Cynewulf, agitated, struggled for self-control. ‘Oh, yes I do, you pagan oaf. I long to be free of the trials of this life, and to enter the peace of God which is forever beyond your hell-bom understanding. But not today, not today. I must know. Is she there?’

‘Aebbe? I did not see her. But she must be among the captives.’ He described what he had seen of the camp.

‘I don’t understand,’ Ibn Zuhr said, ‘why they want all this plunder.’

Arngrim knew it was a sensible point. ‘Among the Northmen the worth of a war leader is measured by the wealth he wins, and can give to those who follow him. We know this because long ago it was the same with us - and still is.’ He raised an arm heavy with silver rings, most of them given him by Alfred.

‘As for Aebbe, perhaps they have killed her already,’ Cynewulf said gloomily.

‘I doubt she is dead. Her youth and beauty will keep her alive.’

‘The heathens will abuse her.’

‘Perhaps. But they will not kill her.’ Not unless, Amgrim told himself, she fights back too hard.

Ibn Zuhr seemed fascinated by the priest’s distress. ‘You are agitated by the plight of this Aebbe because of the information she holds. But what of the other captives? You are a priest of the Christians. I do not understand how a Christian can accept slavery - yet your society could not function without slaves.’

Cynewulf said, ‘The Church tolerates slavery as a necessary evil, and an appropriate punishment for certain crimes. But the Church is concerned by the slave-taking by Danes, by heathens. And indeed by Moors. For the Church requires that all its devotees have the freedom to pursue their faith.’

‘How enlightened,’ Ibn Zuhr said dryly.

Arngrim valued Ibn Zuhr, but sometimes he pushed his luck. ‘You ask barbed questions, Moor. Just remember you are a slave. Anyhow we’re here to deal with the Danes, not debate philosophy.’

‘How many in the camp?’ Cynewulf asked.

‘Hundreds. Not thousands.’ In fact this was only a fraction of the original Danish force which had landed a dozen years ago; the rest had settled down to colonise the kingdoms they had shattered in the east and north.

‘Hundreds.’ Cynewulf shook his head. ‘How is it that we fall like straw men before mere hundreds?’

‘Few of us are warriors,’ Arngrim said. ‘The thegns are raised to fight. But the fyrd are farmers. And when the harvest is due they melt away anyhow. These Danes are blooded warriors. They do not fear a failed harvest for they simply steal food. What is worse, their war has become focused here, in Wessex, for the Danes have finished with the rest of England, save to farm it. It is only here that glory and booty may still be found, and so it is here that the hungriest warriors will come.’