Berg, usually so lethal in a fight, had slipped in the mud. He fell, sprawling, desperately trying to kick himself away from a red-cloaked spearman who, seeing his chance, raised his spear for the fatal lunge. I hurled Serpent-Breath at the man and the blade, whirling through the rain, struck him on the shoulder. It did no damage, but made him look towards me, and Vidarr Leifson leaped to grab his spear arm then pulled him and turned him, dragging him into Beornoth’s sword. Wighelm, seeing I had no weapon, tried to slam his shield against my thigh, but I put a boot on his face and pressed his head into the mud. He began to choke. I kept my boot there, leaned down, and plucked his sword from its scabbard.

I had no need of Wighelm’s sword because the fight ended swiftly. Our attack had been so sudden and so savage that Wighelm’s miserable, wet men stood no chance. We had killed six of them, wounded four, and the others had thrown down their shields and weapons and were begging for mercy. Three fled into an alley, but Oswi and Berg hunted them down and brought them back to the tavern where we stripped the prisoners of their mail and sat them in a wet, miserable huddle at one end of the biggest room. We fed the hearth with more fuel. I sent Berg and Gerbruht to discover a small boat, then to cross the creek and bring Spearhafoc back with the men who had been left to guard her, and Vidarr Leifson and Beornoth were set to watch the road from Fæfresham. Oswi was cleaning Serpent-Breath while Finan was making certain our prisoners were securely tied with sealhide ropes.

I had spared Wighelm’s life. I drew him away from the other prisoners and sat him on a bench close to the hearth that was spitting sparks from the driftwood fuel. ‘Free his hands,’ I told Finan, then held out my own hand. ‘Eighteen shillings,’ I said, ‘for grandpa.’ He grudgingly took the coins from his pouch and put them in my palm. ‘And now the rest,’ I demanded.

He spat mud from his mouth. ‘The rest?’ he asked.

‘The rest of your coins, you fool. Give me all you’ve got.’

He untied the pouch and gave it to me. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I told you, Liudulf of Frisia. Believe that and you’re a bigger fool than I already think you are.’ Thunder sounded loud and the seethe of rain on the roof became stronger. I tipped the coins from Wighelm’s pouch onto my hand and gave the money to Finan. ‘I doubt these bastards have paid the tavern keeper,’ I said, ‘so find him and give him this. Then tell him we need food. Not for them,’ I looked at the prisoners, ‘but for us.’ I looked back to Wighelm and drew a short knife from my belt. I smiled at him, and drew the blade across my thumb as if testing the edge. ‘Now you’re going to talk to grandpa,’ I told him, and laid the flat of the blade on his cheek. He shuddered.