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he drink his fill and wheel away?
He raised his dripping nose and snorted. She waded into the stream. He shook his head. She froze, too
late. He whirled in a cascade of leaves. No, she screamed silently. Don't go.
To her surprise, the great horse took only a step or two before he paused and bent his neck to look
around at her. He shook his head, as if to clear it. Dear one, thank you for stopping. She realized she
still held her half-eaten apple. Slowly she held it out to him. He tossed his head and stood his ground.
Britta did not move. The icy stream took her kirtle and spread it soddenly downstream. There! He made
his decision. He blew his breath out his nose and took a step toward her, curious. Or maybe he liked
apples.
"Come, my beauty," she murmured. Three steps. Now into the water. The great horse stretched out his
neck. His lips caressed her palm as he mouthed the apple. His huge tongue moved the pieces smoothly to
his great grinding teeth. There was a crunch, crunch, crunch, and it was gone except for the juicy dribble
from his chin.
"Good boy," she crooned and held her hand out again, empty now. He bent his nose into her palm and
snorted softly. The warmth of his breath shot through her. She could not help but move in toward his
chest and lay her head on his shoulder. They stood in the shallow, icy water while she ran her hand over
his hot flank. The earth seemed to flow up through his hooves and bone and sinew, right into her cheek.
"Hey," Karn called, sitting up. Britta jerked her attention up, and so did her companion. "A horse?" he
asked in surprise. She felt the beast's nose stiffen and she patted the great neck to calm him, grimacing a
warning at Karn.
"Did someone try to catch you when you wanted to be wild?" she asked the huge horse softly, fingering
his rope. She walked through the stream toward Karn. Her new friend followed docilely. She did not
know whom to thank, but she was sure this was a gift.
Karn looked amazed.
"Here is your horse," she said. "You ride today."
Midday tomorrow they would be in Thetford, Offa thought, as all across the hollow under the protection
of the hills, men made a camp out of chaos. Wagons were pulled up. Horses whinnied as they were led
out of their traces. Could that weakling Edmund meld his raucous and conniving thegns into an army? The
threat of the Danes just might hold them together. Offa hoped not. He wanted that honor for himself. Offa
hefted the saddle from his horse.
"Offa," Badenoth called. He dragged a wizened man with wild white hair streaming out from a bald pate.
"See the healer I have brought you. I found him in that village yesterday."
"Healer?" Offa growled as he threw his saddle to the ground. "We could use a healer."
"You want the young red-haired healer, not me," the wretch called over his shoulder.
Offa swung around. "What?" He strode over to the pair. "What did you say about a red-haired healer?"
"Nothing," Badenoth apologized. "Just the ravings of a lunatic."
"She is more powerful than me," the old man babbled. "Take her to war, not an old man."
Offa grabbed the old man's other arm. "Where did you see her?"
"At the village. She healed a baby." Spittle formed at the corners of the old man's mouth. "Some said it
was a miracle."
Raedwald appeared out of the maelstrom of men, drawn by the words of the old healer, his mouth
agape. "It can't be," he muttered as much to himself as Offa, fear etched on his face.
Offa held up a hand for silence and motioned Badenoth to let the old man go. "Did she have a Viking
with her, this red-haired witch?" he asked slowly.
The old healer looked for some sign of how he should respond. "Well?" Offa challenged.
"No," the old man shook his head. "No Viking."
Offa stroked his beard. She could have left him, but somehow he didn't think so.
"She had only a slave who limped. She claimed to have cured him."
Offa's stomach dropped into the dirt. He waved blindly at Badenoth to remove the man.
"I won't believe it," Offa whispered to Raedwald, who had gone white, as Badenoth and his charge
retreated. "We sent them straight to Hell." Offa jerked around to pick up his saddle.
Raedwald placed a hand on his shoulder. "No. It is two days' ride back there. Let it go."
"More like a night and a day if I ride through," Offa said between clenched teeth.
"They will not be there. They will have moved on."
Offa turned to Raedwald and gripped him by the shoulders. "We cannot leave this handmaid of Satan
free. She defies me. My God and my honor demand her death."
"Yes, my lord," Raedwald soothed. "She and the Viking will both pay. But you have wanted the throne
all your life. This is your best chance. You must to Thetford at the head of your troops, else they will look
to Edmund as their leader."
Raedwald spoke truth. He couldn't leave Edmund a free field.
"You can find them again easily," Raedwald continued. "And when you are king in Edmund's stead, you
will have all of Anglia at your back to take your revenge."
Offa wanted the release of skewering that red-haired witch and her Viking lover on his shining blade. He
could find them, but it might not be so easy to kill them. They had already escaped twice. He leaned on
his horse, torn, his head in his hands. The horse sidled nervously. Raedwald reached to take the saddle
off again.
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