Gullbringa’s keel scraped on the pebbles of the island’s beach. Eadmaer jumped ashore, taking a line with him and securing it to a willow. There were several willow trees and alders on the island, offering shelter and firewood, but it was small enough that we could be certain we were alone. There was a circle of rocks surrounding old ashes from past fires. The sight reminded me of the charred corpse we had passed, and I shuddered.

Ingvar climbed ashore, and threw his rolled blanket down near the fire pit.

“In normal times, on a summer’s day like today, I would often find other boatmen camping here.” He watched Ulf as the dog leapt ashore, scurried over to the rocks and cocked his leg. “Fetch some dry wood,” Ingvar said to me, nodding at the trees. I wondered how it was that once again, as soon as I was with a group of men, it became my job to collect firewood. I was thankful there were no horses to water, for that would surely have fallen to me too. I remember now that I longed for the time when I would not be the youngest in any group. Oh, the folly of youth, to wish those years away.

“Come and help me,” I called to Gersine, certain that he would join me without complaint.

We had just entered the shade beneath the canopy of the alders, and had only picked up a handful of twigs, when the shouts from the beach drew our attention.

Hurrying back, we ran down to where Gullbringa rested in the shallows. Most of the men were on the beach, but Leofstan, Gwawrddur and Sygbald were aboard the boat.

“What is it?” I called out.

“It is Sygbald,” shouted Leofstan, a scary edge of fear in his voice.

“Is he sick?” I had seen how pale and quiet he had been that afternoon, but we had all been subdued after we had witnessed the burnt buildings and Ljósberari’s victim.

Leofstan looked me straight in the eye and did something that he had never done before while surrounded by these men. He spoke in Latin, and the only reason for him doing so could be so that the others would not understand him.

“I fear Sygbald is dying,” he said.

Thirty-Nine

There had been little point in Leofstan hiding his words by speaking in Latin. It quickly became apparent to us all that Sygbald was very ill. He could barely stand, such was the pain in his chest and shoulder, and when at last we helped him to disembark from Gullbringa, he coughed uncontrollably after only the few short paces to where we were going to build a fire. Leofstan and Gwawrddur lowered him gently down onto the shingle, and the old monk exchanged a look with me that needed no further words, in Latin or otherwise.