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hand the corpse gripped his sword and in the other it grasped the Týr carving Sigurd had given him at the end. But even in death poor Halldor could not shrug off his ill-wyrd, for as soon as we had lit the sea-smoothed white driftwood beneath the corpse, the pitch-black clouds overhead began to spill stinging rain, with streaks of lightning and cracks of thunder loud enough to flay the skin from a man’s bones. For a long time the wood just steamed and even when a flame defied the deluge it did nothing more than singe the corpse above it. For all of us gathered round, huddled pathetically in furs and skins, it was a sorry scene and there must havebeen many warriors there who shivered with the fear that they might one day suffer such a pitiful rite.
    Eventually, though, Bothvar remembered that we still had a couple of pails of seal’s fat somewhere and when these were found we slathered handfuls over the wood and smeared it on to Halldor’s cloak and even into his beard. Olaf added some old dry lumps of pine resin to the flames and eventually the wood caught, for which we were all relieved, as much for the warmth of it as anything. A dirty column of smoke rose to meet the low-slung clouds and the water which had puddled in the sand hissed and steamed where it met the fire’s edge, and we watched from that blaze’s shadow, talking in low voices when the thunder would let us be heard, as the wood crackled and hissed and popped and Halldor’s corpse blistered and burnt.
    ‘If I’m killed you’re to make Father Egfrith say some words over me,’ Penda said, staring into the flames, water dripping from his woollen cloak, ‘and make sure they bury me properly. Nice and deep.’ He grimaced. ‘You can help them with the digging, I don’t want some dog digging me up and chewing on me, but leave the rest of it to Egfrith.’
    I looked at the scar that ran the length of Penda’s face, a wound which could easily have seen him as dead as Halldor.
    ‘I’ll dig you a hole deep enough to bury Svein standing up,’ I said, ‘and screw Egfrith. I’ll speak for you, Penda. It would be an honour.’ He looked at me dubiously. ‘I’ll say, today we bury Penda. He was a bastard.’
    He spat into the rain. ‘That’ll do,’ he said through a half grin, turning back to watch as Halldor’s beard burst into bright orange flame.
    We waited another two days on that miserable beach for the wind to die down a little and when eventually it did, we dug the ships free of the sand we had piled around them to stop them rocking, and prepared to sail. We had managed to catch plenty of fish, mackerel mainly, but also some hooked from the sea-grass beds in the shallows that were flat and shaped likegiant’s eyes but which tasted better than any fish I had ever eaten. We hung soaking furs over the sheer strakes to dry in the wind and we took to our benches, eager to put more of that treacherous, storm-lashed coast behind us and find smoother waters. We rowed for a while, until we were out in the depths and clear of the winds that swirled within the shadow of that rocky shore. Then all four ships hoisted their sails and we rested and worked in shifts, bailing or hauling the sheets, or else played tafl or watched wind-jumbled sea birds and the endless coast slip by.
    In the next days we made good progress, mooring in the mouths of sheltered inlets at night and continuing on at dawn or when the wind allowed, thus decreasing the risk of being attacked by rock-hurling locals. At last the weather turned kinder. The grey sea, which had heaved and surged as though the rolling coils of Jörmungand stirred beneath, settled to an ill-tempered swell. The rain that had seemed sharp enough to pierce the skin on your face weakened to a steady drizzle that you hardly noticed, and men began to throw insults around again, which is a sure sign that they are happy. But the end of the storm gave Sigurd time to worry about another problem, and that problem was the