Eafa bellowed as he sprang forward, rushing between the gathered ranks of men around the fire. Torfi was still kneeling, his mouth open, eyes turned towards the sudden disturbance. Eafa’s spear tip plunged into the Norseman’s left eye, killing him instantly. Such was the force of the blow that the steel point burst through the back of Torfi’s skull. The weight of the corpse tugged the spear haft from Eafa’s hands and Torfi slumped onto his back, his legs twisted beneath him, arms wide as if welcoming an embrace. His fingers twitched for a few heartbeats, as if plucking at invisible threads. The spear haft quivered, and then was still, jutting towards the sky like the mast of a canted ship.

Eafa, chest heaving, looked down at the dead man. There was very little blood, I noticed, just a trickle beneath Torfi’s pierced eye. Like a dark tear.

Runolf surged forward, pushing Eafa in the chest. Eafa, older and smaller than the tall axeman, staggered. He was caught by some of the onlookers.

“You should not have done that,” said Runolf. In his hand he held his axe, as if it weighed no more than a twig. I wondered whether he was going to slay the man then, such was the fury on his face. Without thinking, I stepped forward, placing myself between Runolf and Eafa. Wistan had died to save his father, I would not allow the older man to be killed now.

I drew in a deep breath. If Runolf struck with his axe, I would die. I would not raise my sword against him, but even if I attempted to defend myself, I was no match for the Norse giant.

“Runolf, no,” said Hereward, his voice firm, but low.

Runolf glowered at me. Then, with a shake of his shaggy head and a sigh, he turned away, looking down at Torfi’s body.

“You should not have done that,” he repeated. “I gave him my word.”

“Those bastard Norsemen killed my boy,” said Eafa, his words turning to sobs.

“This bastard Norseman likes to keep his word,” said Runolf, but the ire was gone from his tone. I looked down at Torfi and felt my own pang of anger at Eafa. Torfi had known about Aelfwyn. What more could he have told us? But as his friends and neighbours led Eafa away, I let out a sigh. The man had lost his son. Who was I to question his actions?

Runolf placed a hand on my shoulder. I started at his touch, glancing into his bearded face. But there was no rage there now.

“It seems, young Hunlaf,” he said, “that both of the women we seek – the treacherous whore and your innocent kinswoman – are at my brother’s hall.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of this.

“Who is this Ljósberari, he spoke of?” I asked. Something about the name troubled me.