Whenever Asculf approached the ferry point for Sceapig, which was all too rarely of late, his heart sang. What a joy it would be on this occasion to show off his beloved island home to his wife. Raising the horn chained to a post, he blew a shrill blast to alert his old friend, Heorstan the ferryman. In the weathered countenance of the islander resided another delight, that of renewing a comfortable, valued acquaintance. As he watched the boatman launch the ferry and struggle to jump in, he realised with a pang that the oarsman was no longer a young man. The years had advanced, but the arms pulled as strongly as ever against the swirling current. Heorstan, having never married, had no children. Who would succeed him as the boatman? Asculf wondered and, with another misgiving, thought, I, t
