Adrian looked back toward the road below the high ground.
The hoofprints vanished after crossing the slope, beyond which lay the road leading inland.
The baron had fled.
The cavalry had fled.
All they had left behind were men on foot, dressed in worn chain mail and clutching rusted iron swords.
The squire stood beside him, his face as pale as paper.
His knuckles had turned white around the hilt of his sword, and his lips trembled as though he wanted to speak, yet no words came out.
His gaze darted between the Vikings surging in from the sea and Adrian, unable to settle on either.
Adrian removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, grabbed the back of the squire’s collar, and pulled him a step closer.
“Follow me.” His voice was not loud, but it cut clearly through the surrounding clamor.
The squire stumbled from the sudden pull, regained his balance, and swallowed hard before nodding vigorously.
Adrian released his collar, turned around, and swept his gaze across the chaotic crowd.
Some men had already thrown away their shields and begun running, while others stood frozen in place, seemingly nailed to the ground and unsure of what to do.
Several crouched with their heads clutched between their hands.
Their fingers were buried in their hair, their bodies curled into tight balls, and their shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
Those fleeing stepped over them without hesitation.
Boots struck the abandoned shields with dull metallic thuds, yet no one stopped to help the fallen men back to their feet.
Surrender was useless.
The pagans would not spare them.
If a warrior of God fell into Viking hands, then unless he could pay a ransom, decapitation would likely be the most merciful fate awaiting him.
Most of the men here could never afford such a ransom.
They were neither nobles nor barons, and no one would hand over a bag of silver coins to save them.
Adrian looked from side to side.
The battle line had completely collapsed.
Ahead were the advancing Vikings, while behind them surged a chaotic mass of serfs and infantrymen.
Woods lay to both the east and west.
The eastern forest was denser, filled with thick trunks and deep undergrowth, and anyone who managed to slip inside would be difficult to track.
However, the path leading there was already packed with people shoving and pushing one another.
A serf was knocked down and planted his hands in the mud, but before he could rise, another man crashed into him, sending both of them sprawling.
A shield rolled aside and was kicked away beneath the crowd.
Curses and shouts blended into an indistinguishable cacophony, and it was impossible to tell who was shouting at whom.
Everyone’s eyes were bloodshot.
Everyone wanted to be the first to escape.
Adrian did not attempt to force his way through them.
Instead, he seized the squire by the arm and moved north, keeping close to the edge of the broken formation.
There were fewer people in that direction because it did not lead toward the woods.
The land to the north was open and offered no cover once they reached it.
Yet precisely because everyone else was crowding toward the eastern forest, the northern side had become almost deserted.
Adrian carefully avoided those rushing past.
The squire followed closely behind, breathing in rapid, shallow gasps that sounded as though he were struggling not to cry.
A serf rushed toward them from the side, staring straight ahead without noticing Adrian.
His shoulder slammed into Adrian’s armored shoulder with a sharp clatter of iron rings.
The impact knocked Adrian half a step sideways, but he quickly steadied himself.
The man did not even look back and continued forcing his way east.
The sounds of battle from the shore were growing louder.
Among the screams came the dull thuds of axes biting into flesh, followed by the strangled noises forced from the throats of falling men.
The Vikings had already broken into the routed ranks and were hacking their way through them from rear to front.
Each heavy blow was followed by a scream that ended almost as quickly as it began.
The squire gripped Adrian’s bracer so tightly that Adrian could feel the pressure even through his chain mail.
His fingernails dug between the metal rings, making them creak faintly.
“Don’t look back,” Adrian said.
The squire did not release him.
Adrian continued north.
The ground soon began to slope downward in a gentle incline, and at its base lay an old, dried riverbed covered in pebbles and withered grass.
The riverbed curved westward.
Once they followed it around the bend, they would be able to circle toward the northern edge of the forest and enter without having to push through the panicked crowd.
Adrian pulled the squire down the slope.
His boots slipped across the loose pebbles, so he braced himself with his scabbard, regained his footing, and reached back to help the young man descend.
The two moved west in a crouch, keeping close to the earthen wall of the riverbed.
The sounds of battle behind them became muffled by the raised banks, as though a wall had been placed between them and the slaughter.
They could still hear it, however.
Distant, dull noises drifted over the slope, occasionally pierced by a sharp scream.
The squire finally released Adrian’s bracer.
