The air was full of chaos; shouts, the wind, the roar of the sea, and now a new sound was added to the cacophony: a clanging bell from far off. It came from across the water and, as we sprinted to our positions to join the others at the water’s edge, I saw smoke against the dark sky. I could imagine the flames consuming the minster buildings, and my stomach churned at my recent memories. Gulls, buffeted by the wind, shrieked in the sky, like the cries of dying men. I wondered whether, rather than the birds’ calls, I might perhaps be making out the sounds of the brethren being slaughtered to the north of the Uuir.

When we arrived at the designated place, the shieldwall was already formed. We slid in amongst the other men, gripping our shields and weapons tightly. Hereward was nearby. His face was grim, his jaw set, as he watched the approach of the Norse ships. He glanced up at the louring sky. The rain seethed around us now, lashing us like icy whips.

“Do you think this is Heaven-sent?” Hereward asked.

I looked across the river at the pall of greasy smoke that rose from the direction of the minster.

“God controls the heavens and the seas,” I replied, shuddering from the cold and the fear of facing the Norsemen in battle once more. “But I think Fridwin might regret his decision to put all his faith in the Lord against the men of the north.”

Hereward frowned, but did not reply.

We had always known that the Norse might attack the minsters here. It was no real surprise to us to see the ships skimming across the waves out of the rising sun. We had seen their like attack lonely minsters twice just the year before with devastating effects. And Runolf had warned us of the plans of the Norsemen to continue working down the coast, snapping up the poorly defended, but wealthy holy sites. But we had not expected an attack so soon.

And yet, it seemed all the raiders had been waiting for was for the weather to break, for the seas to be calm enough for them to make the crossing safely. The loss of a handful of men and a couple of ships at Werceworthe was not enough to deter the call of the riches and thralls they hoped to snatch from the holy houses dotted along the coast of Northumbria.

But we were not defenceless monks. We were well-prepared for an attack. Ever since we had arrived, Hereward had spent much of his time creating defences and drilling the people in what to do if Norse ships should come. I had gone with him when he had crossed the river to speak to Fridwin and Ethelbald, the abbot of the minster at Gyruum.

“God will protect us,” Fridwin had said.