting wealth.
Walther sat heavily on a stool outside his smithy. "They were on their way to Ely looking for Britta." He
sighed. "But the fork-bearded one still took time to take our silver."
The bottom dropped out of Karn's stomach. "They wanted Britta?" he repeated. "A Saxon with a forked
beard?" He gathered himself. "What was his name?" There were many Saxons who parted their beard.
"Offa, they called him," Snurri said as he wandered up, rubbing his bare wrists.
Karn closed his eyes. "Britta is in this place, this Ely?" He tried to gather his wits.
"Offa thinks so. He says the whole countryside waits for the Abbess of Ely to declare her a saint."
Walther put out a hand to steady him, but Karn broke away at an uneven run for the pen that held the
horses. He grabbed his saddle and pushed through the gate.
"Where are you going?" Walther and Jael cried in unison, but in two different languages.
Karn had no time for questions. "Where is this Ely?" he snapped. He threw a bridle over Thorn's head as
the other horses jostled around him.
"Due south," Walther answered. "You cannot get there before them and you are no match for their
number."
"He is after her because she helped me. I cannot let her pay for that," Karn said in Danish to Jael. His
friend and Walther exchanged looks. Both knew it was no use to argue, and Karn was glad. That would
save time. "I need some jerky, Walther. How many days?"
"Two," the smith said, and motioned Hild into their hut. "Go east to the limestone plateau and follow it
south as far as it will go, then strike southwest."
Karn swung himself into the saddle. Thorn snorted. "Stay out of trouble until I return," he called over his
shoulder to Jael in Danish. "They will not hurt you if you keep to yourself." He smiled grimly. "Without me
to translate, your Saxon might improve." Hild came rushing up and handed him a hastily tied bundle.
"As though you have been here to translate." Jael shook his head. But he motioned Karn to go. "You will
not be satisfied until you have found this Saxon woman. Who can deny you?"
Karn drew Walther's wonderful sword half out of its scabbard. "I must take this with me, Walther," he
said curtly, then spun Thorn's head to the south. "But I will return it if I can."
They had most of a day upon him. That thought would not be banished as he rode, pushing his horse
onward. They had come in the morning, and he had started almost as the sun was setting. But they would
stop to rest and he would not. The moon was high and lit his way through thin, streaming clouds. He
stuck to the limestone plateaus.
The vision of Britta, taken by Offa, drove Karn on. The magic that might protect her was gone because
she had lain with him. He gritted his teeth and pushed Thorn through hawthorn trees, black skeletons in
the night. She had courage, Britta. She was going to be declared a Christian saint. Though she had fallen
to Offa when she was but a girl, now she rose from the ashes of her suffering to rebuild her life. Karn's
breath came in gasps. In that they were the same. Somewhere in the last months he had found the will to
go on, even after what Offa did. He'd almost lost that when Ulf laughed at him. He'd almost lost it when
Britta left. But he had not. And now he knew where she was. He could be of service to her. Ulf would
not have the last word. Britta would.
Yet if she was declared a saint, she was lost to him. That cut at his heart. No matter. What mattered was
that he saved her from Offa and that she got what she wanted.
Karn rubbed Thorn's neck and felt the lather there. He swung down off the saddle and pulled the horse
behind him. It was close to dawn. His long trek had cost him precious strength. He flexed fingers and
toes. They were still returning to life.
As he limped ahead, the image of Offa danced before his eyes almost as often as Britta's face. How he
would like to meet the thegn here, now, and use Walther's sword to cleave his skull! But he was not
strong enough to best him. He knew that. Britta must be saved by stealth, not strength. Offa would have
to wait. Now, Thorn, he thought, comes our real test. We push on, though our strength wanes.
Alphonse came again to get Britta. He was joined by several monks, who formed a cordon around her
as she stumbled out of her cell into the growing gloom of late afternoon. Britta's periods of clarity were
gone. It had been so many days. She had only seen the abbess that once. What could the woman want
of her? What could she say to gain her freedom?
The little band moved toward the great wooden gates across the abbey courtyard. She could hardly
believe her good fortune. They were going to let her go! Brother Ilwith drew back the gates' great bolt.
Britta imagined herself melting into the crowd she could hear outside and escaping to the fens. She
looked around for Fenris. How could she go without the dog? Brother Alphonse stood forlornly nearby.
"Please bring Fenris to me," she begged as Ilwith opened the great gates. "You promised you would
keep him safe." Brother Alphonse looked as though he might say something, then stopped himself and
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