‘Lord!’ Vidarr Leifson, who was standing on one of the rowing benches closest to the stern, called to me. He pointed behind and I turned to see that a fishing boat crammed with red-cloaked men was being laboriously rowed from the harbour entrance. I glanced across the reed beds, but could see neither the stranded women nor the five sentries we had posted. A pair of cranes flew from the reeds, their huge wings beating laboriously and the red feathers of their heads bright in the morning sun. They slowly gained height, long legs trailing, and one of the men on the fishing boat hurled a spear at the closest bird. It missed and plunged harmlessly into the creek. A good omen, I thought. ‘We’ll deal with that fishing boat soon,’ I told Vidarr, hoping that the men on that boat had no idea that the women and children they had come to recapture were almost unguarded on Sceapig, then I called to the oarsmen to stop rowing as Spearhafoc’s prow loomed above the smaller ship. We coasted for a few paces, then I felt a quiver in the hull as we touched her. Finan and two men jumped onto the stranger’s deck. ‘Hold her here,’ I told Gerbruht, meaning he should try to keep Spearhafoc next to the smaller ship, then I went forward to see that Finan was arguing with the red-cloaked man. No swords had been drawn. ‘What is it?’ I called down.

‘A hired boat,’ Finan answered laconically, ‘bringing messengers from Æthelhelm.’

‘Bring them on board.’

‘This fellow doesn’t like that idea,’ Finan said with a grin. ‘He doesn’t believe I serve that piece of shit Æthelhelm!’

The red cloaks had at least made them believe we were friends until Finan and his men boarded their small ship. ‘You have a choice,’ I snarled at the man facing Finan. ‘You either come aboard my ship or we practise our sword-skill on you. You choose.’

‘And you are?’ he demanded.

‘Uhtredærwe,’ I said, and was rewarded with a visible shudder. Reputation is sometimes enough to end a confrontation, and the red-cloaked man, whoever he was, had no desire to add his death to my reputation. He clambered up onto Spearhafoc’s prow, urged on by a slap from Finan, and was followed by a priest. I judged both men to be middle-aged, while the one who had argued with Finan was richly dressed and had a silver chain at his neck. ‘Throw your oars overboard!’ I called to the smaller ship’s master. ‘Finan! Cut his halliards!’ The twenty oarsmen watched sullenly as Finan slashed through every line he could find. By the time he was done the smaller ship could neither row nor sail, while the flooding tide would take it gently away from Fæfresham. ‘When we’re gone,’ I called to the master, ‘you can swim for your oars and splice your lines.’ His only answer was to spit overboard. He was unhappy and I could not blame him, but I did not want him returning to Lundene to spread news of my arrival in Wessex.