“And you are the only one who can speak properly?” He shook his head in disbelief at his bad luck. “By the gods, this is going to be a long trip.”

“We’ll manage,” said Hereward, his Norse clear enough. “Thank you for guiding us, Ingvar Styrsson.” Like several of the men, Hereward had learnt to make himself understood in Norse and follow simple conversations.

Ingvar let out a barking laugh. He bowed in acknowledgement of Hereward’s formal thanks.

“Load your things,” he snapped, speaking to Hereward now and ignoring Runolf. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can all be killed.” He laughed again without humour. He watched as Drosten passed a bundled blanket and a small sack to Eadmaer, who had jumped nimbly aboard Gullbringa. Ingvar nodded, seeing in Eadmaer’s easy movements a fellow sailor.

Waiting on the wharf behind Drosten stood Bealdwulf, Sygbald, Os and Beorn, each carrying their byrnie, shield, spear, helm and sword. They were unsmiling and grim, their faces and arms scarred from past fights. “Whatever happens upriver,” Ingvar said quietly, as if to himself, “I would not like to be standing in Ljósberari’s shoes.”

It didn’t take long for us to stow our things on Gullbringa, but it was still some time before we could leave. Ingvar inspected each item of our baggage, throwing back onto the wharf anything he deemed not to be essential. The men grumbled. Os swore when Ingvar insisted on tossing his spare clothes. The skipper threw Os’ sack to one of the young boys on the wharf, who fumbled his catch, dropping it into the sea.

“By Christ,” Os yelled. “Save it, save it!”

Gwawrddur quickly snatched up one of the company’s long spears and snagged the sodden sack before it disappeared into the deep.

“He’ll be throwing us overboard soon,” Os raged.

Ingvar must have understood his meaning, for he laughed.

“Do not tempt me,” he said. “You boys are strong, but we are heading upriver and that means rowing against the flow of the water. When you have been rowing all day, you will be glad of whatever weight we can shift now. And the less weight we have aboard, the easier it will be to carry Gullbringa.”

“You mean to carry the boat?” I asked. “Doesn’t the river do that?” I grinned, believing that Ingvar must be joking.

But there was not the hint of a smile on his features. He shook his head and spoke to me as if I were a fool or a child.

“There are long stretches where the river is deep and wide, but when we reach shallows, or rocks, where the water is white and raging, there is nothing for it but to go ashore and carry the boat.”

“He says we are going to have to carry the boat,” I said, hoping for laughter from the men. Instead I was met with stony expressions and groans.