Thrand’s mouth worked as though about to speak, but no words came.

‘He had been growing weaker all winter. When last you saw him was the strongest he has been since Bravik. But since the yule feasting. . .’ She squeezed his forearm, feeling the mass of brawn between her fingers. ‘He hung on for a long time.’

Thrand’s face stiffened into a leathern mask. ‘A bed-death, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘You should have summoned me sooner. I would have given him a proper death, even if I couldn’t help him.’

‘He would not have had it. He could not admit it even to himself until the very end.’

Thrand was staring past her, his big bear eyes hard as jet stone. Suddenly he buried his face in his hands, uttering a loud moan of despair so sorrowful Lilla’s own heart cracked again.

‘This is ill news, my lord.’ Haki Cut-Cheek had come up behind them. ‘Your brother was a great man.’

Thrand rounded on him. ‘What do you know of him? Hey?’ he bellowed, showering spittle over Haki’s ugly visage. ‘Clear out of here! Be gone, all of you! Do you hear?’ He slumped down heavily at the long-table, then put his head in his hands and wept.

Haki hesitated. The rest of his retinue exchanged glances.

‘I will take care of him,’ said Lilla quietly. ‘Take your men to the cookhouse. There’s ale and vittles enough to forget your hard voyage. Sletti will find you beds.’

Haki still delayed.

‘Go,’ she urged. ‘All will be well. I’ll look to him. Go!’

Haki nodded, the grim scar across his cheek twitching with acquiescence. He turned and ordered the rest of them from the hall.

Thrand’s huge shoulders were heaving with his sobs. ‘Brother.’ She laid a hand on him.

He peered up at her, his black eyes glistening.

‘I can take you to where we laid him. Will you come?’

There was a soft rain falling as she led Thrand past the three bulbous King Barrows towards the Kingswood beyond. Each barrow marked the resting place of a famous king of the Sveärs. Her father had told her they lived five or six generations back. It was they who gave Uppsala its royal dignity and power. But Ringast had never wanted to be buried amongst Sveär kings, nor to have his body borne on a fire-ship over the slate waters of the King’s Firth. His desire had been to be laid where Lilla would like to come. And so she had ordered his pyre burned and a haug thrown over him in one of the clearings in the Kingswood where she often came in springtime to pick yarrow and pink twinflowers.