‘This is just the harbour,’ croaked Harding. He pointed a bony finger up into the murk. ‘The ring-fort and Osvald’s hall are up there on the hilltop.’

Lilla peered through the rain and could just about discern against the gloom the outline of palisade walls and roof pitches. Two beacon-flares gamely flickered on against the drizzle. Lilla wondered what awaited them up there.

They paid Harding his fee – a couple of slivers of hack-silver – and climbed ashore. Mud was everywhere, glutinous as tar, sucking at her shoes and the hem of her dress. She saw fires burning smokily under wood-shingled shelters, men sitting round them, warming hands and talking in low voices. She supposed they worked the river – fishermen, carpenters, pitch-makers and such – men glad to see the back of another grim day.

‘Can you manage that?’ Lilla asked Einar, nodding at the chest.

‘I ain’t going to trust no one else with it if that’s what you’re asking.’ The cask must have weighed near a hundred marks but Einar hefted it under one arm as if it were full of goose down.

‘As you wish. Gerutha, are you all right?’

‘I will be,’ her servant replied. ‘Once we get out of this weather.’

They trudged on, following the path up the hill where it joined a broader wain-rutted track, then turned east on its approach to the gateway through the palisade walls.

‘Dunsgard,’ huffed Einar, stopping to catch his breath. ‘For what it’s worth.’

The place looked almost abandoned with no one but them foolish enough to be out on the road in the rain. Even so, at the gate, a sentry stepped out and levelled his spear. ‘What’s your business?’

‘Three travellers from over the sea in need of a fire and a feed,’ answered Einar amiably.

‘Over the sea? What are you – Gotlanders?’

Lilla hadn’t come all this way to bandy words with some gatekeeper. ‘We’re here to see your lord and king. At once.’

‘Can’t anyone just walk in here and demand to see the king. Who the Hel are you?’

‘I am Lilla Sviggarsdottír, Queen of the Twin Kingdoms, and I demand to see your lord.’

The sentry snorted. ‘Sure you are!’ He covered one eye. ‘And I’m the Slain God and Lord of bloody Valhalla.’ He chortled. ‘What are you? A pimp and a couple of whores?’ He looked them over. ‘You’re a pretty one, I’ll give you that. Tell you what, darling – how about I give you your first business, hey?’ He leered at Lilla.

‘I suggest you take us to Osvald without delay,’ replied Lilla coldly. ‘Else I’ll see him cut your balls off and feed them to his pigs. Do you understand?’