In the tension and confusion after that murky oath-taking, Orm, expected to stand beside his Norman lord, had lost track of Godgifu and her brother. And he had not seen her from that day to this.

‘I was glad you wrote to me. I thought we might never see each other again. And we have unfinished business.’

She grinned, almost lascivious. ‘So we have, Viking.’

‘And we have business too,’ said Sihtric. The priest came bustling from the tavern bearing a brimming tankard. ‘Although I’m not interested in the contents of your trousers, Orm, but of your head.’

‘For a man of God you’re crude sometimes, priest.’

‘Not crude but truthful, and God has no problem with that.’ And he downed half his ale with a gulp. Sihtric was clean-shaven, his tonsure and eyebrows neatly plucked, and he wore a white tunic which glittered with golden thread. He was putting on weight too; he had a pot belly comically protruding from the front of his slight frame. He was evidently doing well. And yet the slyness and ambition Orm had discerned in the young priest he had met in Brittany was, if anything, even more striking.

‘So what do you think of our new cathedral of Westmynster, Orm?’

‘It is an impressive building.’

‘Yes. The first cruciform church in all England, you know, and bigger than anything they have in Normandy -‘

‘I hate it,’ Godgifu said with surprising strength. ‘It‘s a Norman box. A coffin for God. It has no place in England.’

Sihtric grinned at Orm. ‘You’ll have to forgive my sister. Lacks sophistication sometimes. The cathedral is a sign of how the church has prospered under Edward. As, indeed, have I.‘

Orm said, ‘In her letter Godgifu told me you’re closer to Harold now.’

Godgifu nodded. ‘He has been ever since that business of William and the oath.’

So Sihtric had seen his chance and taken it, Orm thought. He said, goading, ‘I’m surprised. I thought you were Earl Tostig’s man. Aren’t you loyal? Didn’t you follow your master into exile?’

Both Godgifu and Sihtric glanced around nervously. Apparently the tensions surrounding the fall of Harold’s brother were strong.

‘Come,‘ Sihtric said. ‘Not here, you never know who’s listening. Let’s drink and talk.’ He led them both into the tavern, and fetched more ale.

‘I am destined to meet you two in taverns, it seems,’ said Orm.

‘My brother likes his ale,’ said Godgifu.

‘My only vice,’ said Sihtric, ‘unlike poor Tostig.’

Harold’s brother had been appointed Earl of Northumbria a decade before. It was a difficult realm, full of English who pined for the great days of their own kingdom, and of Danes who dreamed of the restoration of the Viking kings of Jorvik. For seven or eight years, though, Tostig looked secure. Then he murdered a few rivals, and, worse, tried to raise the Northumbrians’ taxes.