From his seat in the prow, Jake smelled York before he saw the city. The odours of Anglo-Saxon streets wafted downriver on the contrary breeze. To be out of the vessel and setting foot on terra firma cheered him, despite the annoying sensation in his nostrils. Aware that he needed to stay close to Cynewulf, Jake stepped over ropes, avoided sprawling still-dozing men and those at work to progress down the ship. He kept silent, because his only chance of communicating with the poet was to remain undetected. His plan was simple—Cynewulf would be cast in prison and Jake would share his confinement.
When the guards hauled the writer to his feet and pushed him towards the side of the boat to disembark, Jake fell in behind them. Fascinated by the sights, smells and sounds of eighth-century York,
