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sounds. The crew were preparing the long oars that had been
lashed to the ship’s rail during the voyage.
    There were more noises and some clattering as the sweeps were thrust out over the side, splashes as their blades hit the water.
    ‘If you want to make yourselves useful, lend a hand,’ came Redwald’s gruff voice again.
    I fumbled my way to where I could just make out a crewman standing ready to pull on a sweep. He moved aside enough to let me join him. I gripped the soaking-wet wood of the handle.
    ‘Pull away!’ Redwald ordered. After a few moments I picked up the rhythm, a slow steady dip and pull. Osric must also have found his place at another oar handle, and not long
afterwards I became aware of a figure ducking past me. I recognized the shambling walk, and knew it was Walo. He must have sensed that something was wrong and clambered up from the hold. I decided
there was no point in worrying that our silver was unguarded. It was more important that every man aboard helped keep the cog off the rocks.
    I began to count the strokes and had nearly reached five hundred when, abruptly, Redwald called on us to stop rowing. Gratefully I stood straighter, my arm muscles aching. I turned to my
neighbour and was about to speak when he raised a finger to his lips and gestured at me to stay silent. He cocked his head on one side and I understood that he was listening intently. I tried to
pick out the sounds, and heard the noise of small waves breaking. The sound came from directly ahead. We were off the reef, but very close.
    ‘Row on!’ came Redwald’s command.
    We returned to our labour and this time I had counted another four hundred strokes before we were told to stop. Once again we listened. Now the swash and rumble of the breaking waves came from a
different direction and seemed to be more distant.
    ‘Row on!’
    We must have rowed for perhaps three hours, stopping and listening at regular intervals. The fog and the gathering darkness soon made it impossible to see the surface of the water and the blade
of the sweep. We trusted entirely to Redwald’s commands. Eventually, during one of the listening pauses, I heard him tell one of his men to take the helm. Then I heard the shipmaster’s
clogs thump along the deck as he moved forward.
    ‘Row on!’ This time Redwald’s command came from the bows. Then, every twenty or so strokes, I heard a splash very close by.
    ‘What’s the captain doing?’ I whispered to my oar comrade.
    ‘Soundings,’ he hissed back irritably, as if I was an imbecile to have asked.
    The explanation meant nothing to me so I kept on heaving on the handle of the sweep until finally Redwald’s voice came floating back. We were to stop rowing and the crew were to go forward
and drop anchor.
    Gladly I helped pull aboard the heavy sweep and laid it on deck. From the bow I heard a heavier splash which must have been our anchor hitting the water, then the thrum of rope, and more
activity as the crew made fast.
    Redwald’s gangling shape loomed through the fog, an arm’s length away.
    ‘All set for the night,’ he announced. ‘You and your friends can get below and rest.’
    ‘When will we finally reach Kaupang?’ I asked him.
    ‘We’re there,’ he said flatly.
    ‘How can that be?’ I blurted in surprise, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
    There was a throaty chuckle. ‘What did I tell you when we left Dorestad?’ he demanded.
    I thought back to our departure as we sailed down the Rhine’s current in the fading light of evening.
    ‘You said something about listening,’ I replied.
    ‘Exactly,’ the shipmaster said. He brushed past me without another word.
    I held my breath and listened intently. The ship was lying quietly to her anchor. There was no longer the creak of ropes and timber, not even the sound of water moving past her hull.
    In a moment of absolute silence and through the pitch darkness, I heard the bark of a dog.
    *
    I awoke with a stiff neck