At mid-day, almost the entire population of the village were spread out along the river's bank. Their morning's work had been laborious but they had all feasted and supped well at lunch time, although Lady Lydia made certain that the ale was well watered down. Tomorrow, the village would prepare for battle. A message had been sent to Lord Massant, who in turn would mobilise other villages' foot soldiers, and make ready his own warriors.
Lady Lydia stared down at her hands with a grim smile; her cousin could arrive as swiftly as tomorrow to finalise details of their attack on the dam. It had been too long since their last meeting, and he might easily mistake her for one of her own washer-women. Or a fish-wife she thought, tucking her hands under her apron with a sigh. She watched her husband going from group to group of his villagers, slapping one on the shoulder, giving a word of encouragement to another, and trying to ignore Vander, plucking at his sleeve. As though feeling her eyes on him, Wulfstan paused and looked in her direction. She couldn't see his lips move, but almost certainly he smiled at her, and Lydia smiled back.
Wulfstan was Lydia's junior, both in years and social class. Despite what she had told Samara, their union was a love match. Her friends and relatives had thrown up their hands in horror when she'd first announced plans to marry a lowly Chieftain. But Leifur had understood. Lydia's smile faded at the thought of her brother, missing now these many years. Instinctively, she searched for her own children, seeking out their distinctive blond hair. Her eyes rested on Lillian, both her daughter and Samara perched further along the river's bank with the other girls from the village. They cheered and jeered as they watched the boys playing a game of some kind on the mud flats.
The game became rowdier by the minute, it also moved further away from the river's bank, as the boys scampered further out onto the mud. In an effort to see better, Lydia screwed up her eyes against the sun's light filtering through clouds. She watched as a silvery object spun through the air, and a fair haired boy sprinted after it, meaning to catch the fish head and lob it back. A crack, like a whip being snapped, sounded. The boys playing on the mud flat froze, as though playing a new game. Then a savage sound started up. The clamour was unlike any Lydia had ever heard and she thought for a moment that the earth was ripping in two. The noise swelled and built into a crescendo that blotted out all thought. Alarmed, Lydia glanced towards her husband. Men were on their feet, their mouths opening and closing, but their shouts went unheard. Lillian, Samara and a few of the girls raced onto the mud, the boys were racing back towards them. Lydia opened her own mouth to shout, but her voice too was lost.
And then, as though a plug had been removed, a central stretch of mud began leeching downwards, gathering momentum into an avalanche. The terrifying noise lessened; now it sounded like a herd of cattle stampeding. Screams and shouts of 'Get back! Get back!' finally jolted Lydia into action. She jumped down from the river's bank onto shingle, aware that Wulfstan had joined her side. In the middle of acres of mud, a chasm had opened up. Weeping children, supported by their parents, passed her. Lydia's head twisted left and right, scanning for her own children. Fifty paces away, she saw Lillian and Samara clutching each other. They were staring down into the chasm. A churning rush of torrential water reached Lydia's ears. She clasped her hands over her head, screamed and sank to her knees. Wulfstan bent over her, covering her grief with his own. The river had returned, and taken their son with it.