I prayed that Hereward would be safe, and wondered at what drove such men to seek out battle. Such men, I thought grimly. Was I not one? Cormac’s face came to me then, as sleep began to murmur and whisper at the edges of my mind. Just like Hereward and the rest of us, Cormac had never fled from danger. Instead, he had chosen to rush towards it. He had been rash and foolhardy, but his bravery could not be denied. And yet his impetuous nature had caused the most pressing problem that faced us. If Cormac had not burnt Skorri’s ships, we might even now be planning to sail to the kingdoms of the Norse, rather than fretting over how to construct a seafaring vessel.

I had thought little of it at the time. I had been filled with the terror of impending battle and my almost certain death, and I had been in awe of Cormac’s audacity. But lying in the darkness and fearing for the fate of my kinswoman far away across the Whale Road, I cursed Cormac’s rashness. I understood now that he had destroyed something of incredible value: ships that would cost as much to build, or perhaps even more, than a king’s great hall.

The next day I went about the now familiar daily routine, but all the while, my mind was elsewhere. I carried lumber until my back screamed for respite, and then, when the sun was close to its zenith, it was time to hoist one of the heavy wooden frames into place. This was always a delicate task, and a mistake could cost someone crushed fingers or worse. I was distracted, my thoughts churning like so much milk in my mind. And just as churned milk produces curds and eventually butter, so my ideas were tantalisingly close to solidifying. I was so lost in my concerns that at first I did not hear the shouts.

“Hunlaf! Be careful!”

It was the tall monk, Brother Eoten, who always supervised each building’s construction. He was a giant of a man, but usually quiet and measured. So it was with some shock that I saw his face was flushed, the cords of sinew in his neck bulging.

Immediately, I realised what was amiss. I had not taken up the slack on the rope I was holding, leaving most of the considerable bulk of the timber for Eoten to bear. It was too heavy for any one man to hold aloft, even using the rope and pulley that Eoten had rigged for the purpose, and the tall monk was struggling. If the beam was dropped, the two men who stood beneath it, ready to guide it into place, might well be injured, and the frame of the building, a new house for Wulfwaru and Aethelwig, would surely be damaged.

“Sorry, Brother,” I mumbled, quickly tugging on the rope to bear my portion of the weight.