“I’ll have some food brought down to you,” he said. “You men,” he pointed at the six thralls who travelled with us, “you will stay aboard with Drosten to watch the ship and the cargo.” Most of them nodded subserviently. Ahmad looked away, but not before I saw the scowl that played across his dark features at Hereward’s order. I felt for him. He had saved Gwawrddur’s life and deserved gratitude, but I was too exhausted to speak up for the thrall, so I followed the others away from Brymsteda.

“There is no need to set a guard,” said Ottar. “Your ship will be safe here. You have my word.”

Hereward shrugged.

“I thank you, but I would feel better if some of my people watched over it all the same.”

Ottar looked from Hereward to Drosten, his expression unreadable.

“So be it,” he said at last.

When we reached the hall, I was surprised to find its walls made of rough-hewn sandstone. Before then, I had only seen churches built of stone, and old crumbling ruins abandoned centuries before by the Romans. But those edifices had straight lines of shaped and chiselled rock. The walls of Tannskári’s hall looked more akin to the drystone walls that some farmers used to pen in their livestock. In Northumbria, some men would use the stone as it was much longer-lasting and resilient than timber that would rot over time. Here, on this treeless island, I presumed there was no alternative to using the stone that could be pulled from the earth.

I pulled off my sword belt at the door and left it on the heap of other blades and axes that had already been placed into a huge, stout-looking chest. A stern-faced man waited close by, holding an imposing lock with which to secure the weapons. For the briefest of moments I worried that perhaps we were walking into a trap; unarmed and unprepared.