The ships were rowed to their muster point not far from the coast, where the water was shallow enough for anchoring. As the dark gathered the crews lit lanterns in their ships’ mastheads, one by one, and the fleet became an archipelago of yellow lights, stretching as far as the eye could see. Orm lay down under his cloak, his head resting on his helmet, his stiff mail coat at his side. Listening to the lapping of the water against the clinker-built hull and to the voices of the crews as they taunted each other in the dark, he imagined he was a child, safe in his father’s ship, on the way to Vinland.

In the darkest hour there came a horn’s soft note. When Orm sat up, he saw that his ship was underway once more, the sail unfurled. The crossing proper had begun. Though they still hugged the Frankish coast, already the men had begun to speak in whispers, as if King Harold in Lunden might hear.

In the dark, Odo came to Orm. ‘Quite an expedition - don’t you think, Orm Egilsson?’ His eyes shadowed, Odo’s face was a mask, like his brother William’s and yet not, with that hint of oily subtlety, that slyness.

Orm had no excuse to get away from Odo’s uncomfortable conversation. He said cautiously, ‘The greatest expedition to cross this water since the Romans, they say.’

‘Well, true. In fact we come third, according to the histories I’ve read, after Claudius a thousand years ago, and Caesar a hundred years before him. But then the Caesars had the resources of an empire to call upon, and William only has a duchy.’

‘As yet,’ said Orm dutifully.

‘As yet, indeed. That might change soon, if we prevail. Tell me - you’re a military man - how do you see our chances?’

Orm shrugged. ‘It’s late in the season, that’s our biggest gamble. We need to bring the English to battle quickly, and to win decisively. And yet—’

‘Yes?’

‘If we hadn’t sailed now, the momentum would have been lost. We could never put this lot back together again next season.’

‘Yes. I think you probably know William has drained the duchy to pay for this expedition. A man like William doesn’t have long to achieve greatness. He has already outlived Alexander by a decade or more. Life is brief, Orm! Especially for a warrior prince. And this may be his last chance.’

‘We are privileged to be sailing with him,’ Orm said evenly.

Odo grunted, amused. ‘You’re saying what you think I want to hear, aren’t you? But you’re right. And if we succeed, if Normandy grabs England with this bold stroke, I dare say that in days to come the men who will claim to have sailed with William tonight will outnumber us ten to one. Eh? And, of course, we sail with a far mightier presence.’