“Then we should see to it that that is what happens,” she answered.

“How?”

“Think. We’ll take this up later.”

They did at the barrow. Their fifth year together was waning. A wrack of clouds flew low above bare fields and sere grass, before a skirling, biting wind. The woods behind the howe roared with it. Dead leaves broke loose, whirled and rattled, fell on an earth that had gone cold.

Ulfhild drew her cloak close around her. “Here we can be truthful,” she said from below her hood. “Your forebear the land-wight watches over us.”

Gudorm knotted his fists. “Say on.”

“It’s as if the gods do too. You know that, late though the season is, Frodi and his men have left for England and will winter there. I’ve asked some visitors from his neighborhood about it—they came by while you were away—and learned that it was shortly after his father had been to see him Knowing them, I think Hadding tried to curb Frodi, and only made him ireful. He’ll hardly return till the end of next summer, if then, as ravenous as he is. We’ll have time to make ready for him.”

“How do we know Hadding won’t still be alive?”

“We will make sure.”

He had fought in his head with the horror. Now that she uttered it, he could only say, leadenly, “No. He is my king.”

“Too long has he been. Whatever usefulness he ever had is gone from him. He squats in his seat like a toad while our hopes wither. If he wished to do well by his Danes, he’d at least lay down the kingship. But no, he’ll outlast us all, that barren troll, draining dry the land that should be yours and your sons’, unless we take from him what is ours.”

“You’re berserk. Who but you would want to lift a spear against him? Who would dare?”

“Yes, he is well guarded. But you recall that I got him to say he’ll come here when we ask, if he can. At the time, my thought was mostly to lull any doubts he might have gotten about us. Now—He’ll be by himself, unaware. One slash of a blade can set us free.”

Gudorm staggered where he stood. “Murder? Under my own roof?” The wind howled with him.

“No, not at your hand,” said Ulfhild swiftly. “Folk would indeed take that amiss. He has other foes.”