‘Failed? You’re getting us home!’

‘I came to kill Æthelhelm and his rotten nephew.’

‘You’ll kill them yet,’ Finan said.

The sun was warm. Most of the oarsmen were young, stripped to the waist, sunburned and sinewy. Word of Irenmund’s revenge had spread through the benches and the rowers were grinning even though they were tired. I had assumed Irenmund had wanted to kill Lyfing Gunnaldson, but instead it had been the burly black-ringleted man whose screams had reached the wharf. ‘He made a mess of him, lord,’ Vidarr had told me with indecent relish, ‘but he was quick.’ Now Irenmund was back on his bench, hauling the oar, but slowly. The current would carry us till the tide turned, then the hard work would begin unless the gods sent a friendly wind.

Father Oda had been talking to the oarsmen and now joined us. ‘Mostly Saxons,’ he said, ‘but three Danes, two Frisians, a Scot, and two of your countrymen, Finan. And all of them,’ he added pointedly, looking at me, ‘Christians.’

‘You can pray with them father,’ I said cheerfully.

We were passing the wharves on the northern bank. Shipping was thick there, though to my relief there were few warriors visible on the wharves. The day seemed lazy and quiet, even the river’s traffic was scanty. Nothing was coming upriver against the tide, but we passed a handful of smaller boats that ferried goods to the southern bank. The air smelled cleaner out in the river’s centre, though the Lundene stench of smoke and shit was still there, but by tonight, I thought, we would be in the open sea beneath the stars. I was going home and my only regret was that my oath was unfulfilled, but I consoled myself that I had done my best. Æthelhelm still lived and his vile nephew was now called King of Wessex, but I was taking my people home.

We passed the Dead Dane and came in sight of my old home, the Roman house on its stone wharf at the river’s edge. Gisella had died there and I touched the hammer at my neck. In my heart I believed she was waiting for me somewhere in the realms of the gods. ‘Three days, you think?’ Finan interrupted my thoughts.

‘To get home? Yes. Maybe four.’

‘We’ll need food.’

‘We’ll call into a harbour in East Anglia. Take what we need.’

‘There’ll be no one to stop us,’ Finan said with amusement, ‘the bastards are all here!’

He was staring at the house, my old house where we had taken refuge when we first arrived in Lundene. A ship was moored there, a long, low ship moored to face upstream, with a high prow on which a cross was mounted. Her mast was raked, giving her a predatory appearance. I guessed she was twice as long as the Brimwisa, which made her a much faster ship, and for a heartbeat I was tempted to steal her, but rejected the idea when I saw men come from the house onto the terrace. There were a dozen men, half of them in mail, and they watched as we slid past. I waved to them, hoping the gesture would convince them that we were no threat.