‘I remember,’ I said.

‘What was her lover’s name?’

‘Harald. He killed her.’

He nodded. ‘And we captured thirty ships.’

I was still thinking of Skade, remembering. ‘War seemed cleaner then.’

‘No, we were younger then, that’s all.’ The two of us were standing in the prow. I could see the hills rising beyond Beamfleot, and I remembered a villager telling me that the god Thor had walked the ridge there. He was a Christian, yet he had seemed proud that Thor had walked his fields.

We had taken the sparrowhawk’s head from the prow so that to a casual glance we were just another ship rowing upriver to the wharves of Lundene. Low hills of ripening wheat rose beyond the muddy banks. The oars creaked as they pulled. A man stretching a net to catch marsh birds stood from his task to watch us pass. He saw we were a ship of warriors and made the sign of the cross, then bent to his task again. As the estuary narrowed we began passing close to ships coming downriver, their sails bellying in the south-west wind, and we shouted for news as passing ships always do. Were there Mercian troops in Lundene? There were. Was King Æthelstan there? No one could say, and so, still largely ignorant of what happened in Lundene, let alone Wessex, we rowed on towards the wide smear of dark smoke that always hung above the city. The tide had turned and we were using just six rowers on each side to keep the boat’s heading. Berg had the steering-oar now, while Eadgifu, her children and her companions were huddled under the prow platform where Finan and I stood. ‘So it’s over,’ Finan said to me.

I knew he had been brooding over my sudden decision to go west to Lundene instead of north to Bebbanburg. ‘Over?’ I asked.

‘Æthelstan’s men are in Lundene. We join him. We fight a battle. We kill Æthelhelm. We go home.’

I nodded. ‘That’s my hope.’

‘The men are worried.’

‘About a battle?’

‘About the plague.’ He crossed himself. ‘They have wives and children, so do I.’

‘The plague wasn’t at Bebbanburg.’

‘It’s in the north. Who knows how far it’s spread?’

‘Rumour said it was at Lindcolne,’ I said, ‘but that’s a long way from Bebbanburg.’

‘That’s small consolation to men worrying about their families.’

I had been trying to ignore those rumours of the plague. Rumours are just that and most are not true, and the days around a king’s death provoke many rumours, but Sigtryggr had warned me of the sickness in Lindcolne, others had spoken of death in the north, and Finan had been right to remind me. My men wanted to be reunited with their families. They would follow me into battle, they would fight like demons, but a threat to their wives and children was far more important to them than any oath of mine. ‘Tell them,’ I said, ‘that we’ll be home soon.’