Thurid raised herself up to her full height, though that was still a full head shorter than her brother. She placed her hands on her hips and jutted her chin out. I do not believe I have ever seen a more beautiful woman, and I have been tempted by the saffron-scented harlots of al-Askar and once shared a bed with the Empress of Roma whom many have said was as captivating as Helena herself. But in all my days, no woman has shone so brilliantly as Thurid did that morning, standing defiantly between the stones, the cool breeze from the sea ruffling her skirts about her legs, tugging at the gold of her braids.

“I will do no such thing, brother,” she said. Her blue eyes flashed with a cold fury and I was reminded again that hers were a warlike people. “I can help Mother and the women every other day, but today I would watch you men compete.”

The tall man glowered at Thurid for a heartbeat, but he could not maintain his severe expression.

“Very well then,” he said, laughing. “I know better than to fight with you, little sister. I need to save my strength for the trials. Perhaps you wish to join in too.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I will not stop you, but I will tell Mother I tried to send you back. That is a fight you will have to face alone.”

Thurid smiled then.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, to me, “This is Toki, my eldest brother.”

Toki looked me up and down and I imagined what he saw. A slender young man, with shaggy hair and the wispy thin beard of youth. Toki was taller, broader of shoulder, and more handsome. His beard was dark and thick, his eyes a darker blue than his sister’s, colder and more distant.

“This is Hunlaf,” Thurid said.

“The Welshman says you are quick,” Toki said, and I could tell from his tone that he did not believe it.

“I can run,” I said.

“We shall see.”

It turned out that I was not going to run against Toki, but against his younger brother, Varin. Like Toki, Varin was tall and strong, but Varin was slimmer, and ever taller than his sibling. He was perhaps a year or two older than me and he smiled at me as we prepared to race.

“I have watched the lad and I believe you can best him,” said Gwawrddur, taking my kirtle from me. I had stripped it off, and removed my shoes too, so that I could better grip on the scrubby grass. The Welshman seemed to have fully recovered from his ordeal and now, standing in the mid-morning sunshine, I could scarcely believe he had almost drowned the day before. “Just imagine your life depends on it,” he said, “as it did at Werceworthe, and you will win.”