Cynewulf thought he knew what she was thinking: that he wanted her only for what was in her mind, just as other men had wanted her only for the dark space between her thighs, not for her. ‘And will you come back with me, to Wessex? For the prophecy may yet be of great value.’

‘Why should I? My great-grandmother was right. All men are fools and cowards or worse. Why should I help you?’

‘Because your King commands it,’ Leofgar rumbled.

‘But my King,’ she said, ‘failed me.’

Arngrim said, ‘Leofgar told us you had been damaged.’

‘They used me,’ Aebbe said. ‘The Danes. And some of the other girls, and a few boys. But with me, he had a little fun. I think it was because he saw me with you, thegn, who he fought in the hall.’

‘Fun?’ The word seemed monstrous even as Arngrim spoke it.

She pulled up her tunic, exposing her belly and breasts. The wounds were livid, still barely healed. ‘You can see the crucifix he drew with his knife,’ she said. ‘And these letters, copied from a scrap of a burned Bible. Here he heated the knife in the fire, so when he—’

‘Enough.‘ Gytha stepped forward, and with firm, motherly motions covered the girl up.

‘By Woden’s balls,’ Leofgar growled, ‘a bit of humping is one thing. We’ve all done that, I think. But this—’

‘I will treat her,’ Ibn Zuhr murmured. ‘To ensure there is no infection.’

Cynewulf, thinking of his own lustful weakness last night, was consumed by shame - as if he had done this to her himself.

‘Who did it?’ Arngrim asked. ‘Who was he, Aebbe?’

‘The leader,’ she said. ‘He was at Cippanhamm. They called him Egil.’

Arngrim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Egil son of Egil. The Beast of Cippanhamm.’

‘There is something more,’ Aebbe said.

‘What?’

She turned to Cynewulf. ‘You want me for the prophecy in my head. But Egil has it. An ancient copy of it, written down. I saw it.’

Cynewulf was astonished. ‘How is this possible?’

Aebbe shrugged. ‘I only overheard fragments. Boasting to his companions when he was drunk. A Norse ancestor of his called Bjarni went to Lindisfarena, on the very first raid, Egil said, though I didn’t believe that. And Bjarni stole the prophecy, along with much gold from the monks.’

Arngrim asked, ‘And what does he do with it? I can’t imagine a man like the Beast working out lists of dates.’

‘He cannot read it. But he is protected by its magic, he thinks. He believes he cannot die.’

‘Which helps explain why he behaves the way he does.’

Cynewulf’s mind raced. He muttered, ‘In Boniface’s commentary - there is said to be a line in the fifth stanza, something about the Danes taking the prophecy for themselves - I could not understand it ...’