Wynstan said grimly: “It will be a long time before anyone here can pay anything.” He would have to reduce his spending. Shiring was not a rich diocese. Now, he thought, if I were archbishop of Canterbury I would never need to worry: all the wealth of the Church in the south of England would be under my control. But as mere bishop of Shiring he was limited. He wondered what he could cut out. He hated to renounce a pleasure.

Wigelm was scornful. “All these people have money. You find it when you slice their bellies open.”

Wilf shook his head. “Don’t be stupid.” It was something he said often to Wigelm. “Most of them have lost everything,” he went on. “They have no food, no money to buy any, and no means of earning anything. Come wintertime they’ll be gathering acorns to make soup. Those who survived the Vikings will be enfeebled by hunger. The children will catch diseases and die; the old will fall over and break their bones; the young and strong will leave.”

Wigelm looked petulant. “Then what can we do?”

“We will be wise to reduce our demands.”

“We can’t let them live rent free!”

“You fool, dead people pay no rent. If a few survivors can get back to fishing and making things and trading, they may be able to recommence payments next spring.”

Wynstan agreed. Wigelm did not, but he said no more: Wilf was the eldest and outranked him.

When everyone was ready, Wilf said: “Now, Prior Ulfric, tell us what happened.”

The ealdorman was holding court.

Ulfric said: “The Vikings came two days ago, at the glimmer of dawn, when all were asleep.”

Wigelm said: “Why didn’t you fight them off, you cowards?”

Wilf held up a hand for silence. “One thing at a time,” he said. He turned to Ulfric. “This is the first time Vikings have attacked Combe in my memory, Ulfric. Do you know where this particular group came from?”

“Not I, my lord. Perhaps one of the fishermen might have seen the Viking fleet on their voyages?”

A burly man with gray in his beard said: “We never see them, lord.”

Wigelm, who knew the townspeople better than his brothers did, said: “That’s Maccus. He owns the biggest fishing boat in town.”

Maccus went on: “We believe the Vikings make harbor on the other side of the Channel, in Normandy. It’s said they take on supplies there, then raid across the water, and go back to sell their loot to the Normans, God curse their immortal souls.”

“That’s plausible, but not very helpful,” Wilf said. “Normandy has a long coastline. I suppose Cherbourg must be the nearest harbor?”

“I believe so,” Maccus said. “I’m told it’s on a long headland that sticks out into the Channel. I haven’t been there myself.”

“Nor have I,” said Wilf. “Has anyone from Combe been there?”

“In the old days, perhaps,” said Maccus. “Nowadays we don’t venture so far. We want to avoid the Vikings, not meet them.”