That made sense. Iron-rimmed willow-board shields are heavy. The sentinels on Bebbanburg’s walls did not carry shields, though they were always close at hand. A shield is the last thing a warrior picks up before battle and the first to be discarded after. Men patrolling streets only faced townsfolk, not screaming mail-clad warriors, so a shield was merely an encumbrance. ‘And we don’t have shields,’ Finan said with a crooked grin.

‘So we won’t look strange walking the streets without shields,’ I said, ‘but we do have children.’

For a heartbeat Aldwyn looked as though he would protest that he was no child, then curiosity defeated his indignation. ‘Children, lord?’

‘Children,’ I said grimly, ‘because I’m going to sell the lot of you. Tonight.’

We waited until the night was almost gone, until the first hint of wolf-grey light edged the east; we waited until the time when men who have stayed awake all night are tired and when they yearn for their replacements to come on duty.

Then we marched. We did not sneak through the city, edging from shadow to shadow, but instead walked boldly down the main street towards the bridge. We carried drawn swords and wore our helmets and mail. We were eight warriors who surrounded the children. Those youngsters were excited, knowing they were going on an adventure, but I had told them to look miserable. ‘You’re captives!’ I snarled at them. ‘You’re going to be sold!’

Benedetta walked with them, her head covered by a dark hood, while Father Oda was beside me wearing his long black robe and with a silver cross gleaming in the feeble light of the guttering torches. Ahead of us a fire burned in a brazier at the bridge’s northern end and, as we went nearer, two men strolled towards us. ‘Who are you?’ one of them asked.

‘Lord Varin’s men,’ Father Oda answered, and his Danish accent only made the lie more believable.

‘Crossing the bridge, father?’ the man asked.

‘Going that way,’ Father Oda pointed to the street that led eastwards along the back of the wharves and warehouses.

‘We’re taking these little bastards to be sold,’ I explained.

‘They’re vermin!’ Father Oda added, cuffing Aldwyn’s head. ‘We found them stealing in the palace storerooms.’

‘Selling them are you?’ the man seemed amused. ‘Best thing for them!’

We wished him a good day and turned down the street. ‘Not this gate,’ Aldwyn muttered, ‘but the next.’

Gunnald’s slave-yard was perilously close to the bridge where a dozen men stood guard beside the brazier. Whatever we did would have to be done quietly, though it began noisily enough when I hammered on the gate with Serpent-Breath’s hilt. No one answered. I hammered again and kept beating the gate until a small hatch was pushed open and a face appeared in the shadow. ‘What is it?’ the man growled.

‘Lord Varin sending you merchandise.’

‘Who’s Lord Varin?’

‘He commands the city. Now open the gate.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ the man grumbled. I could see a slight gleam of one eye as he stared into the street, seeing children and warriors. ‘Couldn’t it wait?’