As they approached the small villages near Roxburgh, the group of men advanced with a firm step. They wore Saxon armor stained with dried blood. A woman from the settlement spotted them in the distance and immediately called her husband. The man came out into the street with a sword in his hand, watched the newcomers carefully, and asked them in Saxon:
"Soldiers... Where do you come from?"
He could not recognize which garrison they belonged to. King Osberht tried to warn him with his gaze, but the words would not leave his throat; behind him, he felt the cold touch of a dagger tip pressing against his ribs. None of the Vikings answered, as none understood the Saxon language.
At that moment, several villagers and the few guards watching the place approached. Fixing their eyes on the man who came among them, severely disfigured, one of the soldiers shouted in horror:
"My God... It is King Osberht!"
They recognized him by the insignia on his clothing. Hurried, the guard pointed them toward a wooden chair in front of one of the houses and ordered them:
"Sit him there! Bring the healers! Let someone help the king immediately!"
He then turned to another soldier and shouted urgently:
"Ride to the city! Warn them the king is alive!"
The guard looked at the disguised warriors with deep gratitude, firmly believing they were loyal soldiers who had saved the monarch’s life. Torstein and his men sat Osberht in the wooden chair and stationed themselves behind him as escorts. The king looked at the Saxon guard with rage and helplessness, unable to denounce the trap.
A few minutes later, a woman appeared with her bag of remedies, ready to attend to the king and earn a good reward. However, upon seeing the tools in her hands, Torstein took her by the arm and pointed to the improvised stretcher where Thorir lay.
The woman ignored the gesture and tried to move toward the king, but one of the Vikings held her firmly and spoke to her in his own Norse language so she would understand who they were, pointing to Thorir again.
Hearing the foreign tongue, the villagers and local guards backed away in fear, understanding that they had fallen for a deception. The soldier who gave the alert order tried to stay calm and shouted:
"They are just wounded! Do not be afraid! The army is already on its way!"
However, the warning he sent to the city only informed them of the king’s rescue, not the presence of the Vikings. The woman, who was no fool, caught the desperation of the moment, looked at the Viking holding her, and begged for her life.
Torstein approached her. This time he did not take her roughly, but with an almost pleading gesture, showing her his son. The healer observed Thorir: the arrow was embedded in his side and a high fever was beginning to consume him.
The woman handed a clean cloth to one of the Vikings, indicating with signs that she would extract the tip and he must press the wound to prevent him from bleeding out. The warrior nodded.
While the healer began the delicate operation, Hárekr leaned back against a large wooden table nearby. He noticed that the cut on his left pectoral was opening again and blood was dripping down his torso. Torstein and the others noticed, as did Hárekr himself, but the absolute priority at that moment was to save Thorir.
Amid the tense silence, a little girl, the healer’s daughter, watched Hárekr gasping in pain. Trembling with fear, she approached him and said in a low voice:
"I can help you..."
The little one stared at him. Hárekr did not understand the words, but he perceived the fear in her eyes and the silent plea for him not to hurt her mother.
The young chieftain offered her a slight smile and stroked her head. The girl, feeling the warm gesture of the invader, let out a sigh of relief. She then took a needle and thread from her bag to sew up his wound.
Hárekr let out a brief, tired laugh and dropped to one knee, adjusting his posture to leave the wound within the little girl’s reach.
The girl had seen her mother heal the sick dozens of times and knew what she was doing, but it was the first time she had healed someone with her own hands, and none other than a Northman warrior, in a land where hatred toward Vikings was deep and bloody.
Hárekr watched the girl’s hands tremble as she held the needle. He was going to say something to reassure her, but he noticed Torstein and the others staring at her like hungry wolves.
He let out a brief laugh and offered a warm smile to the little one so she would gain confidence. About an hour passed this way.
The girl’s mother finished attending to Thorir, leaving his recovery to luck and destiny. King Osberht, seeing that the woman finished her work, thought with relief that his turn to be healed had finally come.
Hárekr stood up. Thanks to the girl, the wound on his pectoral had been sewn shut and the blood had stopped gushing. Mother and daughter stepped aside immediately. By that time, the place was completely surrounded by Saxon soldiers. One of the king’s main commanders, a high-ranking officer who had not participated in the failed night ambush, stepped forward and said to Hárekr in a firm tone:
"Northmen, what do you intend to do with our king? If you harm him, you will not leave here alive."
Hárekr, not understanding a single word, simply measured him with his gaze. The Saxon officer, noticing there was no comprehension, called for an interpreter who had some command of the northern tongue.
The interpreter translated the message clumsily. Hárekr let out a laugh full of disdain and replied: The source of this chapter is g.com.
"We want horses, food, and medicine. We will leave here and leave your dying king to you."
He said it gripping King Osberht tightly by the neck. The king was gravely wounded and numb; if the negotiation dragged on for a few more minutes, he would die right there.
The Saxon commander, letting out a heavy sigh, prioritized his king’s life and answered:
"So be it."
Hárekr cast one last look at his men. Torstein held his son, who was slowly beginning to regain some color in his face, though the fever continued to consume him from within.
A few minutes later, the Saxons delivered the horses loaded with supplies and medicine. Hárekr nodded, satisfied. He then pointed to the healer and her daughter and declared:
"I am taking them with me."
He decided it not only to guarantee Thorir’s care on the road but because he knew full well that the Saxons would not forgive two peasant women for having healed the invaders.
The commander did not care about the demand; they were simple commoners. He nodded without hesitation. Hárekr instructed the woman to take the reins of one of the horses and helped the little girl up onto the mount.
The Saxon officer advanced at a slow pace and took hold of the king’s horse, ready to react to any mishap.
Hárekr, with his axe gripped in one hand, was preparing to push King Osberht forward. However, the king, summoning strength from nowhere, drew a sharpened wooden dagger he had hidden and tried to plunge it directly into Hárekr’s neck.
Hárekr reacted with agility and dodged the thrust in time, but upon seeing the treacherous attack, the entire contingent of Saxon soldiers lunged at them in a pack. Hárekr shouted to his men over the din:
"Get Thorir out of here! Get Thorir to safety!"
The Vikings reacted instantly. The warriors guarding the mounts lifted Thorir up alongside Torstein and spurred the horses at full speed toward where Hárekr was fighting to help him escape.