The roof was covered in turf, giving the building the look of something that had grown up from the earth, or, I thought with a shiver, like one of the burial mounds that dotted the land, home to the dead of the old people who came before us. Entering the hall I had to step down and I realised that the building was partly beneath the level of the land, further enhancing the sensation of stepping into a stone-lined tomb. I made the sign of the cross nervously. Moments later I cursed myself for a suspicious fool as I was embraced by the comforting smells and sounds of a home like any other. On the hearth stone, rather than wood, clods of what appeared to be sod smouldered. The smoke from the fire may have been strangely pungent, but dried cod fish and legs of ham hung from the rafters, and the hall was crowded with people. All around were the faces of men, women and children, staring expectantly at the visitors who had come in from the sea.

A round-faced woman with sombre eyes handed me a piece of dark bread and a cup of ale. I murmured my thanks and picked my way across the floor to where Leofstan and Gersine were sitting. Tannskári and Runolf were seated on stools at the far end of the building, already deep in conversation, their faces ruddy from the embers of the fire and the rush lights that flickered in small niches around the stone walls.

I chewed the bread. It was good, even if a bit stale. I swilled ale around my mouth, softening it. The drink was good too, and I could feel my body relaxing, the strain from the day’s perils seeping from me as I drained the ale from the earthenware cup.

For a time there was movement and noise. Men came and went, and the women served each of the crew members with drink and bread.

Sighing, Gwawrddur came to where we were sitting, and lowered himself down beside us. He quickly finished the bread he’d been given and emptied his cup of ale.

“By God, I needed that,” he said, smacking his lips. “Do you think there is more where that came from?” He handed me his cup.

Pushing myself wearily to my feet, I went to one of the women. She was young, with uncovered braided hair the colour of summer sun. She reminded me of Cwenswith but when I smiled at her, she would not look me in the eye. My gaze lingered on the white smoothness of her arm as she poured ale into my cup, and I felt my face grow hot. Muttering my thanks, I hurried back to my friends.

When I got there, Gwawrddur was stretched out and snoring.

“Do you think he will be well?” I whispered to Leofstan.

Leofstan shrugged.