‘Windows!’ Ulrich shouted. He did not need to say any more. The longhouse had low, wooden walls while the turf and thatch roof was supported by stout beams above. There were six window-slits fitted with shutters, under the beams that carried the roof. A Wolf Coat ran to each one, ready for any attack that might come through it.
‘Is there another door?’ Ulrich said to Einar.
Einar shook his head.
Skar spotted two large barrels near the door and stalked over to them. He thumped down on the lid of one, swivelling it open. A broad grin split the big man’s face as he plunged his head into the barrel. He pulled it back, amber liquid streaming from his hair and beard.
‘Ale,’ he gasped, licking his lips. ‘At least we won’t die thirsty, lads.’
The others all smiled but kept their watch on the door and the windows. The longhouse was gloomy with all the windows shuttered and door shut. As they waited in the dark interior, they could hear men moving around the building, sometimes hitting a shutter, sometimes testing a part of the wall to see if it would give, anything to try to gain entry to the building.
‘What are we going to do, Ulrich?’ Atli demanded. ‘You got us into this mess. How do we get out?’
‘I don’t know, yet,’ Ulrich said, avoiding Atli’s gaze.
‘That’s because there is no way out!’ Atli shouted. ‘Admit it. You have no plan.’
Ulrich sighed. ‘I never meant things to get this far,’ he said. ‘But now blood has been spilled. The game is set. We have to play to the end.’
Atli shook his head and walked away to the ale barrel. He took the long wooden ladle and slurped down a mouthful.
‘They’re up to something,’ Affreca’s voice floated down from above. Everyone looked up and saw she had mounted a ladder that lay against the gable wall the door was in. The ladder was supposed to lead to a small loft where Einar’s mother slept but Affreca had moved it so she could look out through the ‘Wind’s eye’, the hole in the gable wall near the apex of the roof designed to help disperse the smoke from the fire inside the longhouse.
Ulrich and Skar ran to the nearest shuttered window and carefully opened it a fraction so they could see outside.
‘What’s going on?’ Einar asked.
‘Well your dear brother, good old Hrolf,’ Ulrich said, ‘seems to be giving orders to his men.’
‘He’s my half-brother, not my brother,’ Einar said, shooting a nervous glance in the direction of Affreca. Then he marvelled at why, even in this extreme situation he would be bothered as to why she might care or take offence.
Ulrich smiled but did not reply. Instead he kept watching. ‘Hrolf likes giving orders,’ he observed. ‘Look at his face. The way he swaggers about. His chest looks fit to burst. Oh he’s loving this.’
‘They’ve started gathering long grass,’ Affreca reported from above. ‘Some of them have gone to the field and are cutting gorse. Hrolf’s pointing at a patch of chickweed near one of the farm buildings. You can guess what it’s all for.’
‘Kindling,’ Skar said. ‘They mean to smoke us out.’
‘Or burn us in here,’ Affreca replied.
A hush fell on the longhouse. They all exchanged glances. The prospect of dying in a fire was horrifying. The choking smoke and the pain of the burning flames would be unimaginable. Einar realised that for the Wolf Coats the thought of being stuck, dying in a burning building, unable to strike back at the enemies who were the cause of it, would be intolerable.
‘We should fight our way out.’ Bodvar said.
‘There’s too many of them,’ Atli said. ‘It would be suicide.’
‘Well I’m not dying like a coward, hiding in here,’ Bodvar said. ‘Maybe I can take a few of them with me.’
‘Wait,’ Einar said. ‘I have an idea.’