There was a murmur of assent and just as the previous afternoon, the men talked of how best to overcome the armed guards when they next opened the door. I listened, but said little. There was no way we could truly hope to survive such an attack, let alone escape, but I sensed that they needed to speak as if such things were possible. The alternative would be to accept the cruel fate that awaited us. These were not men to stand by and watch as death approached. They were warriors, killers of men, and they would rail against their wyrd, and spit in Death’s eye as he stalked towards them.

It was agreed that two of our number would remain awake at all times and they would alert the others the instant they heard people approaching.

“I will keep watch first,” said Drosten.

“I will join you,” I said. Silence greeted my comment, and I could imagine what they were thinking. “I have slept already,” I went on. “I will not let you down again.” I could not bear more shame.

After a brief hesitation, Hereward said, “Very well, Hunlaf. But both of you watch the other too. When you need sleep, awaken Runolf and Eadmaer. Gwawrddur and I need to rest, for we have barely slept these last two nights.”

“Not that we will be able to sleep in this stinking pit,” grumbled the Welshman.

They settled themselves down to rest as best they could. Drosten and I took up our position close to the door. Without comment, we both rose to our feet and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning against the rough-hewn timber of the door frame. The earth beneath my feet was cool and damp. It squeezed between my bare toes and I tried not to think of how much shit and piss was mingled with it. I wrapped my arms around my chest. Gone now was the blistering heat of the summer’s day, and all warmth had leached from the building into the cool, cloudless night.

“You think they will come for us before daybreak?” whispered Drosten.

I listened, straining to hear anything from outside the hut. There was nothing but the stillness of the night.

“I doubt it,” I said. “I imagine Ljósberari prefers an audience for his burnings. And nobody is awake to see a fire.” I thought of the great throng of children who had followed Leofstan and I up to the hall. The sea of staring eyes and the sighing of countless rapturous voices. “No, I think he’ll wait for tomorrow at least.”

“But why wait at all?”

It was true that he had killed Leofstan without an audience. But that felt different somehow. A moment of passionate rage, not a ritual purification. I sighed. I did not wish to put myself into the mind of that madman.

“Who can say? Perhaps he truly believed that Leofstan and I had been sent to aid him.”

“He said that?”