Conqueror

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After a year of total war, Lunden was an angry city. Under an iron-grey December sky, no man walked alone in the alleys. The King even had to have Westmynster ringed by troops.

The mood within the cold, cavernous abbey church was febrile too. Men walked in huddles with their retainers, their weapons visible, their glances furtive and suspicious.

It was Christmas Day, 1066. The day the King of England was to show his crown to those who had fought for him, and to those who still called him a bloodstained usurper.

It was in this atmosphere that Orm met Sihtric.

The priest, small, cunning, looked Orm in the eye. 'Orm the Viking.'

There was enough of his sister in Sihtric's blank blue eyes to remind Orm of Godgifu – and of how he had cut her down on Sandlacu Ridge, at the climax of the battle men called Haestingaceaster. Orm's heart twisted. 'I was not expecting to see you here,' he said evasively.

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