All the kings of the alliance were there: Jael at the table’s head, with Fram close by and Sumur a black shadow at his back, then Nathair with his companions – silver-haired Calidus and the brooding giant, the outline of his war-hammer like a crow upon his back. Lothar, once battlechief to Helveth’s ruler and now king of the realm. Ulfilas remembered him from the battle of Haldis, deep in Forn Forest. He had been clear-headed in council and fierce in battle. He sat now in silence and kingly splendour, the black hammer of his realm emblazoned on a white cuirass, a white cloak of wolven fur trimmed with gold around his shoulders. His face was predatory and hawk-like, his nose sharp and beaked. One warrior stood at his back.

And then there was Gundul, King of Carnutan, dark-haired and round-faced. He was the son of the traitor Mandros who had slain Aquilus, Nathair’s father, and had his head taken from his shoulders in recompense by Nathair’s first-sword, Veradis. Gundul had played a part in Mandros’ downfall, and in return Nathair had supported him in his claim to the throne of Carnutan.

None of these men would be king now, if not for Nathair. It is no wonder Jael is indebted to him. But no man gives such favours for nothing. What will he ask for in return?

A man sat beside Gundul, with deep lines in a narrow face and an iron-grey beard, he sat straight-backed and alert, sharp eyes taking in every detail.

Belo, some relation of Gundul, and apparently more in control of Carnutan than Gundul is.

Gundul had only arrived yesterday, two hundred warriors riding with him as an honour guard. Jael had chafed at the delay, and so had Nathair, who had spent most of his days hidden away in his camp, which was built like a fortress around a huge wain, wheels as big as a horse. Nathair stood, and the murmur of conversation died out, a hush falling around the table.

‘Well met,’ he said, nodding to each king. ‘It has been a long road since last we were all together – during my father’s council at Jerolin. It was there that we made our pledge to one another, gave our oaths to this alliance; and now, look at us all. We are kings. Fortune has favoured us.’ He raised a cup to them, his lips twisted in an almost-smile, as if at some unknown jest.

The kings raised their cups.

‘I have helped you all, given aid when you asked. Lent my warbands, their blood spilt in your causes. Now I ask that you remember the oaths that we pledged to one another, and the war that we committed to fight.’