After a march of three leagues from the Loire and their moored longships, two-thirds of the Norse host drew within sight of the church. A bell in the tower rang an alarm, the signal for the Norsemen to stream forward at a run. Young Oswald, dedicated to Óttar, remained at his heels. An arrow thudded into the jarl’s shield as they approached the settlement. Oswald halted mid-stride, unslung his bow, nocked an arrow and, drawing the string with all his strength, loosed the shaft way up the church tower. The archer, who had found the jarl’s shield, screamed, and toppled from a precarious position near the bell, his cloak streaming behind him like the useless wings of a slain bird falling from the sky. The man thudded to the ground and his body lay still and mangled, Oswald’s shaft broken but
