‘Not Northumbria,’ I growled.

‘And how will you oppose his invasion? You can raise three thousand warriors?’

‘Not even half that number,’ I admitted.

‘And he’ll probably come with more than three thousand,’ Oda said, ‘and what will you do then? You think your walls at Bebbanburg can defy that army?’

‘It won’t happen,’ I said.

‘No?’

‘Because tomorrow I kill Æthelhelm,’ I said.

‘Not tonight?’

‘Tomorrow,’ I said firmly. Oda lifted a quizzical eyebrow, but said nothing. ‘Tomorrow,’ I explained, ‘is when Heorstan’s men would have told Æthelhelm to expect us. He expects me to try to force an entry through one of the northern gates, so they’ll be watching from the northern ramparts.’

‘Meaning they’ll be awake and alert,’ Oda pointed out.

‘As they will be tonight, too,’ I said. Night is when evil stirs, when spirits and shadow-walkers haunt the world, and when a man’s fear of death is felt most keenly. Æthelhelm and Ælfweard would be deep in the palace, and their red-cloaked guards would be all around them. No stranger would be permitted through the palace archways except perhaps those who brought an urgent message, and even they would be disarmed beyond the gates. The corridors and great hall would be full of household warriors, both Æthelhelm’s and the royal guards. We might just succeed in breaking through one gate, but would then find ourselves in a maze of passages and courtyards swarming with enemies. Come morning, when the dawn chased the evil spirits back to their lairs, the palace gates would open and Æthelhelm would surely want to watch from the northern wall. It was there, I thought, that I would have to find him.

‘And how will you kill him tomorrow?’ Oda asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, nor did I. In truth my only plan was to wait for an opportunity, and that was no plan at all. It was not a cold night, but still, thinking of what I had promised to do next day, I shivered.

The dawn came early, a summer dawn with another cloudless sky smeared only by the city’s smoke. I had slept badly. We had unrolled the barge’s sail and laid it on the deck, set sentries, and then I had worried through the short night. My ribs hurt, my shoulders ached, my skin was sore. I must have dozed, but I was still tired when the sunrise brought a freshening south-west wind, and I took that wind as a sign from the gods.

Back in Werlameceaster my plan had seemed possible. Not likely, perhaps, but possible. I had thought that if Æthelhelm’s men were watching for me from Lundene’s northern wall we could climb the hill from the river, and then what? I had imagined discovering Æthelhelm and his nephew somewhere close to the walls, and that a sudden assault would overcome his guards and give us the chance to slaughter both. Their deaths, I had hoped, would be enough to rouse the East Anglians who, once we had opened a gate to let Merewalh’s men into the city, would help chase the West Saxons out of Lundene. Æthelhelm ruled by fear, so to remove that fear was to destroy his power, but now, as the sun climbed higher, I felt nothing but despair. Lundene was a city crammed with my enemies, and my feeble hopes depended on persuading some of those enemies to fight for us. It was madness. We were in a city garrisoned by thousands of the enemy, and we were one hundred and eighty men.