That confused him and he still just gazed at us as we came closer. Our swords were sheathed and we seemed to be in no hurry. ‘Where’s my father?’ he asked, finding his voice again.
‘Is he the fat fellow?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s somewhere,’ I said vaguely. ‘What are you carrying?’
‘Carrying?’
‘What cargo?’
‘Nothing.’
‘We were told you sold slaves in Frankia. Did you give them away?’
‘Of course not!’
‘So you got paid?’ I asked, standing by the ship’s stern.
Lyfing Gunnaldson saw where the questions were leading and looked uncomfortable. ‘We were paid,’ he muttered.
‘Then your cargo is money!’ I said cheerfully. ‘Bring it ashore.’
He hesitated, looking at his crewmen, but those men were not wearing mail and we were, they had either short-swords or a mariner’s knife, and we all carried long blades. Lyfing still hesitated, then he saw me put a hand on Serpent-Breath’s hilt and he stepped off the steering platform, reached beneath it, and pulled out a small wooden chest, which, from the effort he needed to lift it, was plainly heavy.
‘It’s just customs dues,’ I said reassuringly. ‘Bring it ashore!’
‘Customs dues,’ he said bitterly, but still obeyed. He clambered up from the ship and dropped the box on the wharf. There was a happy sound of coins. His face, reddened by wind and sun, was soured by resentment. ‘How much do you want?’
‘Open it,’ I ordered.
He bent to unclasp the iron latch and I kicked him hard in the ribs, drawing Serpent-Breath as I did. I stooped and pulled his seax from her scabbard and tossed the sword into the boat where she fell at the feet of an oarsman who looked scared. One of the men with whips drew his arm back. ‘Use that whip,’ I shouted at him, ‘and I’ll strangle you with it!’ The man glared at me and bared his teeth. He only had two that I could see, while his scarred face was framed by black greasy ringlets and a beard that fell to his waist. ‘Drop the whip!’ I snarled at him. He hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed.
Lyfing Gunnaldson was trying to get to his feet. I kicked him again and told Immar to stand guard on him. ‘Kill him if he tries to stand.’
‘Yes, lord.’
It was simple after that. We went on board, disarmed the crewmen, and prodded them up to the wharf. There was no fight in them, not even in the black-bearded man who had wanted to defy me. They still believed we were East Anglians who had taken over their city. One wanted to know when he would get his sword back and I just snarled at him to be silent. ‘And you all stay where you are!’ I called to the slaves on the rowing benches. ‘Vidarr?’
‘Lord?’
‘Make sure they stay!’ The rowers were shackled with iron rings about their ankles, the rings threaded by long chains that ran from the prow to the ship’s stern. The two chains had already been freed from their prow staples and the slaves could have escaped easily enough, but they were weary, they were frightened, and so they stayed. I left two men to make sure the rowers remained quiet, locked our new captives in the same cage as the other guards, then stood at the warehouse door and gazed at the ship. She looked new, her rigging was taut, and her furled sail unfrayed. I touched my hammer and sent a wordless prayer of thanks because I could take my men home.
‘Now what?’ Finan had joined me.
‘We get the oarsmen off the ship,’ I said, ‘and wait for dawn tomorrow.’
‘Dawn tomorrow?’ Finan asked. ‘Why not go now?’
We were standing in warm sunlight. It was a calm day with no wind to speak of, certainly not the west wind I wanted, but the river was running fast, helped by an ebbing tide, so that even with tired rowers it would be a quick passage to the estuary, and the afternoon could well bring a breeze to take us northwards. And like Finan I wanted to go home. I wanted to smell Bebbanburg’s sea and rest in Bebbanburg’s hall. I had thought to leave in the dawn, shrouded from curious eyes by the remnants of darkness and a river mist, but why not leave now? The city seemed quiet. Jorund had told us the previous night that ships wanting to leave the docks were searched, but no East Anglian soldiers were taking any interest in our wharf. ‘Why not go now?’ I repeated.
‘Let’s just go home,’ Finan said forcibly.
So we told everyone; the freed slaves, the children, Father Oda, and Benedetta to board the boat. We had cooked more shit-speckled cakes with the last of the oats and they were carried on board with whatever plunder we wanted from Gunnald’s yard. Among that plunder were four good large shields, a dozen mail coats, two boxes of coins and hacksilver, ten leather jerkins, and a heap of other clothing. The last cask of ale was loaded.
The ship was crowded. There were children crammed in the stern, the freed slave girls huddled at the prow, and all of them staring fearfully at the oarsmen who were ragged-haired, filthy, and frightening. ‘I am your new master,’ I told those oarsmen, ‘and if you do what I ask you will all be freed.’
There must have been men from several races because I heard muttering as my words were translated. One man stood. ‘You’ll free us?’ he sounded suspicious. ‘Where?’
He had spoken in Danish and I answered in the same language. ‘In the north.’
‘When?’
‘This week.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you are saving my life,’ I said, ‘so as a reward I will give you your life back. What’s your name?’
‘Irenmund.’
I stooped to the deck and picked up one of the short-swords we had taken from the ship’s crew, then walked the passage between the slaves. Irenmund watched me suspiciously. He was still shackled, but he was a formidably strong young man. His hair, blonde and ragged, hung to his shoulders, his blunt face was fearful,
