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Chapters (88)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. I
  4. I
  5. II
  6. III
  7. IV
  8. V
  9. VI
  10. VII
  11. VIII
  12. IX
  13. X
  14. XI
  15. II
  16. I
  17. II
  18. III
  19. IV
  20. V
  21. VI
  22. VII
  23. VIII
  24. IX
  25. X
  26. XI
  27. XII
  28. XIII
  29. XIV
  30. XV
  31. XVI
  32. XVII
  33. XVIII
  34. XIX
  35. XX
  36. XXI
  37. III
  38. I
  39. II
  40. III
  41. IV
  42. V
  43. VI
  44. VII
  45. VIII
  46. IX
  47. X
  48. XI
  49. XII
  50. XIII
  51. XIV
  52. XV
  53. XVI
  54. XVII
  55. XVIII
  56. XIX
  57. XX
  58. XXI
  59. IV
  60. I
  61. II
  62. III
  63. IV
  64. V
  65. VI
  66. VII
  67. VIII
  68. IX
  69. X
  70. XI
  71. XII
  72. XIII
  73. XIV
  74. XV
  75. XVI
  76. XVII
  77. XVIII
  78. XIX
  79. XX
  80. XXI
  81. XXII
  82. XXIII
  83. XXIV
  84. XXV
  85. XXVI
  86. XXVII
  87. EPILOGUE
  88. Afterword

The Norse kicked a loose rock. ‘And is this how you greet your trading partners, with a cobble in the balls?’

Wuffa held his gaze. They both knew they had a choice here, either to fight it out or resolve their difference. Wuffa said, ‘I should be working. Even if you don’t kill me my father will finish me off for you.’

The Norse laughed. But he warned, ‘You have to say it.’

‘All right. I apologise.’

The Norse grunted. ‘Very well. Your little girl’s throw did not harm me anyhow.’

Thus the matter was closed.

‘I am Wuffa, son of Coenred.’

The Norse nodded. ‘Ulf, son of Ulf.’ He squinted up at the wall. ‘If you are not hunting Norsemen’s balls, what are you doing?’

‘Smashing windows,’ Wuffa said, a bit ashamed. He hefted his sling. ‘It helps improve my aim.’

‘Of course it does.’

‘And you?’

Ulf showed him his spade. ‘Looking for coins. Sometimes the Britons bury their treasures, in the hope of returning some day.’

‘They never do.’

‘And if they did they would be disappointed, for Ulf the treasure-seeker has been there before them. Well, arsewipe. Do you want to continue throwing stones like a baby or will you help me dig?’

There was a kindred spirit here, Wuffa thought. He pocketed his sling. ‘Let’s dig. But stop calling me “arsewipe”. How do you know where to look? ...’

Ulf held up his hand. ‘Hush. Can you hear that?’

It was singing, voices joined in a melody high and clear as the sky, drifting on the afternoon breeze.

The young men exchanged a glance. Postponing their treasure hunt they set off across the broken city, curious, ambitious, unperturbed by the monumental ruins around them, living in their own present.

II

II

They travelled across the city, heading towards the ruined fortress built into the south-eastern corner of the circuit of the city walls. The singing came from a massive stone-walled building with a roof of red tiles that stood not far from the walls. Its huge wooden doors were flung open, and the setting sun cast low light into long aisles.

A group of people had gathered before the open doors. Men, women and children, there must have been four, five hundred of them, Wuffa thought. Drawn up in a loose column they had begun walking slowly along the road down towards the docks. A man in colourful vestments led them; he wore a pointed hat and carried what looked like a shepherd’s crook. The column was flanked by parties of Saxons - warriors, evidently hired to protect the pilgrims. The Saxons talked amongst themselves, chewed on bits of root, and eyed up the prettier women.