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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

But wait, my aged mind is meandering like the great rivers that flow out of the snow-capped Norse mountains. I have not yet told you of how we came to be there at the mouth of the Uuir. Before I recount more of what took place that early summer’s day at Uuiremutha, and the darkness that came after, I must take you back to the winter before, when we were still at Werceworthe.

Three

After the battle for Werceworthe, there had been tears and wailing; grief for the dead and for what had been lost. For a long while, the land had reeked of the rotten corpses of the Norsemen, but as the sun came out in those last days of summer, the stink became too much and we summoned up the energy to bury our fallen enemies. And with that, as the air cleared of the stench of death, the rebuilding of the minster and the settlement began.

There was much to do. Most of the buildings had been destroyed by fire, so there was no time for anything more than the hard labour of construction. Several of the men had been killed in the defence of their homes, so all the survivors had to help, if they were to have shelter for everyone in time. Although the days were often warm, they all sensed the approach of winter, like an unseen wolf snuffling at the hall door at night.

Once again, having helped bring us victory in the battle against his kin and countrymen, Runolf proved his worth, overseeing the felling of trees and the splitting of the logs into manageable planks.

One afternoon, I found him staring along the river towards the sea. The sun was low in the sky, and the waters of the Cocueda were the colour of burnished bronze.

“Do you think more of your people will come?” I asked in his native Norse tongue.

“Not this year, I think.” He spat into the wood shavings at his feet. “But anything is possible.”

I snorted at his use of the phrase that so infuriated Drosten. Runolf did not smile. I could sense the tension in him. I shared it too. We both wanted to put to sea. Runolf longed to seek out his wife, Estrid. He had not put into words what his intentions were when they met again, but I did not believe Runolf to be a forgiving man. When I had tried to enquire of his past and his kin across the Whale Road, his face clouded, his jaw setting hard.