Ketill sat upright. The flames splashed his face with wild, running hues. There was a rawness in his tone: “Yes, we’ve found what this fellow can do: sit about and make pretty songs for the girls. Keep him for that, Ospak.”

Thorgunna whitened, and Helgi clapped hand to sword. I saw how Gerald’s face darkened, and his voice was thick: “That was no way to talk. Take it back.”

Ketill stood up. “No,” he said, “I’ll ask no pardon of an idler living off honest yeomen.”

He was raging, but he had sense enough to shift the insult from my family to Gerald alone. Otherwise he and his father would have had the four of us to deal with. As it was Gerald stood up too, fists knotted at his sides, and said. “Will you step away from here and settle this?”

“Gladly!” Ketill turned and walked a few yards down the beach, taking his shield from the boat. Gerald followed. Thorgunna stood with stricken face, then picked up his ax and ran after him.

“Are you going weaponless?” she shrieked.

Gerald stopped, looking dazed. “I don’t want that,” he mumbled. “Fists—”

Ketill puffed himself up and drew sword. “No doubt you’re used to fighting like thralls in your land,” he said. “So if you’ll crave my pardon, I’ll let this matter rest.”

Gerald stood with drooped shoulders. He stared at Thorgunna as if he were blind, as if asking her what to do. She handed him the ax.

“So you want me to kill him?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered.

Then I knew she loved him, for otherwise why should she have cared if he disgraced himself?

Helgi brought him his helmet. He put it on, took the ax, and went forward.

“Ill is this,” said Hjalmar to me. “Do you stand by the stranger, Ospak?”

“No,” I said. “He’s no kin or oath-brother of mine. This is not my quarrel.”

“That’s good,” said Hjalmar. “I’d not like to fight with you, my friend. You were ever a good neighbor.”

We went forth together and staked out the ground. Thorgunna told me to lend Gerald my sword, so he could use a shield too, but the man looked oddly at me and said he would rather have the ax. They squared away before each other, he and Ketill, and began fighting.

This was no holmgang, with rules and a fixed order of blows and first blood meaning victory. There was death between those two. Ketill rushed in with the sword whistling in his hand. Gerald sprang back, wielding the ax awkwardly. It bounced off Ketill’s shield. The youth grinned and cut at Gerald’s legs. I saw blood well forth and stain the ripped breeches.

It was murder from the beginning. Gerald had never used an ax before. Once he even struck with the flat of it. He would have been hewed down at once had Ketill’s sword not been blunted on his helmet and had he not been quick on his feet. As it was, he was soon lurching with a dozen wounds.