eorlings

Well, ''there aint no use cryin' over split milk'' , tha's what my Gammer says. She aint usually getting a slap round her head from my Ma if she spills milk, though. My Ma's got a powerful slap. I usually ends up cryin'.

I had ter pay thirty copper coins fer that bath! But after an hour with that stinky Finch ... i had ter get the stink o' him off my hair, an' the filth o' his hogs offen my boots.

But Steora swifthand is a clever lass ... so I still made a few coin on the deal. An' I aint givin' the money back to the Burnt Man!

So Gyth's Burnt Man orders me ' Steora, you up an' go an' find The Finch.' An' I knows what He is like iffen I says no ... so I has to go down ter the Mud Gate through all that pig-filth and find him.

Gyth ain't returned ter Combe. We'em parted a bit cross ... a bit too much ale. She had ter start on about her burnt man. ruined the party, she did.

Everythin' is going ter ruin and misery. I aint got no friends, an' Gyth says Wine is her protector now. She wants everythin', she does. She'm already got Bawde, an her Burnt Man... an' now she got Aefenwine too... it aint bloody fair.

Tavern - voices rumble up through the floorboards. The indistinct muffle pierced again and again by a bellowing laugh, some snatches of a merry fiddle-tune, friendly cat-calls.

heh.

That went better than i could have hoped for.

Duresen't start out well, though. Master Oldgrove brings me ter the Bridgetown... an' up pops more of them grim northerners ... and then... that old bastard hisself, the helm-giffer. I realises master Oldgrove is an even better liar than me.

'You be safe with me lass' he says.

Curse it all!

I swear, I'd give my right hand to the fire had I the foresight to stay out of this whole affair. Thinking back to it now, I see the folly of my acceptance to their "quest". What was I thinking? What was I expecting? It was clear from the beggining there was more at work here than I suspected. Or later feared.

Wherever I go on this island, them big grim lads is watchin'. iffen it aint master oldgrove its some other lad, starin' with them grey eyes, like wolves watchin' a new born foal. Aint much ter do at this lake-hold iffen they'm all watchin yer. So there aint much point stayin', and Oldgrove he'em keen ter be off back ter Brig bewiccan. I got ter find Gyth, and bawde... an' we got ter get into the dead town.

Oldgrove takes me west out o' the dead-fields. In the dark, I dursen't recognise much, but we goes further than I ever been. Past some stone lords at a cross-road, past the tombs of dead folk... and then.. and then... I sees...

Bawde is wrong. These northmen ain't like men at home. I still got both my hands an' all my fingers.

I bin runnin' scared fer weeks that iffen I get caught taking things these northern folk will have a knife out, slap me hand on an oak stump and... well I dursn't have ter say more. Bawde says they'm like men at home - an' I knows iffen a warrior or an eorl says you done summat, then a poor lass's word counts fer nothin'.