The old abbot of Gyruum had tottered up to us then. Ethelbald’s face was also smudged with dirt and soot, but rather than tears, his cheeks and forehead were streaked with blood from a deep gash in his head. He nodded sadly to us and unsteadily led Fridwin away.

I’d thought about Fridwin’s words as we dug. Was I somehow to blame for what had occurred? Could it be, as Leofstan had feared, that The Treasure of Life had unleashed some strange evil upon the land? I knew then, as I know now, that my actions had led to the duel with Wistan. And, even though I had tried to save him in the end, if the Norse had not attacked that morning, I would have taken his life, harvesting the bitter fruits of the seeds of discontent that I had planted by my selfish actions.

Later in the afternoon, an elderly monk, his eyes vacant and sorrowful, brought us a skin of water. When we paused to drink and wipe the sweat from our brows, I glanced out at the sea, glad that the Norse ships were ever further from land. I felt a great relief when the last sail had disappeared over the rim of the earth. And, not for the first time, I questioned the wisdom of the plan that would see us sail a single ship across the Whale Road to a land of forests and mountains inhabited by such heathens as these men who would slaughter God-fearing people for silver and gold.

Still, it was my plan. I would reap what I had sown.

It had been dark when we had returned to Uuiremutha. The brethren and those lay people who remained at Gyruum had huddled into the few houses that had not been consumed by the flames. The women, thin-lipped and dark-eyed in grief, had set about preparing food. Ethelbald offered us a roof over our heads and such hospitality as he was able to give, but there was barely enough room for the inhabitants of Gyruum. And perhaps Hereward could sense the mood amongst us, for he declined. None of us wished to be there, surrounded by sorrow and mourning, so we had traipsed home as the sun touched the treetops of the forests in the west.

At the riverbank we had needed to call out several times before Heca shouted back over the water. Shortly afterwards, his boat had slid out of the darkness.

“I thought you were not going to return this night,” he grumbled, as we clambered aboard. The boat rocked and Pendrad, the youngest of the warriors from Bebbanburg, cursed as his foot slipped into the water. Strong hands grabbed him, hauling him into the vessel.

“Well, here we are,” Hereward said.

Heca tutted and, though I could not see his face in the night, I could imagine the hazel twig in his mouth twitching.