“Mm-hm. You have been spending rather a lot of time in the infirmary.”

“Look,” I said, changing the subject, “there’s Svala with Knut and Kalev. I didn’t expect to see her here, with so many people around.”

“She looks as if she’d rather be somewhere else,” observed Brenna.

“She certainly keeps herself to herself,” Clodagh said. “I invited her to join us in the work room any morning. Or at least, I asked Kalev to ask Knut to tell her she’d be welcome. Norse-women are usually skilled embroiderers, so I’ve heard. But Knut said she prefers to be on her own. She seems so sad.”

Svala did not look sad now, simply detached. While Knut moved about greeting one man after another, exchanging smiles and friendly words, she remained standing at the back, not watching her husband or anything in particular. Her hair had been tamed into an untidy plait, over which she wore a linen head cloth. It did little to diminish her beauty, and I saw eyes turning toward her, those of the Connacht men in particular. His greetings over, Knut came back to stand beside her. Kalev said something and the two men laughed.

A sudden hush. A pair of combatants moved onto the fighting area, knives at their belts: fair-haired Jouko and the more solidly built Niall, brother of Alba. The combatants faced Johnny, who was seated with Gareth among the throng, and inclined their heads in a gesture of acknowledgment. A moment later they were circling each other in fighting stance, and the crowd erupted in screams of encouragement and shouts of advice: “Go for his knees, Jouko! Niall, watch your back!” If I had thought the gathering loud before, it was nothing to this.

The bout was intense and serious. Jouko was more agile than Niall; he fought like a dancer. Niall seemed stronger. I thought he might prevail, provided he could pin the northerner down at some point. I thought of animals—Jouko a stag, Niall a boar—as they whirled and struck and dodged from one side of the fighting area to the other and back again. Then, to a gasp from the onlookers, Jouko tripped his opponent with a move that was powerful, economical and entirely unexpected. Niall’s knife went flying as he fell. Seizing his advantage, Jouko was kneeling astride the other man in an instant, his own knife against Niall’s throat.

“Cease!” called Johnny. “Well done.” Jouko slipped the knife back into his belt, rose to his feet and held out a hand to help Niall up. They acknowledged the crowd’s enthusiastic approval with brief nods, then left the field of battle.