“How so?” asked Hereward. My cheeks grew hot, at being so quickly dismissed by Mancas. There was a sudden damp breeze as the door was opened. I was dimly aware of the servants leaving the building, but nobody paid them any heed. The door banged shut behind them.

“You need many things, no?” the thin lord asked. For a moment I believed he was speaking to me, and I opened my mouth to respond. But, of course, he was addressing Runolf, who replied, speaking in his gravelly rumble around the food in his mouth.

“Aye,” he said. “Timber, rivets, ropes, tar, a sail, tools.” He counted off the items on his thick fingers. Mancas nodded. Whatever feeling of anger he’d had at having been pushed into this role instead of his son, he had quickly brushed it aside, applying himself to the task in hand. In this, he was a fine leader of men, I admitted to myself grudgingly. “And of course,” Runolf paused to take a swig of ale, “we need men. And we must be close to the sea or a river.”

“How many of those things do you have at the minster of Werceworthe?”

Runolf drank more ale while he pondered the question. I took the opportunity to speak into the brief moment of quiet.

“There is wood,” I said, eager to have my voice heard, “and it is close to the mouth of the river Cocueda, of course.”

Mancas looked at me, and under his scrutiny I felt suddenly young and stupid.

“So, it is as I suspected,” he said with a slight frown. “You have little of what is needed.”

“We would manage,” I said, sounding like a sulking child even to my own ears. Annoyed at myself, I rose, overturning my stool in my haste. I did not pause to right it, but went to the table with the food, turning my back on the others so that they could not see the flush of embarrassment on my cheeks.