“Arithmeticus or no arithmeticus, I can build a better machine than him. Many machines. The thrall says he heard a minster-man say once, of themselves and the Rome-folk, that the Christians now are as dwarves on the shoulders of giants. Well, they may have the giants to ride on, with their books and their old machines and old walls left over from time past. But they are dwarves just the same. And we, we are—”

“Do not say it,” cut in a Viking, stepping forward. “Do not say the ill-luck word, Skjef Sigvarthsson. We are not giants, and the giants—the iötnar—are the foes of gods and men. I think you know that. Have you not seen them?”

Shef nodded slowly, thinking of his dream of the uncompleted walls and the gigantic, clumsy stallion-master. His audience stirred again, looking at each other.

Shef threw the iron parts he was holding onto the floor. “Let the slave go, Steinulf, in payment for what he has told us. Show him how to get well away from here, so the Ragnarssons do not catch him. We can make our own machine without him now.”

“Have we time to do it?” asked a Viking.

“All we need is wood. And a little work in the forge. There are still two days till the Army meeting.”

“It is new knowledge,” added one of the listeners. “Thorvin would tell us to do it.”

“Meet here tomorrow, in the morning,” said Shef decisively.

As they turned away, one of the Vikings said, “They will be a long two days for King Ella. It was a dog’s deed of the Christian archbishop to hand him over to Ivar. Ivar has much in store for him.”

Shef stared at the departing backs and turned again to his friend.

“What is that you have there?”

“A potion from Ingulf. For you.”

“I need no potion. What is it for?”

Hund hesitated. “He says it is to ease your mind. And—and to bring back your memory.”

“What is wrong with my memory?”

“Shef, Ingulf and Thorvin say—they say you have forgotten even that we blinded your eye. That Thorvin held you and Ingulf heated the needle, and I, I held it in position. We only did it so it would not be done by some butcher of Ivar’s. But they say that it is not natural for you never to speak of it. They believe you have forgotten your blinding. And forgotten Godive, for whom you went into the camp.”

Shef stared down at the little leech with his silver apple pendant.

“You can tell them, I have never forgotten either for a moment.

“But still.” He stretched out his hand. “I will take your potion.”

“He took the potion,” Ingulf said.