Jael just pulled a face at him. ‘Win? Please.’ Then he frowned as he thought about it a few moments, finally shrugging. ‘If he wins we’ll just kill him, anyway. He won’t get back to those gates before my mounted shieldmen could catch him.’

‘That may inspire some anger amongst his warband, rather than dishearten them.’

‘It may, you’re right. But he’d still be dead, and that is the most important goal here, Ulfilas. To kill a snake you cut off the head.’

‘I’m coming down,’ the Bright Star’s voice drifted down to them.

The gates opened with a grating of iron and oak and a lone figure stepped out. They closed behind him with a booming thud as he strode purposefully towards them.

‘He looks quite confident,’ Jael remarked.

‘He does,’ Ulfilas agreed.

The four of them waited in silence as the lone warrior approached them.

So this is the Bright Star that Nathair is so scared of. Corban. He is younger than I expected.

He was young, his face smooth-skinned apart from the short dark stubble of a beard. He walked with the easy gait of a warrior, of average height, broad at the shoulder, thick at the chest, slim at the waist, built more like a blacksmith, to Ulfilas’ mind.

He’s well dressed, though, Ulfilas thought, admiring his war gear. A well-fitting coat of mail, leather and iron on his wrists and feet, shield slung across his back and a large hand-and-a-half sword at his hip.

A big sword, too big to use single-handed. Strong but slow.

Ulfilas had seen this type many times before, strong but slow, their strength often their worst enemy, relying upon it to batter their opponents into defeat. He saw a strange weapon strapped to Corban’s left hand, like a three-pronged knife bound into a leather gauntlet.

Like claws. Ulfilas remembered the wounds on many of those who had been slain in the night-time raids during the journey through Forn.

Something glinted on his arm, an arm-ring spiralling around his bicep, gleaming with silver.

Jael will want that once this man is dead.

He stopped about fifty paces from them, regarding them with dark, serious eyes.

‘I am here, then.’ Corban drew his sword almost without having seemed to move, his feet shifting, balance perfect. He rolled his shoulders.

Maybe not so slow, then.

‘Brave of you,’ Jael commented, ‘and trusting.’

Not so trusting, that’s why he stopped over fifty paces away from us.

Corban shrugged. ‘Let’s get on with this.’

‘Not a conversationalist, then,’ Jael said. ‘As you wish.’ He pulled on his reins and kicked his horse, turning to ride back to the warband. Ulfilas and Fram followed. Ulfilas looked back over his shoulder, saw the surprise on Corban’s face as Fram rode away, then saw his expression change as the fourth member of their party slid from his horse and dropped his cloak.