‘Yes, master,’ I said, and carefully counted fifteen silver shillings and dropped them into his palm.

He grinned, happy to have fooled foreigners. ‘Got any juicy women in that ship?’

‘We sold the last three at Dumnoc, master,’ I said.

‘Pity,’ he said.

His companion chuckled. ‘Wait a few days and we might have a couple of young boys to sell you.’

‘How young?’

‘Infants.’

‘It’s none of your business!’ The first man interrupted, plainly angered that his companion had mentioned the boys.

‘We pay well for small boys,’ I said. ‘They can be whipped and trained. A plump docile boy can fetch a good price!’ I took a gold coin from my purse and tossed it up and down a couple of times. I was doing my best to imitate Gerbruht’s Frisian accent and was evidently successful because neither man seemed to suspect anything. ‘Young boys,’ I said, ‘sell almost as well as young women.’

‘The boys might or might not be for sale,’ the first man said grudgingly, ‘and if you do buy them you’ll have to sell them abroad. Can’t be sold here.’ He was eyeing the gold coin that I slipped back into the pouch, making sure it clinked against the other coins.

‘Your name, master?’ I asked respectfully.

‘Wighelm.’

‘I am Liudulf,’ I said, using a common Frisian name. ‘And we seek shelter, nothing more.’

‘How long are you staying, old man?’

‘How far to Contwaraburg?’ I asked.

‘Ten miles,’ he said. ‘A man can walk there in a morning, but it might take you a week. How do you plan to get there? Crawl?’ He and his companion laughed.

‘I would stay long enough to reach Contwaraburg and then return,’ I said.

‘And we crave shelter, master,’ Gerbruht added from behind me.

‘Use one of the cottages over there,’ Wighelm said, nodding towards the further bank of the small harbour, ‘but make sure your damned slaves stay shackled.’

‘Of course, master,’ I said, ‘and thank you, master. God will bless your kindness.’

Wighelm sneered at that, then he and his companion stepped back into the tavern. I had a glimpse of men at tables, then the door was slammed and I heard the bar drop into its brackets.

‘Was he the town reeve?’ Folcbald asked as we walked back to the ship.

It was not a foolish question. I knew Æthelhelm had land all across southern Britain, and he probably did own parts of Cent, but it was most unlikely that Eadgifu would seek refuge anywhere near one of those estates. ‘He’s a lying bastard is what he is,’ I said, ‘and he owes me eighteen shillings.’

I assumed Wighelm or one of his men was watching from the tavern as we rowed Spearhafoc across the creek and moored against a half-rotted wharf. I made most of my crew shuffle as they left the ship, pretending to be shackled. They grinned at the deception, but the rain was so hard and the day so dark that I doubted anyone would notice the pretence. Most of the crew had to use a store hut for their shelter because there was no room in the small cottage, where a driftwood fire blazed furiously. The cottager, a big man called Kalf, was a fisherman. He and his wife watched sullenly as a dozen of us filled his room. ‘You were mad to be at sea in this weather,’ he finally said in broken English.