I did not answer because none of this made sense. Æthelhelm knew as well as any man that Lundene was a prize, and not a prize to be given up lightly. Even if Ælfweard and Æthelstan agreed to keep to the terms of their father’s will, and Ælfweard would rule Wessex while Æthelstan was King of Mercia, they would still fight over Lundene, because whoever ruled Lundene was the richest king of Britain, and riches bought spears and shields. Yet Æthelhelm’s men had simply abandoned the city? Now, astonishingly, Merewalh had done the same.

‘You’re sure it was Waormund?’ Oda repeated Bedwin’s query.

‘It was Waormund,’ Finan said curtly.

‘He had men with him?’ the priest asked.

‘A few,’ I said, ‘maybe only five.’

‘Then he’s no danger,’ Bedwin remarked.

I ignored his stupidity. Waormund was a one-man army, a destroyer, a killer, a man who could dominate a shield wall and change history with his sword. So why was he here? ‘How,’ I asked, ‘did you discover this East Anglian army? The one Merewalh has gone to stop.’

‘News came from Werlameceaster, lord,’ Bedwin said stiffly, ‘and it told of an East Anglian army ready to march into the heart of Mercia.’

There was some sense in that. Æthelstan would be watching southwards, guarding the Temes’s crossing places, and an enemy army at his back would be a distraction at best and a looming disaster at worst, but though it all became clear to me, I could still feel the prickle of instinct telling me it was all wrong. Then, suddenly, like a mist lifting from the morning land to reveal hedgerow and spinney, it all made sense to me. ‘Have you sent patrols eastwards?’ I asked Bedwin.

‘Eastwards?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Towards Celmeresburh!’ Celmeresburh was a town to the north-east, a town on one of the main Roman roads leading from East Anglia’s heartland to Lundene.

Bedwin shrugged. ‘I have few enough men to hold the city, lord, without sending men away.’

‘We should have sent patrols,’ Oda said quietly.

‘Priests should not concern themselves with such matters,’ Bedwin snapped, and I realised the two men had disagreed.

‘It is always wise,’ I said acidly, ‘to listen to a Dane when he talks of warfare.’ Oda smiled, though I did not. ‘Send a patrol in the morning,’ I ordered Bedwin. ‘At dawn! A strong patrol. At least fifty men, and give them your fastest horses.’

Bedwin hesitated. He did not like me giving him orders, but I was a lord, an ealdorman, and a warrior with a reputation. Even so he bridled and was searching for the words to argue with me, but those words never came.

Because a horn sounded in the night. It blew again and again, an urgent, even desperate call. And then it stopped abruptly.

A church bell clanged. Then another. And I knew that my orders had been given too late because Æthelhelm’s trap was sprung.

Because surely Waormund had been left behind to do just one thing; to open a gate in the dead of night. And somewhere along the city’s eastern ramparts there must already be slaughtered guards and an open gate, which meant that Æthelhelm’s East Anglian army was nowhere near Werlameceaster. It was coming into Lundene.