Shortly before, with the wind picking up, Runolf had given them the order for the Midship crew to reef the sail. Their leader, Alf, and most of his men, apart from Ida, who was too busy spitting strings of bile into the sea, were following the command, as best they could. They were clumsily lowering the sail to perform the task of reefing it to make its expanse smaller. Alf had to correct his crew regularly, warning them to be careful when handling the ropes, and to be mindful of where they were standing so that a suddenly taut halliard or stay would not pin and crush an ill-placed foot or snap caught fingers. But it was not the men’s slowness that had caught Runolf’s attention.

One of Alf’s sail crew was standing to the side, not helping the others with the hard work at hand. He was a slim man, with long dark hair tied at the nape of his neck. His beard was wispy. He stood with the effortless balance of a man used to being at sea and there was no indication of any sickness about him. His skin was dark and weathered, despite his youth. He must have been no more than twenty. I recognised him as Eadmaer, the man who had arrived with Leofstan.

I had not met the man before, but I had thought there was something familiar about him when Leofstan introduced us by the flickering light of the torches the men held aloft.

“This is Eadmaer,” he’d said. “He has travelled all the way from Lindisfarnae. We met at Werceworthe, where he had stopped for shelter. He had heard you were soon to sail, you see. When I learnt he was heading south to join you, I seized my chance and accompanied him.”

“Join us?” I asked, confused.

“Aye,” said Eadmaer. “I know boats. Grew up on the sea.”

“Well, we have need of all the good men we can get. If you have knowledge of sailing, all the better, for few of us do. But why have you travelled so far to seek to join the crew of Brymsteda?”

“Why, I seek the same as you,” he said.

His words confused me. “And what is that?”

“Why, to find Aelfwyn, of course. And bring her home. It is what Eadwine would have wanted.”

“Eadwine?” I knew the name, but there, in the darkness by the river, the sounds of the hunting horn and the warriors’ shouts still fresh in my mind, I could not place it.

“Aelfwyn’s husband,” Leofstan said. I stared blankly at the monk, still unsure what any of this had to do with Eadmaer.

“Eadwine was my brother,” Eadmaer said.

Now, I saw it was Eadmaer who stood by and watched others struggling with the ropes to shorten the sail.

“You there,” roared Runolf, his voice easily carrying over the ship, “help Alf with the sail.”