Wilf and his brothers were in a convivial mood, but to her relief they seemed to be drinking moderately. Some of the men-at-arms were not so judicious, perhaps because for them mead was a rare treat, and the evening became raucous.

The jester was very funny, and came dangerously close to lampooning Wynstan, pretending to be a priest and blessing a dancing girl then grabbing her breasts. Happily, Wynstan was not in a mood to take offense, and he laughed as heartily as anyone.

Darkness fell, the lamps were lit, the table was cleared of dirty bowls, and the drinking continued. Some people became sleepy or amorous, or both. Adolescents flirted, and married women giggled when their friends’ husbands took minor liberties. If major liberties were taken it happened outside, in the dark.

Wilf began to look tired. Ragna was about to suggest that Bern help him to bed, but his brothers took charge: Wynstan and Wigelm held an arm each and escorted him out.

Carwen followed close behind.

Ragna summoned Bern. “The bodyguards are all more or less drunk,” she said. “I want you to stand guard with them all night.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Bern.

“You can sleep tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Bern.”

“Good night, my lady.”

Wynstan and Wigelm went to Gytha’s house and sat up into the small hours, talking in desultory fashion, making sure they did not fall asleep.

Wynstan had explained the plan to Gytha, and she had been shocked and horrified at the idea that her sons wanted to murder her stepson. She had challenged Wynstan’s deduction about the document written at Dreng’s Ferry: could he be sure it was Wilf’s last will and testament? As it happened, Wynstan was able to reassure her, for he had received confirmation of his speculation. Bishop Modulf had indiscreetly confided in his neighbor Thane Deorman of Norwood, and Deorman had told Wynstan.

Gytha had agreed to Wynstan’s plan, as he had known she would in the end. “What needs to be done must be done,” she had said. All the same she looked troubled.

Wynstan was tense. If this went seriously wrong and the plot was revealed, both he and Wigelm would be executed for treason.

He had tried to envisage every possible obstacle in his way and plan how to overcome each one, but there were always unexpected snags, and that thought kept him stressed.

When he judged the time was right he stood up. He picked up a lamp, a leather strap, and a small cloth bag, all of which he had got ready earlier.

Wigelm got to his feet and nervously touched the long-bladed dagger in its sheath at his belt.

Gytha said: “Don’t make Wilf suffer, will you?”

Wigelm replied: “I’ll do my best.”

“He’s not my son, but I loved his father. Remember that.”

Wynstan said: “We’ll remember it, mother.”

The two brothers left the house.

Here we go, Wynstan thought.