“I know why he means to do it, though. After all, I am a king too. I know what his men need. These few months have been bad ones for the Army. They thought they would have an easy start here for their real march on York. And so they might have—if they had not done what they did to your foster father. But since then they have made no gains, caught few slaves, had to fight for every few beeves. And now—say what anyone wishes, there are many fewer of them than there were two nights ago. They have seen their friends die of wounds, and more of them are sitting waiting for the flesh-rot. If there is nothing grand for them to see, then they will lose heart. Ships will row off in the night.

“Ivar needs a display. A triumph. An execution. Or …”

Shef remembered the warning of the man who had pushed him into the pen.

“Do not speak too freely, lord. They want you to speak. And me to listen.”

Edmund laughed, in one sharp bark. The light had almost gone by now, the sun well down, though the long English twilight lingered.

“Then listen. I promised you a half of Raedwald’s hoard if you broke the Viking line, and break it you did. So I will give you the whole of it, and you may make your own bargain. The man who gives them this can have his life and more. If I gave it to them, I could be a Viking jarl. But Wigga and all the others died rather than speak. It would not be fitting for a king, one of the line of Wuffa, to give way out of fear.

“But you, boy. Who knows? You may gain something.

“Now listen and do not forget. I will tell you the secret of the hoard of the Wuffingas, and from that I swear by God a wise man can find the hoard.

“Listen and I will tell you.”

The king’s voice dropped to a hoarse murmur and Shef strained to hear.

“In willow-ford, by woody bridge,

The old kings lie, keels beneath them.

On down they sleep, deep home guarding.

Four fingers push in flattest line,

From underground, Grave the northmost.

There lies Wuffa, Wehha’s offspring.

On secret hoard. Seek who dares it.”

The voice tailed away. “My last night, young churl. Maybe yours too. You must think what you will do to save yourself tomorrow. But I do not think the riddle of an Englishman will prove easy to the Vikings.

“And, if churl you are, the riddle of the kings will do you no good either.”