Brand’s voice rumbled gently but decisively. “As I see it there can be no claim for compensation, Sigvarth. Not even for a son. He tried to kill a fellow member of the Army, protected under our Wayman-law. If he had succeeded I would have hanged him. He tried, too, to bury his brother in the barrow. And if he had succeeded in that, think what we would have lost!” He shook his head with disbelieving wonder.

At least two hundred pounds’ weight of gold. Much of it of workmanship far exceeding the value of the raw metal. Carved bowls from the Rome-folk. Great torques of pale gold from the land of the Irish. Coins with the heads of unknown Rome-folk rulers. Work of Córdoba and Miklagarth, of Rome and Germany. And added to it, sackloads of silver wedged into the tunnel mouth where the kings’ depositors had put them over the generations. Enough there, all told, for every man of the whole Wayman army to be rich for life. If they lived to spend it. Secrecy had vanished with the dawn.

Sigvarth shook his head, his expression unchanging. “They were brothers,” he muttered. “One man’s sons.”

“So there must be no question of vengeance,” Brand said. “You cannot avenge one son on another, Sigvarth. You must swear to that.” He paused. “It was the doom of the Norns. An ill doom, maybe. But not to be averted by mortals.”

Sigvarth nodded this time. “Aye. The Norns. I will swear, Brand. Hjörvarth will lie unavenged. For me.”

“Good. Because I tell you all,” Brand looked round the table, “with all this wealth in hand I have grown nervous as a virgin at an orgy. The countryside must be buzzing with tales of what we have found. Shef’s freedmen talk to the churls and the thralls. News goes both ways. They have heard that a new army has marched into this kingdom. An English army, from the Mark, come to reestablish the kingdom. You can be sure they have already heard of us. If they have any sense they will be marching already to cut us off from our ships, or to pursue us there if they are too late.

“I want camp struck and the men marching before the sun sets. March through the night and the next day. No halt before sunset tomorrow. Tell the skippers, get the beasts fed and the men in ranks.”

As the group broke up and Shef moved to see to his carts, Brand caught him by the shoulder.

“Not you,” he said. “If I had polished steel I would make you look in it. Do you know you have white hairs on your temples? Guthmund will take care of the carts. You travel in the back of a cart, with my cloak over you as well as your own.” He passed over a flask.