“Maybe he joined Sigtryggr’s men, lord?” Redbad suggested.

“He wouldn’t do that. He’s one of us.”

“I can look, lord?”

“If you want.” Though I knew he would not find Berg. If, somehow, the young Norseman had survived the sudden assault from the fog he would have sought me out. I touched the hammer at my breast and prayed that he lived.

Sigtryggr was shouting at his men, telling them to hoist their shields, to keep the wall straight, to carry their swords and spears to the enemy’s ramparts. A score of boys had carried the unwieldy ladders up the hill, and men in Sigtryggr’s second rank now hefted the ladders. “We can win!” Sigtryggr shouted. “We will win!” He paused to let his men answer the shout, but the response was poor. He called again, assuring them of victory, but the battle’s opening had gone Sköll’s way, and our men were uncertain. None wanted to go forward to where Sköll’s jeering men were confident behind their wall.

Battles rarely begin with a sudden blood-letting. Insults come first. Men stand and watch the enemy, they listen to the taunts of the enemy and the shouts of their leaders and they summon the courage that is needed before a fight. But this battle had begun abruptly with Sköll’s assault from the fog, and it had left our troops cold, damp, and dispirited. Had the sorcerer cursed us? In truth none of us had truly wanted to attack the fort, but Sigtryggr desperately wanted this campaign over. He wanted Sköll, who was claiming Northumbria’s throne, dead. Perhaps we should have withdrawn, gone south, waited for Sköll to follow, and then fought a battle in open land. Instead we were locked in a deadly embrace with a grim fort, and it was too late to withdraw. If we retreated we would be pursued by Sköll’s triumphant and vengeful men, by warriors on horses who would harry us down the hill like a pack of wolves savaging sheep.

The poet-priest frowned when I told him that. “Why didn’t you have horses, lord? I thought the leaders were always mounted in battle.”

“Not always.”

“But you could have taken your horses?”

“It would have been difficult,” I said, “the path up from the valley was steep, and there was no space on Heahburh’s spur for a mass of horsemen, but yes, we could. We thought about it, and Sigtryggr and I discussed it the night before, and we decided no horses.”

Father Selwyn frowned. “But don’t you see better from horseback?”

“We do,” I explained patiently, “but we knew it would be a hard fight, maybe a desperate fight, and if we had taken our horses then our men would think we were ready to flee if the worst happened. By staying on foot, like them, we ran the same risks, and they knew it. That’s why.”

“So then you attacked the fort?”

“Only after we’d shared the last of the ale. We’d brought it all to the hilltop. But then? Yes, we attacked.”