by Jayden Woods
We’re the smart ones here,” said Wilburh.
Hereward scoffed. But he regretted that he had acted with such hostility, for the group now felt irreparably severed. He still wanted these boys to be a part of his gang when he returned. So he tried to lighten his tone when he said, “You’re all going to be so jealous when we get home with stories that will spread the ladies’ legs open.”
Wilburh frowned back at him, unable to come up with a good retort, as he knew little of such things. Then he turned and started to walk away. Hereward’s traitors made to follow.
“You’ll regret this!” cried Hereward. “You’ll see!”
But soon Wilburh and his new companions walked beyond hearing range, and Hereward stood alone with his smaller, nervous crew.
“When are we going to leave?” asked Dudda. His presence surprised Hereward, who would have expected the pudgy teenager to be among the first to flee. Perhaps Dudda feared disappointing Hereward more than facing some Normans.
“Right away,” said Hereward.
“On foot?” Osric sheathed his dagger and stretched his legs in preparation.
“No. It’s a long way.” He thought about it a moment. “I know a stable nearby where we can borrow some horses. But we should wait until nightfall.”
Dudda’s face fell. “By ‘borrow,’ you mean …?”
Hereward grinned and smacked Dudda on the back. “It’s still called borrowing if we return them later.”