‘Damn you, woman – there’s no time for the others.’ Valrik seized her arm. ‘We have to get out!’

‘Let go of me! My friend!’

But he was already dragging her towards the gate where the guards, slow to react, were at last turning to face the chaos pouring down the slope towards them. Valrik released her to deal with the first of them, smashing aside the spear-tip with his forearm, then burying his long-knife in the man’s throat.

Someone shouted Lilla’s name. She turned and saw Gerutha, skirts hitched, sprinting towards her. ‘Grusha!’ she cried in terror, seeing a figure appear between them, silhouetted against the flames. Gerutha tried to dodge him but stumbled and fell. The Varkonni raised his club and then a spear lanced out of the dark and flung him sideways. Suddenly Einar was there, scooping Gerutha up from the ground. Lilla turned back to the gate almost choking with relief. Other Northmen raced towards them. More lay behind, dead or wounded or already screaming under Varkonni blades. The feast had become a glut of blood and slaughter.

In desperation, the fleeing Northmen soon overran the guards at the gate but behind them the Varkonni were rallying. Valrik bellowed at them to seize what they could from their pile of weapons and keep running. Lilla ran with them beyond the palisade on the path towards the Dnipar, feet pounding the dust.

It was less than three hundred yards to the riverbank. Fear and the pursuing rabble drove them on. She heard more shouts and bodies crashing through the trees. A black streak fizzed across her vision. She heard a cough and a body came bowling into her. She tripped and fell, hitting the ground like a hammer blow. When the dust cleared she was flat on her belly and face to face with Bayan. Blood was frothing from his mouth, an arrow shaft protruding from his throat. She recoiled in horror.

‘Lilla!’ Valrik’s voice called out of the darkness. ‘Lilla? Where are you, woman?’

She sat up, dazed, and wiped the dust from her eyes. Beside her, Bayan was choking on his own blood, but there was nothing she could do to help him. He was finished. As she picked herself up his hand closed around her wrist. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her go. She could hear men racing through the trees around her. The Varkonni overtaking her. Fear outstripping her shame, she prised his fingers off her. There was no time for a prayer or a plea for forgiveness. Instead she grabbed her spear and stood – straight into the path of an arrow that came whistling out of the dark. She gasped as the arrow-tip raked across her shoulders. Only a glancing blow but it stung like a whiplash.