The Lords of the North by Bernard Cornwell

me?' He did not like that idea.
    'You're a king.'
    'I shall be a good king,' he said vehemently, and just then Tekil and his men attacked

us.
    I should have guessed. Eight well-armed men do not cross a wilderness to join a rabble.

They had been sent, and not by some Dane called Hergild in Heagostealdes. They had come from

Kjartan the Cruel who, infuriated by his son's humiliation, had sent men to track the

dead swordsman, and it had not taken them long to discover that we had followed the Roman

wall, and now Guthred and I had wandered away on a warm day and were at the bottom of a small

valley as the eight men swarmed down the banks with drawn swords. I managed to draw

Serpent-Breath, but she was knocked aside by Tekil's blade and then two men hit me, driving

me back into the stream. I fought them, but my sword arm was pinned, a man was kneeling on my

chest and another was holding my head under the stream and I felt the gagging horror as the

water choked in my throat. The world went dark. I wanted to shout, but no sound came, and then

Serpent-Breath was taken from my hand and I lost consciousness. I recovered on the

shingle island where the eight men stood around Guthred and me, their swords at our bellies

and throats. Tekil, grinning, kicked away the blade that was prodding my gullet and knelt

beside me. 'Uhtred Ragnarson,' he greeted me, 'and I do believe you met Sven the One-Eyed

not long ago. He sends you greetings.' I said nothing. Tekil smiled. 'You have Skidbladnir

in your pouch, perhaps? You'll sail away from us? Back to Niflheim?'
    I still said nothing. The breath was rasping in my throat and I kept coughing up water. I

wanted to fight, but a sword point was hard against my belly. Tekil sent two of his men to

fetch the horses, but that still left six warriors guarding us. 'It's a pity,' Tekil

said,
    'that we didn't catch your whore. Kjartan wanted her.' I tried to summon all my strength to

heave up, but the man holding his blade at my belly prodded and Tekil just laughed at me,

then unbuckled my sword belt and dragged it out from beneath me. He felt the pouch and grinned

when he heard the coins chink. 'We have a long journey, Uhtred Ragnarson, and we don't want

you to escape us. Sihtric!'
    The boy, the only one without arm rings, came close. He looked nervous.
    'Lord?' he said to Tekil.
    'Shackles,' Tekil said, and Sihtric fumbled with a leather bag and brought out two sets of

slave manacles.
    'You can leave him here.' I said, jerking my head at Guthred.
    'Kjartan wants to meet him too,' Tekil said, 'but not as much as he wants to renew your

acquaintance.' He smiled then, as if at a private jest, and drew a knife from his belt. It was

a thin-bladed knife and so sharp that its edges looked serrated. 'He told me to hamstring

you, Uhtred Ragnarson, for a man without legs can't escape, can he? So we'll cut your strings

and then we'll take an eye. Sven said I should leave you one eye for him to play with, but that

if I wanted I could take the other if it would make you more biddable, and I do want you to be

biddable. So which eye would you like me to take, Uhtred Ragnarson? The left eye or the right

eye?'
    I said nothing again and I do not mind confessing that I was scared. I again tried to heave

myself away from him, but he had one knee on my right arm and another man was holding my

left, and then the knife blade touched the skin just beneath my left eye and Tekil smiled. 'Say

goodbye to your eye, Uhtred Ragnarson.' he said.
    The sun was shining, reflecting off the blade so that my left eye was filled with its

brilliance, and I can still see that dazzling brightness now, years later.
    And I can still hear the scream.

Chapter Three
    It was Clapa who screamed. It was a high-pitched shriek like a young boar being gelded. It

sounded more like a scream of terror than a challenge, and that was not surprising for

Clapa had never fought before. He had no