Deormund’s constant checking with the lookout tower was a source of amusement among his men, but apart from two false alarms, the months slid quietly by, untroubled by Viking presence. Gradually, the deer herder’s anxiety lulled till his preoccupation became the well. From the first day of digging, when the brothers found it easy work as they formed a spoil heap of thick sand, soon followed by the same containing flint pebbles, he had overseen their progress. Doubts began to assail him when they struggled with the fresh, bluish-grey clay. Their tools lodged into the energy-sapping material, whose suction made them curse and sweat. Occasionally, their lord reminded them that this toil was a punishment, and as such, far better than losing a hand or a head.
One day, accompanying his brother’
