‘What’s soon?’ Finan demanded.

‘Let me find the news in Lundene first,’ I said.

‘And what if Æthelstan’s there?’ Finan asked. ‘And what if he wants you to march with him?’

‘Then I march,’ I said bleakly, ‘and you can take Spearhafoc home.’

‘Me!’ Finan said, sounding alarmed. ‘Not me! Berg can sail her.’

‘Berg can sail her,’ I agreed, ‘but you’ll command Berg.’ I knew Finan was no seaman.

‘I’ll command nothing!’ he retorted fiercely. ‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘You don’t have to—’

‘I took an oath to protect you!’ he interrupted me.

‘You? I never asked any oath of you!’

‘You didn’t,’ he agreed, ‘but I still swore an oath to protect you.’

‘When?’ I asked. ‘I don’t remember any such oath.’

‘I took it two heartbeats ago,’ he said, ‘and if you can be tied by a stupid oath, so can I.’

‘I release you from any oath—’

Again he interrupted me. ‘Someone has to keep you alive. Seems God gave me the task of keeping you away from barley fields.’

I touched the hammer and tried to convince myself that I was making the right decision. ‘There are no barley fields in Lundene,’ I told Finan.

‘That’s true.’

‘Then we shall live, my friend,’ I said, touching him on the shoulder, ‘we shall live and we’ll go home.’

I walked to the stern where the lowering sun cast a long rippling shadow behind Spearhafoc. I sat on one of the low steps that led to the steering platform. A swan flew northwards and I idly worried it was an omen that we should also go north, but there were other birds, other omens. Sometimes it is hard to know the will of the gods, and even when we do know we cannot be certain they are not toying with us. I touched the hammer again.

‘You believe that has power?’ a voice asked.

I looked up and saw it was Benedetta, her face shadowed by the hood she wore. ‘I believe the gods have power,’ I answered.

‘One god,’ she insisted. I shrugged, too tired to argue. Benedetta stared at the slow passing bank of East Seax. ‘We’re going to Lundene?’ she asked.

‘We are.’

‘I hate Lundene,’ she said bitterly.

‘It’s a lot to hate.’

‘When the slavers came …’ she began, then stopped.

‘You told me you were twelve?’

She nodded. ‘I was to be married that summer. To a good man, a fisherman.’

‘They killed him too?’

‘They killed everyone! Saraceni!’ She spat the word. ‘They killed anyone who fought back or anyone they didn’t want as a slave. They wanted me.’ There was a terrible savagery in the last three words.

‘Who are the Saraceni?’ I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

‘Men from across the sea. Some even live in my land! They are not Christian. They are savages!’

I patted the step beside me. She hesitated, then sat. ‘And you came to Britain?’ I asked, curious.

She was silent for a while, then shrugged. ‘I was sold,’ she said simply, ‘and taken north, I don’t know where. I was told this is valuable,’ she touched a finger to her skin, which was lightly brushed with a golden darkness, ‘it is valuable in the north where the skin is pale like sour milk and in the north I was sold again. I was still just twelve years old,’ she paused to look at me, ‘and I was already a woman, not a child.’