Azure skies feathered by wispy mares’ tails, showing neither intent nor portent, deceived us into thinking there were no menacing storm clouds gathering elsewhere that winter. I remember those months as idyllic: the happiest of my life. They included driving my body through extremes, from the tenderness of Estrid’s embraces to marrow-chilling swims across the harbour, muscle-searing wrestling with Asbeorn, and hours of combat practice. We carried our purpose to excessive lengths but it paid off in terms of battle readiness.
In those days, you didn’t need to be a seer to know that war was in the offing. One glance at King Sweyn’s outraged countenance was enough. Only a deaf and blind man might have been excused ignorance of the bellicose preparations occupying the smithies and shipyards of
