It had been three days with no break in the rain. Ealdred lay awake in the tent, staring at the canvas roof, willing sleep to come over the sound of the water and the dampness of his bedding. He shivered violently and clutched the fur blanket around himself and forced his eyes shut, as if blocking out the faint light of dawn creeping in would also keep the cold at bay. Next to him, the curled form of Ailith, his wife, was barely visible in the darkness of the tent, the cover rising and falling in time to her quiet breaths. Outside in a neighbouring tent, someone broke into a fit of hacking coughs. A small mercy, Ealdred thought, that sickness had not touched her yet. Giving up on sleep, he rose and pulled his thick cloak roughly across his shoulders. He ran his fingers over some of the missing lining and a grim, mirthless smile reached his lips. It had seen better days, he thought, but then again, so had they all.

Pulling back the shelter flaps and stepping out into the biting chill of the rain, Ealdred held a hand up to his brow, trying to keep the worst of the rain out of his eyes. The wooded clearing the group had pitched camp in the previous evening had done little to offer any protection from the elements; the leafless, late autumn birch surrounding them listing back and forth in the wind, opening them up to the angry grey clouds above. Within seconds he was drenched to the skin. He trudged across the wet grass towards the hooded figure at the edge of the treeline, his fur lined foot wraps immediately coated in thick mud. 

“Wulfric”, he croaked out before coughing to clear his throat. The older man shifted himself from the tree he had been leaning on, bundled his cloak around himself and gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, the dying embers of a fire sheltered in the gnarled roots of a tree next to them illuminating the age lines on his face. And the deep purple bags under his eyes too, Ealdred noticed. “Goda’s boy ran off in the night. I didn’t try to stop him”. Wulfric’s voice was subdued, whether out of exhaustion or simple resignation to their situation Ealdred could not tell. His tired mind took a second to recall the youth. A lanky, fair haired boy flashed across his consciousness. “Osfrid? What- when did he leave?”. Irritation was clear in Wulfric’s answer. “I said last night didn’t I? Clear the mud from your ears.” Ealdred wiped the rain from his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a sigh. The features of the old hunter softened in response. “Forgive me. It’s been a long night. He was due to take over the watch from me. The lad walked up with his pack and just carried on into the woods.”

Ealdred stared out into the treeline, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the wayward youth. A silence fell between the two men. Wulfric spoke again after a while, almost to himself. “It’s not been a fortnight since we buried his old man, rest his soul.” He paused, glancing at Ealdred who was still staring at the woods. “There were fires behind us again last night. Back east.” Ealdred turned, a tired smile on his face, and put a hand on the old man's shoulder. “Thank you for keeping the long watch. I’ll see to it you’re exempt for the next couple of nights.” He turned back towards the huddle of tents in the clearing behind them where the rest of the camp were beginning to stir, and started to walk. Wulfric called over his shoulder, “Farmer! This can’t last! How far are you planning on running?”. Ealdred didn’t turn. He knew well enough how desperate their situation was. However, all voices of doubt, both external and the ones inside his own mind were silenced by the stark reality he was all too aware of. We keep running, or we end up burying everyone.

Breaking camp was second nature to them now, despite the weather and the miasma of exhaustion that hung over the refugees. Tents were down and packed in a matter of minutes, the flatbread baked over what small cooking fires they could muster the day before were handed out as morning sustenance. Ealdred took his place at the end the small line of people to collect his and Ailith’s own share from Dunstan, who had fallen into the role of de facto provisions steward. A once portly man, his clothes hung now from him, his familiar genuine joviality replaced by a feigned enthusiasm as he handed out the small, undercooked rounds of bread. “Foie gras for you madam? Certainly, an extra helping.” He placed the bread into waiting hands. “Lobster with caviar, a bold choice sir. Perhaps you’d like a wine recommendation?”. The sound of soft dough being handed out, quickly stuffed into the folds of a cloak to keep it dry. “Anyone for seconds on the beef wellington?”. Ealdred reached the front of the line, Dunstan reaching back into the sack, before meeting his eyes. “Ah, our fearless leader.” He said, the mirth in his voice not reaching his eyes. “What can this humble vendor of delicacies provide for you this beautiful morn?”. Ealdred eyed the sack. “Dunstan. Where do we stand with our remaining food?” Dunstans strained grin faltered slightly as he leaned close, gently grasped Ealdred’s hand and pushed the morning’s rations into it. “That’s the last of it in your hand there.” He replied, his voice becoming quiet. “We have perhaps enough flour to make two or three more loaves, but on account accursed rain I cannot guarantee we’ll even be able to cook them. We have to find another source of food, and soon”. Ealdred nodded. “I’ll deal with it, Dunstan.” The miller gave him a desperate look. “See that you do, Ealdred, otherwise… I don’t want to think about otherwise”. Ealdred turned and made his way past the small groups of men, women and families making ready to leave. 

