back at the column of Ladies.
"Mostly."
Five days later they drew rein; Harald pointed ahead.
"Fortified village. Sell us sheep, maybe oats. Want to come?"
The King gave a surprised look, nodded.
"Anyone asks, 'James.' "
The leader of the village welcomed Harald and his friend, pointed proudly to the sentry over the gate.
"Last fall, a big band came by, thought a wall meant something inside it. I figure the armor saved two, three lives. In your debt."
"You made it. We got a bed for the night, food—fair trade. Trouble since?"
"Wolf pack burned out two, three houses north of here. Not us."
When they left the village Harald was poorer by several gold pieces, richer by sacks of oats—some ground to meal—and a small flock of sheep. The next day was spent dealing with both. James—Knute had tired of addressing his tentmate as "Your Majesty" and the rest had followed his lead—was given brief instruction in converting oatmeal to oat cakes, spent much of the day at it while his companions handled the messier job.
James looked up from the fire to find Harald watching him, nibbling on a cake from the stack.
"Best warm."
"I think I've got it, but some of the ones I did first . . ."
"Always the horses."
There was a long pause, smells from the larger fires where meat was being prepared. James was the first to speak.
"Back home, they smoke meat for days, weeks sometime."
"Keep it for months, too. This'll be gone in a few days. Then beans if we can cook them, oat cakes, dried stuff while it lasts."
James hesitated a moment before speaking again:
"What should I have done? When I thought the Lady Commander was dead. It was wrong to hold you, but . . . you could come back with an army."
"Why didn't I?"
James looked over the busy scene, gave Harald a puzzled look.
"This isn't an army; could have brought ten times