“Peace,” Hadding sighed. “The day! set foot again on Danish soil, folk will be at me. Questions, reckonings, tales, begs, grievances, the rounds to make, the folkmoots to head, the judgments to give, the care to take of high-born men’s honor—even listening to my own praises and thinking what gift those verses are worth—Let me get back my strength. Until then, it’ll be better for the kingdom, too, if Eirik Jarl stays at the helm.”

“I see. Never thought how much work it is being a king. I should have. Don’t my crofters and skippers and women give me grief enough? Do stay, my lord, do stay.”

“A month, at most,” Hadding guessed. “Meanwhile, of course, send word to Eirik that I live. Those men of mine who can’t wait to get home can ride in that boat, but I think most will decide they too would rather first regain their health. Also, send a boat around Scania to tell my war fleet. If it has not set sail because the Swedes arrived, or because everybody gave up hope of me, one of those ships can come fetch us. Otherwise I will take your offer of passage.”

“Good, good. It shall be done. If it happens my knorr is back by then, maybe you’d like to go in her. She’s a sweet wave-walloper “ Neither said what both understood, that Hadding’s gifts from home would more than make up whatever this cost Bruni, as well as the chieftain thereafter having the king’s friendship. Anyhow, he was happy to have these guests for their own sakes.

So did Hadding and his warriors come to a snug haven. That their stay ended badly was no doing of their host’s.

As the time ran into weeks, some of them won wholly to wellness faster than others, Hadding foremost. These men grew ever more restless. They found the dwellings here rude and poorly furnished, the fare middling tasty at best, and each day the same as the last. They remembered the halls of home, broad and bright, the fat meat and finely milled bread and well-brewed drink, men richly clad and merry, skalds saying forth staves that surged in the blood, ever-changing visitors with new tales to tell from abroad. They remembered fields tawny at harvest, greenwoods, horses and hounds, the graves of their forebears. They remembered women who were not grubby and did not smell of fish but were clean and fair and could speak of more than a narrow everyday. They remembered children.

“I was mistaken, staying when I could have gone in the messenger boat,” grumbled Gunnar to Hadding. “How many more years must we sit and yawn?”