As Aethelred had grown to fourteen or fifteen, his behaviour seemed to calm. He joined in the monastery’s daily routine, and the abbot thought he showed signs of accepting the word of God. He continued to draw his peculiar designs, but he was willing to turn his attention to other things. For instance, he learned to illuminate. ‘He actually turned out a few pages that were good enough to sell, even at such a young age,’ Aethelmaer said. ‘Who knows what he might have achieved, had he lived?’

But he had not lived. As he grew he blossomed from a pretty child into a beautiful young man. There were those in the monastery who lusted after him. When they approached him, he ignored their advances ; when they pressed, he fought back. So, inflamed by lust and rage, they held him down.

‘I doubt he even understood what was happening. He must have been terrified. And when they were done, such was the violence they had used, he was dead, his pretty body as broken as his mind had always been. So that was that, a terrible end. But I comfort myself that perhaps he had served the purpose for which God placed him on the earth - after all his drawings survived - and he was ready to be called back to Heaven.’

Aethelmaer had his faced bathed by his attendant, and Orm took the opportunity to draw the others aside. ‘So what do you make of this?’

Sihtric said, ‘Who knows? There’s something in these “Engines of God”, that’s for sure. And I can’t resist a cryptogram! But aside from the business of the comet I can’t see what it has to do with Harold.’

‘So will you let this old man go?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He grinned, wolfish, calculating. ‘But I think I’ll take a copy of those sketches of Aethelred’s. There will be a future beyond this crisis, however it turns out, a future beyond 1066. Perhaps the sketches will be a guide ...’

Godgifu was clearly repelled. ‘You never stop manipulating, do you? You never stop plotting, calculating, seeking the advantage.’

‘It’s got me this far,’ he said, unperturbed.

Orm plucked Godgifu’s sleeve. ‘Let’s get out of here. The stench is making me ill.’

‘Of his ulcer?’

‘That too. Come on.’

They hurried out of the abbey, and made for the thegn’s house Orm was sharing with Sihtric and Godifu. It was still light. Once inside, Godgifu poured wine.

Orm felt restless, confined. He prowled around, longing to punch something. ‘I’ve had my fill of prophecies. And hypocrisy. The fat, putrid old monk, Aethelmaer! He drools over the boy’s drawings as if they were a gift from his God - and yet those who were supposed to care for the boy raped him to death. All that lost potential, a lost life - and for what?’ He drained his cup.

And Godgifu stood before him.