The three men on the beach were pleased to hear that Sygbald had been tended to and that his prospects were as good as could be hoped for. But when they heard that the pottage had been made by the seeress, they pushed the bowls away. The food smelt delicious, but Eadmaer voiced all their fears when he said, “She might mean to poison us, or pass us a sleeping draught in the stew, so that she can slay us in the night.”

His words unnerved us, so we filled the water skins and ran back along the path.

“You think we can trust her?” asked Gersine, a heavy water skin slapping against his back as he kept pace with me. I was glad I had removed my byrnie. Our kirtles were wet with sweat and the water that leaked from the skins.

I was out of breath from running, so said nothing, but my mind dwelt on Eadmaer’s words. When we ran into the clearing, I half-expected to find all of our companions slumbering, having succumbed to some herb in the pottage, or worse, to lie dead, eyes open but unseeing, slain by the poison Gudrun had undoubtedly stirred into the food.

I halted abruptly on seeing them all alive and well, still seated on the grass around the fire. Gersine almost collided with me. Gwawrddur looked up at me with a thin smile, as if he knew why we had come running.

Gudrun too appeared to understand, for she laughed.

“Never fear, young ones,” she said. “I too have eaten from the stew. I would never serve guests with food I would not partake of myself.”

Ingvar grinned, as if amused by our fears.

“Is that what we are then?” I asked, suddenly angry. “Guests? What of those who came before us?”

“Many men have been guests of mine,” Gudrun said, her gaze steady now when it had been constantly moving before. “Is that not so, Ingvar?”

The grin slipped from the old boatman’s face. He picked up his empty bowl and poked around in it with his spoon, as if hoping more food would appear.

“I speak of those who were here today,” I said, not caring for whatever secrets lay between the seeress and the boatman. “The men we saw leaving in two log boats heading north.”

She drew in a long breath and nodded.

“As you no doubt suspect, they were followers of Ljósberari. I have no cause to deny it.”

“So,” I said, my voice rising with the excitement of wresting the truth from Gudrun, “you are in league with him.”

A hush had descended around the fire now, all of the men absorbed in our exchange.

“No,” Gudrun said, shaking her head. “I am not allied with Ljósberari. He has strong magic. But his gods are not mine.”

“And yet he sends his men here to you?”

“I do not believe they came at his behest.”