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to cover before they reached the safety of the hill fort at Sorbiodunum. The snake ships carried forty rowers apiece and, although they were as sleek and deadly as their namesake, the long hulls had been needed to transport the British magister and his large war-band across the sea. Eofer's own ship, Fælcen , was of a type which the English called a scegth, and he missed her keenly. Half the size of the big snacas and drawing barely a hand's breadth of water, the little ship at twenty oars a side was ideal for raiding far into the river systems of Britannia, Gaul and Frisia, and Eofer reflected ruefully that he would have been able to complete the journey to Sorbiodunum in a few hours if she were here.
    Sæward read his thoughts and made a suggestion as the warriors formed into column on the higher ground. “We could load them with stones, lord. Let them settle deeper.”
    Eofer shook his head. “We haven't the time, we need to be away. Besides,” he continued as he glanced about them, “can you see any?”
    The ship master's teeth showed white in the moonlight as he ran his gaze across the banks of thick glutinous mud which surrounded them. “No, lord,” he admitted with a snort, “not to hand.”
    Eofer leaned in and dropped his voice to a murmur. “If this goes badly we may need to get away quickly. We have no idea how much support this Cerdic has, it may even be a trap. I will leave Edwin, Bassa and Beornwulf with you, that will give you enough spears to take care of any curious locals. Anything more organised and you will have to fire the ships and follow on. If we are not back by the evening of the second day take the Sæ Wulf and we will meet up at Cnobheresburg. You will still have to fire the other ships,” he shrugged, “but that can't be helped. I will have to pay compensation to the owners, but that's the chance we all take when we sail in these waters.”
    Sæward nodded grimly and they clasped forearms without another word. Movement from the bank caught the ship master's eye and he glanced across as a figure hurried across to them.
    “My father wishes to know if there is a problem?”
    Eofer changed his mood quickly and smiled brightly as he shook his head. “No Cynric, I am coming now. We have done the best we can to hide the ships.”
    The British warriors had taken up the vanguard of the column as agreed, with Cerdic and his son safely ensconced half way along the steel clad line. The remaining English duguth of Eofer's hearth troop, Hemming, Imma Gold, Osbeorn and Octa were stood waiting for their eorle to lead them forward, with the youth standing tall behind their shields as they covered the rear. Beyond them, the crews of the other English ships formed into their divisions and waited impatiently for the off.
    Imma, the flaxen hair which had lent him his name shining brightly from beneath the plates of his helm, winked mischievously as Eofer gained the column and the eorle let out a snort. The big man would be itching for a fight, he knew. Whether Cerdic and Cynric felt the same way, he had his doubts.
    Cerdic looked back, and Eofer raised his arm to confirm that all were set. As the golden draco banner of the house of Uther was raised again over British soil and the breeze whispered across the salt marsh to unfurl its long tail, the column heft their shields and took their first paces towards the distant hill fort.
    The moon was climbing higher as the night wore on, its silver glow slanting down to light the waters of the Afen as the column trudged warily along its eastern bank. The river divided to either side of a large island, and the burnt out remains of a small settlement there told of the conflict which was ongoing as the rival tribes wrestled for control of the area. The valley sides steepened as they moved steadily inland, and the wild wood which capped the pass closed in on them a little more with every mile trod. Soon the road was hard pressed by trees on the eastern side and the