He followed behind with his body bent low, one hand pressed against the rocky wall for support.
His fingers dug into the gaps between the stones, and he did not even notice when the rough edges scraped his knuckles raw.
The sounds of battle gradually faded.
Distance and the earthen walls stripped them away layer by layer until nothing remained but the wind whistling overhead.
The riverbed eventually came to an end.
Ahead stood a gentle slope covered in clumps of dead grass, with a sparse birch forest at its crest.
Beyond the trees lay the camp where the army had gathered the previous day.
Adrian climbed the slope, crouched at the edge of the birch forest, and looked toward the camp.
It was deserted.
Traces of the previous day’s encampment remained everywhere: churned mud, piles of cold campfire ash, and abandoned tents sagging half-collapsed against the ground.
Their loose fabric billowed and deflated in the wind.
There was no one in sight.
Neither Anglo-Saxons nor Vikings.
Adrian rose and walked into the camp.
“Search the area,” he said, his gaze moving across the cold fire pits and scattered bedding rolls.
“There may still be something useful.” The squire nodded and moved toward the left side of the camp, while Adrian searched the right.
They worked quickly, crouching to inspect each abandoned pile before rising and moving to the next.
At the same time, they kept their ears alert for the wind, the rustling of birch leaves, and any sound that did not belong.
Every few moments, one of them would raise his head and glance toward the sea.
The canopy blocked their view, but both knew that men were still dying beyond the trees.
The squire pulled a cloth bundle from beneath a collapsed tent, opened it briefly, and stuffed it beneath his tunic.
He also found a waterskin beside an abandoned bedding roll, shook it, and heard water sloshing inside before hanging it from his waist.
Adrian discovered half a loaf of rye bread beside a pile of cold ashes.
It was hard, and its edges had been charred black by the fire, but when he pressed a fingernail into it, he found that the inside was still soft.
It was edible.
He broke the bread in half, tucked one piece beneath his tunic, and handed the other to the squire.
The young man accepted it without a word and put it away.
There was little food to be found.
In a camp abandoned after an army had gathered, anything edible would already have been carried away by the soldiers.
What remained were items too inconvenient to carry or things dropped in the panic: a tattered blanket with a hole gnawed through it by mice, several hemp ropes used to secure tents, and a wooden spoon with a broken handle.
The ropes were soaked in muddy water and had become stiff, while dried porridge still clung to the spoon’s bowl.
Near the edge of the camp, the squire crouched beside something and turned back to beckon Adrian over.
“My lord.” Adrian walked toward him.
A pickaxe and a sickle lay on the ground, propped against a wooden stake.
The pickaxe’s wooden handle had been polished smooth by years of use, and although a thin layer of rust covered the iron head, its edge remained serviceable.
The blade of the sickle had two small nicks, but they would not prevent it from cutting.
The two tools leaned side by side as though someone had deliberately placed them there before walking away and forgetting to return.
There was no telling which unfortunate man they had belonged to.
Perhaps he had carried them to the assembly the day before, believing he would return to his fields once the battle was over.
Now, he could be running along the beach, lying dead among the gravel, or crouched somewhere with his head clutched between his hands.
Whatever had become of him, his farming tools remained behind.
The squire looked up at Adrian while still clutching the cloth bundle he had taken from beneath the tent.
“My lord, should we take them?” Adrian crouched, picked up the pickaxe, and weighed it in his hand.
The smooth polish worn into the handle by countless palms pressed against his skin, still faintly warm as though some trace of its previous owner’s body heat remained.
He tucked the pickaxe beneath his arm, picked up the sickle, and turned it over to inspect the blade.
It was nicked, but still perfectly usable.
“Take them,” he said.
He handed the tattered blanket and hemp ropes to the squire.
“You carry these.” The squire accepted them and gathered everything awkwardly into his arms.
He still held the cloth bundle in one hand, the waterskin was tucked beneath his arm, and half a loaf of rye bread bulged beneath his tunic, leaving him looking thoroughly disheveled.
Adrian scanned the camp once more.
There was nothing else worth taking.
Half a loaf of rye bread, a waterskin, two hemp ropes, a tattered blanket, a pickaxe, and a sickle.
There was also the bulging cloth bundle in the squire’s arms, though Adrian still had no idea what it contained.
“Let’s go.” He secured the pickaxe and sickle beneath his belt, then turned and headed toward the birch forest.