By the time he reached where his tent had been, the work was done. Ailith was bent over the rolled up canvas, her curly brown hair slick to her forehead with the effort. Looking up from her task, she smiled. “What a handsome man, come to help me with my work. A pity it’s all but done.” Ealdred couldn’t help feeling a smile creep onto his face as well as he held out the flatbread. “Be gentle with me, wife, for I’ve brought you breakfast”. She took the offering from his hand and bit into it, before looking quizzically at him, her bright green eyes flashing in his direction. Swallowing the mouthful, she asked “Where is yours?”. Ealdred replied, praying silently to his stomach, imploring it not to rumble. “Forgive me, I ate mine on the way here, glutton that I am.”. Her smile dropped somewhat, worry clouding her face. “You’re a poor liar, my love”. The smile left his face also as he stepped closer to her, out of earshot of anyone who might be listening. “Dunstan says we are almost out of flour. If I am supposed to lead these people then how can I take the food out of their mouths to satiate my own hunger?”. She rounded on him, her voice raising and her freckled nose creasing in anger. “If you are leading these people then what will they do when you collapse?”. Ealdred stepped in close to her and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Peace, love. Believe me when I say I am fine. You are fed, and so are the 30 men, women and children in this camp. That is what matters.” He smirked slightly, and kissed her forehead. “I could stand to lose a few pounds besides.” She jabbed him in the gut, and as he recoiled and gasped in discomfort shoved half of her own flatbread into his open mouth. “Perhaps that’s true” she replied, her mischievous smile returning, “But if I catch you forgoing meals again I’ll feed you your shoes for supper.” Ealdred swallowed the bite of soggy bread and gasped in mock surprise. “What’s this? Ailith, wife of Ealdred, cooking supper? Is this a threat?” She laughed, a clear and pure sound ringing out over the quiet camp. 

“M’lady?” a voice came from behind them. Husband and wife turned to see a young woman cradling a weakly crying baby. “His cough is getting worse. Have you any tonic left?”. Ailith reached behind her to the cloth satchel that hung around her shoulder and retrieved a clay flask stoppered with a cork. “Have you his feeding cloth?” she asked. The young woman held out a small rag, stained with milk. Ailith unstoppered the flask and poured some of its contents into the fabric of the cloth, letting it soak in. She handed the cloth, now saturated with the green liquid, back to the young mother. Ealdred recalled her name was Eadwig. Her husband had been one of the first to be conscripted into the army some many months ago. She held the cloth to the baby’s mouth and his cries subsided as he began to suck on it. The relief was palpable in the woman's reply “Oh thank you m’lady, thank you, I-I just can’t get him to stop coughing, he’s usually such a calm babe, I-” Ailith placed her hand gently on her arm. “I’m no noble, Eadwig, my name is Ailith and I drank ale with you on your wedded day. Your thanks is not necessary. If we cannot help each other in times as these, then we are all truly lost.” Eadwig’s eyes glistened with tears. “I’m sorry Ailith. I just feel so helpless”. Ailith replaced the flask into her satchel and smiled. “Come, I’ll read the signs for the day ahead before we leave.” Eadwig nodded and the three turned and made their way to the centre of camp.