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of all, Watkins's attention to detail is meticulous. He weaves in numerous historical artefacts and sketches the lifestyle of those times with an authentic, literary canvas upon which to pen his story. It's a remarkable, highly visual journey for the reader to undertake in imagining the village of Altvik, the lands and surroundings of Turkey and the sea voyages around the British coast and across whole oceans. From a stoical opening, the book gains momentum and it's the sub-plot of Cabal's hatred of the Christian church and it's ramifications on the raid on the Welsh village that provides the catalyst for the greater pace in the second half of the book.

Watkins manages to underline his story with a religious sub-text as the Norse religions of the tenth century are challenged by Christianity. As Brand, the brimstone depiction of a Christian converter descends on the village of Altvik and attempts to both bribe and hoodwink the villagers into converting their old religion to the newer Christianity, Hakon is propositioned by Brand to accept a cut of the forthcoming tax regime based on King Trygvasson's decree that all towns and villages must pay a levy which can be reduced if the local population either has a Christian church or plans to build one. There's a welcome twist to Hakon's eventual election as the village priest and an apocalyptic finale that asks the question as to just how far the Vikings may have sailed during their travels. The book carries a lingering mystical feel, what with the focus on the many Norse Gods of the time, the ephemeral nature of the elements crystallised in the naming of the winds (especially the Arador of the North) and it's this mysticism that carries the story from simple routine to something much more.

Where the writer succeeds in spades is when he is describing the sea-faring aspects of the story. Integral to the whole Norse culture, Watkins uses sweeping adjectives to describe the struggles at sea as well as including copious detail as to the hardships of sailing at that time. "The moaning of the gale continued, surrounding our ship. I wondered if this could be the voice of the wind, which Cabal had spoken of. I found myself listening for words inside its droning chorus. The sun disappeared, smudged out by smokey blue-grey clouds. Hard gusts ploughed the water. The boat heaved up on swells and sail lines groaned with the strain." There's a lilting, poignant quality to Watkins's descriptive powers that reach their peak when pitched

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