Edgar saw Stiggy draw his sword. “Look out!” he yelled, but atthat moment Stiggy ran his sword into Seric’s back until it stuck out the front of his belly. Seric cried out like a wounded animal and collapsed. Edgar found himself breathing hard, as if he had run a mile. It was the shock of such a cold-blooded murder.
Stiggy calmly drew his sword out of Seric’s guts.
Garulf said: “Seric is not your headman now.”
The men-at-arms laughed.
Edgar had seen enough. He was horrified and frightened. His first instinct was to tell Ragna what he had seen. He climbed rapidly down from the tree. But when he reached the ground he hesitated.
He was close to the river and could swim across and get on the Shiring road in a couple of minutes. That way he would have a good chance of getting away without being seen by any of Garulf’s men. He could leave his raft and his load of stone at the quarry: Combe Priory would have to wait.
But his horse, Buttress, was at the quarry, and so was Ragna’s money. Edgar had almost a pound of silver for her in his chest, the proceeds of sales of stone, and she might need that money.
He made a snap decision. He had to risk his life by staying in Outhenham a few minutes longer. Instead of heading for the river he ran in the opposite direction, toward the quarry.
It took him only a few minutes to get there. He unlocked his house and retrieved his money chest from its hiding place. He tipped Ragna’s money into a leather purse that he attached to his belt, then locked up his house again.
Buttress stepped onto the raft willingly, being used to sailing. Brindle jumped on, too, eager as ever despite her age. Then Edgar untied the raft and pushed off.
He had never before noticed how slowly the raft traveled alongthe canal. There was no stream to drive it, so the only impetus came from the pole he wielded. He pushed with all his might, but his speed barely increased.
As he passed along the ends of the backyards, the noise from the village green increased in volume—and, he thought, anger. Despite the murder of Seric, the villagers were courageously protesting against Garulf’s announcements. There was going to be more violence, he had no doubt. Could he bypass it?
He drew level with the oak that had concealed him, and began to hope that he would get away without being noticed. A moment later that hope was dashed. He saw two men and a woman running from the alehouse toward the river. By their dress he knew they were villagers. A man-at-arms came after them, sword in hand, and Edgar recognized Bada. Fighting had broken out.
Edgar cursed. He could not pass them: they were faster than the raft. This was dangerous. If he was captured, Garulf would not let him leave Outhenham. He was known to be an associate of Ragna’s, and in the middle of a coup that might be enough reason for Garulf to kill him.
One of the peasant men stumbled and fell. Edgar saw that he had floury white streaks in his dark beard: he was Wilmund the baker, and the two with him were his wife, Regenhild, and their son, Penda, now nineteen and taller than ever.
Regenhild stopped and turned to help Wilmund. As Bada raised his sword she flew at him, weaponless, her hands extended to scratch his face. He swung his sword through the air uselessly and pushed her away with his left hand, raising his right to strike at Wilmund again.
Then Penda intervened. He picked up a rock the size of a fist andhurled it. It hit Bada in the chest, hard enough to throw him off balance so that his second sword stroke also went wild.
The raft drew level with the fighters.
Edgar was full of fear, and desperate to get away, but he could not watch and do nothing while people he knew were murdered. He dropped his pole, leaped from the raft to the bank of the canal, and drew his iron-headed hammer from his belt.
Wilmund got to his knees. Bada thrust with his sword and this time hit his target, though obliquely. His point entered the soft part of Wilmund’s thigh, next to the hip, and went in deep. Regenhild screamed and knelt beside her husband. Bada lifted his weapon to dispatch her.
Edgar ran at him, hammer raised high, and hit him with all his might.
At the last moment Bada moved to the left, and Edgar’s hammer landed on his shoulder. There was an audible snap as a bone broke. Bada roared with pain. His right arm went limp and his sword fell from his hand. He dropped to the ground, groaning.
But Bada was not alone. Pounding steps from the village alerted Edgar. He looked back to see another man-at-arms approaching. It was Stiggy.
Regenhild and Penda got Wilmund to his feet. He was crying out in agony but he managed to put one foot in front of the other and the three of them staggered away. Stiggy ignored the helpless peasants and headed for Edgar, who with his hammer in his hand was evidently the one who had wounded Stiggy’s comrade Bada. Edgar knew he was only moments away from death.
He turned and dashed toward the canal. The raft had driftedseveral yards. He heard running steps behind him. Reaching the edge he leaped through the air and landed on the stones.
Turning back, he saw the baker’s family disappear into the houses. They were safe, at least for now.
He saw Stiggy picking up rocks from the ground.
Fighting down panic he lay flat, sticking his hammer into his belt, and rolled into the water on the far side of the raft just as a large rock flew over his head. Brindle jumped into the water alongside him.
He grabbed the side of the raft with one hand and ducked his head. He heard a series of thuds and guessed that Stiggy’s rocks were hitting the quarry stones. He heard Buttress’s hooves stamp, and hoped his pony would not be hurt.
His feet touched the far bank of the canal. He turned in the water and pushed the raft in the direction of the river as hard as he could. He put his face above the surface just long enough to fill his lungs, then submerged again.
