Warriors of the Storm. Bernard Cornwell
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she clutched his priestly robe as if fearing she might topple off the wall’s top. I tried to see her face, but it was too deeply shadowed by her big hood. ‘Are they the pagans?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Have faith, my darling,’ Father Leofstan said cheerfully, ‘God has sent us Lord Uhtred, and God will vouchsafe us victory.’ He raised his broad face to the sky and lifted his hands, ‘Pour out Thy fury upon the heathen, oh Lord!’ he prayed, ‘vex them with Thy wrath and smite them with Thine anger!’
‘Amen,’ his wife squeaked.
‘Poor little thing,’ Finan said quietly as he looked at her. ‘She’s got to be ugly as a toad under all those clothes. He’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to plough her.’
‘Maybe she’s relieved,’ I said.
‘Or maybe she’s a beauty,’ my son said wistfully.
‘Two silver shillings says she’s a toad,’ Finan said.
‘Done!’ My son held out his hand to seal the wager.
‘Don’t be such damned fools,’ I snarled. ‘I have enough trouble with your damned church without either of you plugging the bishop’s wife.’
‘His gnome, you mean,’ my son said.
‘Just keep your dirty hands to yourself,’ I ordered him, then turned to see eleven riders spurring ahead of the massive shield wall. They came under three banners and were riding towards our ramparts. ‘It’s time to go,’ I said.
Time to meet the enemy.
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