The long, shrill blast, repeated three times, roused Deormund from his slumbers. Throwing his clothes on and struggling with the leather thongs of his boots, he fought the pounding of blood in his sleepy head to charge out of the hall and race to the foot of the lookout tower.
“A Viking sail approaching, Lord!”
Without a second’s thought, the thegn dashed to the wooden steps and, taking them two at a time, charged to the top. Sure enough, starkly silhouetted against the sparkling sea, dazzling in the early morning sunlight, the unmistakable sleek, square-sailed shape of a Norse longship sliced through the waves towards the coast of Sceapig.
Below in the courtyard, men gathered to squint up the tower against the morning light. The alarm notes had brought them from their beds. Deormund le
