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'You must be baptised!’ That word was lost on the Danish interpreter, and on the king’s, and finally Ubba looked to me for help. ‘You have to stand in a barrel of water,’ I said, remembering how Beocca had baptised me after my brother’s death, ‘and they pour more water over you.’ ‘They want to wash me?’ Ubba asked, astonished. I shrugged. ‘That’s what they do, lord.’