“No?” Her lips made a circle.

“Yes.” I shook my head sadly. “And you know how it goes with those sorts of children. They never grow up properly. I do my best to look out for him.”

“So generous of you,” Astrid purred, steering my attention away from sweet Edda.

“My dear lady, it’s the moral duty of nobility to—”

Someone crashed in through the street door, cutting me off. “A brandy if you please!”

A commotion as the crowd parted. A young man, a touch taller than me, a touch older, walked forwards grasping the wrist of his right hand, blood dripping on the floor.

“Oh my— What happened?” Edda clutched her hands below her breasts.

“Just a dog.” The fellow was golden-haired, not white-blond like her, and handsome with it. “The baby’s fine, though.”

“Baby?” Astrid, coming over all motherly.

The man reached the bar and a hairy warrior signalled he’d get the drink for him. “Snatched him from his mother’s arms,” the man said. Someone passed him a cloth and he started wrapping it around his hand.

“Oh, let me help!” And Edda fled my side, Astrid in hot pursuit.

“Well, I chased it. The cur didn’t want to give up his prize. We disagreed and I got the baby, and this.” He held up his bandaged hand.

“Isn’t that marvellous, Prince Jalan?” Edda glanced back over her shoulder at me. She looked even more tempting at a distance.

“Marvellous.” I managed a mutter.

“Prince?” The fellow bowed. “Delighted to meet you.”

Now I’m a good-looking fellow. No doubts about that. Good thick hair, honest smile, face in order, but this interloper could have stepped from some frieze of the sagas, chiselled to perfection. I hated him with a rare and instant passion.

“And you are?” I aimed for a level of disdain with enough edge to cut but not to make me look bad whilst doing it.

“Hakon of Maladon. Duke Alaric is my uncle. Perhaps you know him? My longships are the green-sailed ones in the harbour.” He knocked back the brandy. “Ah, a mandolin!” He spied the troubadour. “May I?”

Hakon took the instrument, strumming with his injured hand, and immediately music began to flow like liquid gold. “I’m better on the harp, but I’ve tried these a few times.”

“Oh, would you sing for us?” Astrid, pressing her gifts against him.

And that was that. I slunk back to my table while Golden Boy held the tavern spellbound with a gloriously rich tenor, running through all their favourite songs. I chewed my lukewarm roast and found it hard to swallow, my ale sour rather than salt. I glowered through narrowed eyes as Hakon stood bracketed by Edda, Astrid, and various other wenches drawn from the shadows by his cheap show.

At last I could take it no longer and got up to go out back for a piss. A final resentful glance at Hakon saw him disentangling from Astrid to follow me out. I pretended not to notice. Once in the blustery yard, rather than making immediately for the latrine I waited, leaving the door ajar and listening for his approach.