‘We are more than King Jael’s men,’ Ulfilas said, accenting the word King. ‘We are his chosen shieldmen, guarding him on this journey to the north of his realm.’ Ulfilas swept a hand to Jael, who sat tall on his stallion, wrapped in a sable cloak, looking as regal as any king that Ulfilas had ever seen.

Gramm stood frozen for a moment, something sweeping his face. Ulfilas felt the hairs on his neck prickle, the possibility of violence suddenly thick in the air. Then the expression on Gramm’s face was gone.

Ulfilas frowned, disconcerted.

Slowly, clumsily, Gramm dropped to one knee.

‘You do me honour,’ he said. ‘Be welcome in my hall, King Jael.’

Jael dismounted and climbed the steps of the hall, resting a hand on Gramm’s shoulder, bidding him stand.

‘Welcome to my hall,’ Gramm repeated.

He looks flustered, but then it is not every day that a king comes calling.

‘My thanks,’ Jael said.

‘If I had known of your arrival I would have prepared a feast and fine beds worthy of a king and his company.’

‘It is not a planned visit,’ Jael said. ‘In truth I am riding the northlands of Isiltir in pursuit of rebels and brigands. We came upon your hold by chance. It seemed to be a good opportunity to meet someone I have heard much talk of.’

‘You honour me,’ Gramm said.

‘My apologies for descending upon you unannounced,’ Jael said. ‘We will not be staying long, but something to wash the throat and fill the belly would be welcome.’

‘My mead and meat is yours,’ Gramm said the guest-greeting. ‘Food and drink for our guests,’ he shouted, waving his arms in the air.

All was chaos for a short while as warriors dismounted, a swarm of children appearing from nowhere to take reins and tend to horses. Gramm put his arm about one lad and bent to whisper in his ear. The boy cradled a dog in one arm, a ratter. It was bleeding from a gash on its shoulder.

‘Go fetch your da,’ Ulfilas heard Gramm say.

‘Yes, Grand-pa,’ the lad replied and scurried off across the courtyard. Ulfilas caught Dag’s eye and nodded after the disappearing boy. Dag slipped away through the crowded courtyard.

Gramm barked orders as he led Jael and Ulfilas into his hall, other warriors following.

The hall was big, two long tables running down the sides, leaving a path down the centre. Embers still glowed in a fire-pit. Another table ran the length of the back wall. Hanging from the wall above it was a huge bear pelt, its mouth open and snarling. A giant’s war-hammer was mounted above it.

It’s obvious that the relationship with their Jotun neighbours is not that friendly.