Lilla felt the ship stir as the current caught the hull. Exhaustion suddenly hit her like a wall. She collapsed to her knees and crawled over to Gerutha and peered over the side. At first all she could discern were two meaty fists gripped tight to the rope which Gerutha desperately clung to, then she saw Einar’s ruddy face streaming through the water. ‘Help him,’ Gerutha wheezed through gritted teeth.

Lilla reached over and grabbed one of his big hands. He shifted his weight to her and nearly pulled her over with him, and would have, but for her knees locking against the strakes. He heaved, she resisted, and at last his face appeared over the gunwale. She braced her knees again and pulled, and all of a sudden he flopped onto the deck like a landed seal.

Einar the Fat-Bellied was flat on his face, puffing like a winded horse into his wet whiskers. ‘Much obliged to you, lassie,’ he gasped. ‘Always knew I should’ve learned to swim.’

But Lilla couldn’t answer. She lay on her back, her heart hammering, looking up at the cold indifference of the stars. . .

The night was warm. She lay there a long time. Long after the last of the screams from the bank had dwindled to silence. There was only the rush of the river, the creak and yaw of the boat, a few words exchanged between the survivors.

Twenty-six men had become twelve, she heard someone say.

Twelve. And two women.

She shuddered. The wound across her shoulders ached and felt hot. It seemed to be growing worse the longer she lay there, listening to the others breathing while they drifted into sleep and the current carried them onward.

The deck creaked. ‘Can’t sleep?’ Valrik’s voice, hoarse now from all his shouting. He sounded suddenly very old.

‘No,’ she answered softly.

He squatted down beside her. ‘Conscience.’ It wasn’t a question.

Lilla bit at her lip. ‘All those men. It’s my fault. They wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.’

He snorted softly. ‘So it goes. . . Just tell me one thing, Lady. Is there any world in which you could have sat by and watched that girl die?’

‘No.’

He nodded. ‘Then you did what you had to do.’

Was it that simple? Then why did her hands feel soaked with other men’s blood? ‘You saved my life,’ she said.

‘I suppose I did.’

‘Your debt is repaid.’

‘I guess it is. . .’

‘Your wound,’ she blurted suddenly, she hadn’t thought of it before. ‘Is it—’

‘It’s taken care of.’ He gestured at the crude bandaging around his midriff.

She reached out. ‘I can look at it—’