Uhtric listened intently as I laid out the reason I believed the king of Northumbria would agree to my terms. When I had finished, he settled back with a groan. He held out his hand and Hereward poured him more of the stuff from the jug. Uhtric sipped and grimaced.

“You are a clever one, that’s for certain,” he said. “Very well. You have my leave to travel to the king with this proposal.”

My heart leapt. I flashed a glance at Runolf. The huge Norseman stared back at me, his thin smile hidden behind his thick beard. Drosten and Gwawrddur both looked shocked. Uhtric held up a hand, drawing our attention back to him.

“I have one condition,” he said.

“Yes, lord,” I replied, fearing what he would ask.

“I truly believe that you will do this thing you speak of. Runolf here will build his ship, and you will sail far away.” He put his cup down, staring into the flame of the candle that guttered on the table. “Oh, what I would give to see the things you will see. But the Lord will take me soon. I will never again leave Bebbanburg. I will not see Crístesmæsse.” When he said these things, his gaze drifted. Tears brimmed in his eyes. As I watched him then, the darkness of the hall threatening to engulf us, all I could think about was that he had granted us leave to petition the king. I hung on the words he spoke, hoping he would say nothing that would hinder our plan. Now, looking back through the mists of memory, I feel great sorrow for Uhtric. He was a much younger man than I am now, and an unlucky scratch would soon cost him his life. And lying there in his stench and agony, he knew it. We all live with the certainty of our own mortality, but it is only when Death breathes on the nape of your neck, that the true horror of it, the impending limitless darkness that yawns before you, becomes solid and true. Then, it is all we can do to meet our creator with dignity.

Uhtric pulled his gaze away from the flame and stared directly into my eyes. His eyes were blue, his pupils tiny, like pinpricks in silk.

“You must make me a promise. Upon my death, you will be free of your oath to me, Runolf. But if you succeed, as I believe you will, you must give me your word that half of the treasure you glean for yourselves on your adventures, you will bring back here.”

“Here?” asked Runolf.

“To Bebbanburg. My son, Uhtred, will be lord then. And after him, his son, and I would have my kin gain riches from this venture.” He let out a shuddering breath that caused the candle flame by his bed to flicker. “There is nothing more important than kin.”