‘Just to sell them, lord.’ The captured man’s name was Deogol. He was younger than the other three captives and eager to please. He was a West Saxon who had lost a hand fighting when Edward had invaded East Anglia. ‘I couldn’t work at home,’ he had explained, lifting the stump of his right arm, ‘and Gunnald gave me work. A man has to eat.’

‘So Gunnald’s son is selling slaves?’

‘War isn’t good for trade, lord, that’s what they say. Prices are low in Lundene so he’s selling the best across the water. All except for …’ he paused, decided to say nothing, but I saw him glance to where the stairs began.

‘Except for the girls who were upstairs?’ I asked.

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Why isn’t he selling those? They look valuable to me.’

‘They’re his girls, lord,’ Deogol said miserably. ‘His father’s girls really, but they share them.’

‘Gunnald Gunnaldson and his son?’ I asked, and Deogol just nodded. ‘What’s the son’s name?’

‘Lyfing, lord.’

‘Where’s his mother?’

‘Dead, lord.’

‘And who rows his ship?’

‘Slaves, lord,’

‘How many?’

‘Just twenty oars,’ Deogol said, ‘ten a side.’

‘So a small ship?’

‘But it’s fast,’ he said. ‘That old one,’ he jerked his head towards the wreck on the wharf, ‘needed twice as many men and she was always a pig.’

So Gunnald had bought a smaller, lighter vessel that needed fewer men on the oars and, if our captive was right, was fast enough to escape most Frisian or Danish raiders looking for easy prey. And that lighter ship might return any day, but meanwhile I had nineteen freed slaves, four captive guards, a dozen children, my seven men, a priest, Benedetta, and the two horses in the stable to feed. Luckily there were a dozen sacks of oats in the kitchen, a mound of firewood, a stone hearth that still had glowing embers, and a great cauldron. We would not starve. ‘But it’s a pity about the mouse droppings,’ Finan said, looking at a handful of oats.

‘We’ve eaten worse.’

Benedetta, the bloodstains dry on her gown, found her way to the kitchen that was a grimy shed built alongside the wharf. She brought Alaina, an arm around the girl’s shoulder. ‘She’s hungry.’

‘We’ll boil some oats,’ I said.

‘I can make oatcakes,’ Alaina said brightly.

‘Then we need some lard,’ Benedetta said, starting to hunt through boxes and jars stored on a shelf, ‘and some water. Salt, if there is any. Help me search!’

‘I like oatcakes,’ Alaina said.

I looked at Benedetta questioningly and she smiled. ‘Alaina’s doing well,’ she said, ‘she’s a good girl.’

‘And you’ll find my mama?’ Alaina asked me earnestly.

‘Of course he will!’ Benedetta answered for me. ‘Lord Uhtred can do anything!’

Lord Uhtred, I thought, would need a miracle to find the child’s mother, let alone escape from Lundene, but for the moment all I could do was wait for the slave ship to return. I ordered the dead bodies brought to the wharf and heaped against the western wall where they were hidden from any inquisitive guard on the bridge. The dead would all be tipped into the river after dark. Gunnald’s fat, pale, and blood-streaked corpse was dragged down the stairs, his grimacing eyeless head bumping on each step. I searched his attic lair and found a sturdy box full of money. There were West Saxon and Mercian shillings, Danish hacksilver, and Northumbrian gold, besides Frisian, Frankish, and other strange coins, some inscribed with letters of an alphabet and language I had never seen before. ‘These are from Africa,’ Benedetta told me, fingering a big round silver piece. ‘They are Saraceni coins. We used them in Lupiae.’ She put it back with the rest of the money. ‘How safe are we?’ she asked.