Painted Blade || sihtric

45.

   THE next day, the boat was once again rocking but this time they were closer to the rocks, watching Finan climb up to the top of the man-made stairs to assess Bebbanburg which was an hour's boat journey away.

"I need solid ground," Bemia sighed, kicking her feet up on the edge of the boat as she leaned back against the mast, squinting her eyes to ease the scorching sun that glowed down on her.

Sihtric lifted her legs up, placing them over his lap as he sat down. "Soon we'll be in Bebbanburg, and you can have solid ground under your feet as you kill men."

"I must admit," Espen started, sitting down on the bench across from her, beside Osferth, "I've been excited to see you kill someone."

Bemia quietly laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "How many battles have you been in?"

All eyes turned to the young man who shrugged his shoulders. "Truthfully, I lost count. But my first battle was when I was twelve."

"Twelve?" Osferth gawked at him, blinking hard like their mother. "That's young."

"Very young," Bemia murmured with guilt laced in her tone. Part of her grieved the boy Espen was without her—a boy fighting battles at such a young age. "Was that when you killed your first man?"

Espen nodded. "He tried to kill a slave girl I fancied, and I killed him," he said as if it wasn't shocking news. "Sadly, the girl didn't last long after that and was taken by a blade."

"Sorry to hear that," Sihtric truthfully said, rubbing his thumb against his wife's knee, sensing her dread. "Has there been another you have fancied since then? Honestly, for your age, I'm a little surprised you aren't married yet."

"I prefer not to have a wife or any children yet," Espen admitted. "The call of battle will always have a stronger grip on me than any type of love or children."

Bemia quietly snorted. "You sound just like your father."

At that, Sihtric stiffened, his thumb halting in place on her knee and she silently cursed herself for saying such a thing.

"Hard to tell!" Finan's voice echoed off the rocks and Bemia sent up a small prayer to the Gods for changing the subject as everyone turned their attention up to him. "Maybe forty helmets!"

"Then he has put all his men on the ramparts to make it look like he has more," Uhtred explained, glancing over his shoulder at his men while Finan climbed back down.

Beocca nodded. "He was always a cunning one."

"Still two against one," Espen stated, unsheathing a dagger from his belt that he carelessly flipped.

"We're twice as good," Sihtric confidently countered, moving his hand off Bemia's leg.

"Yeah, keep saying it," Osferth muttered, sending him a pointed look, "it becomes true."

Finan took Uhtred's outstretched hand, climbing back into the boat. "We don't need to slaughter 'em all, just hold 'em off." He let go of Uhtred's hand, only to grab his arm. "Lord, the real fight will be you against Aelfric."

"And you'll damn as hell win it," Bemia hummed with a bright smile. "Let's just hope your boy sends the signal."

"Imagine if he did ride back home," Osferth snickered, sitting back down.

Espen sheathed his dagger, turning his attention back onto his quiet mother. "Could I ask you a question?"

Bemia tore her eyes away from the blue sea, sending him a nod. "What is it?"

Uncertainty filled Espen's eyes that jumped to a curious Sihtric for a long moment before they went back to his waiting mother. "Father explained to me why you two never married after you found out I was growing in your stomach, but...why did you never marry him after you killed your husband?"