As the days grew relentlessly longer and warmer, Drosten’s beast slowly took shape. His nervousness was palpable on the day that Runolf pronounced to us all that the prow was finished and that the following morning Drosten would unveil it for us all to see. I had never before seen the Pict so uneasy. Here was a man who could best most opponents with his fists. I had watched him take a beating from a man larger and stronger, only for Drosten to come surging back to drop his adversary with precise and powerful punches. I had seen him rushing to Gwawrddur’s defence at Werceworthe, the Norse corpses piled before them. And yet now, at the prospect of having his friends bear witness to something he had created from his imagination, Drosten’s kirtle was drenched in sweat and he could not stand still.

The following day was bright and there was an air of excitement about the settlement. Runolf had covered the figurehead with a cloak. He grinned as we crowded around. The men put down their axes, adzes and augers. The goodwives set aside their spindles and their cooking spoons. Even the children ceased their incessant rushing about, to stand quietly and see what the surly Pict had been working on for so long.

“Drosten,” called Runolf, “come here.” Reluctantly, the Pict, his tattooed face adding to his scowling appearance, stepped forward. “Drosten is worried that we will not like what he has produced.” Runolf swept us all with his gaze. “But I tell you now, he has nothing to fear. Unlike those who seek to fight against us when we sail in the ship bearing this beast upon its prow.” His grin broadened, and Gersine, Gamal and Ida let out a small cheer at Runolf’s bravado. The Norseman nodded at them, then waited for the men to quieten once more before continuing. “I have not wished to tell you the name of the ship we have built before now, but it has been in my mind for a long time. I wished to see Drosten’s completed carving first, to see whether it would be a fitting beast for the name.” Drosten looked at the ground. His tattoos stood out bold against the flush of his cheeks. Runolf put his arm around the man and chuckled at his discomfort. “But now that I have seen it,” he said, “I find it is more than fit. It is the best thing I have ever seen, and there can be no doubt that it suits the ship, and the name.”

He gripped the cloak in his huge fist, readying himself to pull it away. His other arm was wrapped about Drosten’s neck, preventing him from fleeing and missing this moment.

“Behold,” Runolf said, “the prow beast of Brymsteda.”