In keeping with its name – the village by the mere – it stood close to a wide stretch of water, and was large by the standards of a Fenland settlement, although it would not have been considered so in any other land. Aelfric began to call out as we drew near, to announce our presence and avoid causing alarm, and soon a band of men gathered at the village entrance to meet us. On the outskirts we passed by a rough wooden shrine, old and weather-beaten, which housed a vividly carved idol of the pagan god Thunor, who sat growling at us as he clutched to his breast his great war hammer. As we entered the men exchanged greetings of friendly familiarity with Aelfric, who asked them: ‘What news?’ ‘A party of our men went out yesterday on a fowling expedition,’ answered one in a subdued tone. ‘They do not yet come back.’ Aelfric hissed between clenched teeth, then said: ‘We have come here from the Crowland, where last night there was a new attack.’ ‘Ahh!’ the other man’s face assumed a look of horror.
