‘Lord Uhtred,’ she said in a tone of amazement. ‘You came!’

‘We must go, my lady.’

‘But my brother!’

‘Is talking to Æthelhelm’s men, my lady, and I can’t wait to find out what they decide. Do you wish to wait? You can stay here, and I’ll go.’ There were four women with Eadgifu, I assumed they were her servants or companions, one of whom was holding a small boy, just three or four years old, while two carried babes in arms. There was also a priest who wore a black cloak.

‘Lord Uhtred is right, my lady,’ the priest said nervously.

‘But my brother has come!’ Eadgifu stared towards Fæfresham as if expecting men with bulls or swords on their shields to come to her rescue.

‘And a lot of Ealdorman Æthelhelm’s men have come too,’ I said, ‘and until I know who’s won that battle we must stay with the boat.’

‘Can’t we go back?’ Eadgifu pleaded.

I stared at her. She was undeniably beautiful. She had skin as pale as milk, dark eyebrows and black hair, rich lips and an understandable look of anxiety. ‘Lady,’ I said as patiently as I could, ‘you asked for my help and I’m here. And I don’t help you by taking you back into a town that is full of brawling men, half of whom want to kill your children.’

‘I …’ she began, then decided not to speak.

‘We go that way,’ I insisted, pointing north. I looked behind and still saw there was no pursuit. ‘Let’s go!’ I shouted.

Eadgifu kicked her horse alongside mine. ‘Can we wait to find out what happened in Fæfresham?’ she asked.

‘We can wait,’ I agreed, ‘but only once we’re aboard my ship.’

‘I worry for my brother.’

‘And for your husband?’ I asked brutally.

She made the sign of the cross. ‘Edward is dying. Maybe he’s already dead.’

‘And if he is,’ I said, still speaking harshly, ‘Ælfweard is king.’

‘He is a rotten soul,’ she spat, ‘an evil creature. The spawn of a devil woman.’

‘Who will kill your children in the time it takes to drown a kitten,’ I said, ‘so we must take you somewhere safe.’

‘Where is safe?’ The question had come from one of Eadgifu’s women, the only one who was not holding a child. She kicked her horse so that she rode on my left, then asked, ‘Where will we go?’ It was plain that English, which she spoke with a delicate accent, was not her native tongue.

‘You are?’ I asked.

‘I am Benedetta,’ she said with a dignity that intrigued me.

The unusual name intrigued me too, for it was neither Saxon nor Danish. ‘Benedetta,’ I repeated it clumsily.

‘I am from Lupiae,’ she said proudly and, when I said nothing, ‘you have heard of Lupiae?’

I must have stared vacantly at her, because Eadgifu answered for me. ‘Benedetta is from Italy!’

‘Rome!’ I said.

‘Lupiae is far to the south of Rome,’ Benedetta said dismissively.