Eadmaer ignored Runolf. Other men rushed to help before Alf and his men lost control of the great spread of woollen sail in the stiffening wind. Mantat, Alf’s brother, shouldered Eadmaer out of the way, and Scurfa joined him to help with reefing the sail. Eadmaer glowered, but did not move to help.

With Alf and Scurfa’s aid, the sail was soon shortened and hauled aloft again. Brymsteda once more skimmed over the surf southward, towards the mouth of the Uuir. We had not travelled far from land, always keeping the coast in sight, but, much as I had enjoyed the thrum of the deck beneath my feet and the surging speed of the sleek Brymsteda, I looked forward to standing on dry earth once more.

“Hold her steady,” growled Runolf, pulling me towards him with his prodigious strength.

“You want me to steer?” I asked, my voice rising in panic.

“Just hold her like this,” Runolf said, placing my hands upon the steerboard’s tiller, where his had been. I could feel the warmth of his touch on the smooth oak that we had salvaged from the wrecked ship. Fleetingly I thought of the other hands that had held that tiller over the years. Where had they guided its original ship? How many had been slain by the men carried aboard? But I did not dwell on such thoughts. The moment I held the steerboard, the pulse of the waves and the wood throbbed in my hands and it was all I could do to keep her steady. The rushing water tugged at the board, which felt like a living thing in my grasp.

Runolf did not wait to see whether I would manage, he leapt forward, bounding towards the mast. Men watched wide-eyed as the flame-haired giant strode down the deck. Eadmaer must have seen the shock in the men’s faces, for at the last moment, he turned to see what they were looking at. Perhaps with a heartbeat’s more warning he might have evaded Runolf, but as it was, the moment he turned, the Norseman’s massive hand clutched about his throat.

Eadmaer’s eyes bulged and he clawed at Runolf’s forearm as the Norseman pushed him backward. His feet scrabbled at the deck for purchase, but did little to slow their progress towards the wale and the dark sea beyond.

It seemed as though Runolf would simply carry the smaller man straight over the edge of the ship without stopping. But at the last instant, his left hand lashed out and caught hold of a tight shroud. Using this to halt his forward momentum, Runolf stopped on the verge of plunging over the side. Eadmaer was leaning precariously over the water that rushed along the strakes. All that prevented him from falling was Runolf’s formidable strength.

“Runolf, enough,” snapped Hereward, striding towards them.

Runolf paid him no heed.