Nobody said a word. It seemed to Eyvind that Somerled had spoken a terrible kind of sense. After Ulf’s death, he himself had believed for a little that his friend was the only possible leader here. There were other chieftains like him back home. Such men ruled by fear. The look in their eyes, the edge in their voices were enough to command instant obedience. Yet, tonight, four other men besides himself had summoned up the courage to speak against the king. It was not enough. He pondered, dimly, what sort of chance the Wolfskins might have against the fifty-odd other men who were gathered in the hall tonight. They could create havoc, certainly, crack more than a few skulls before they were brought down. He thought about the shackles, and how he would go about felling a man when he could scarcely walk. Foolish, even to consider such a possibility. If this could not be won by truth and courage, it most certainly would not be won by another descent into violence and blood. His fellow Wolfskins had already put themselves at grave risk on his behalf; they had done so even though they thought him a traitor. He must not set them in still greater peril. Perhaps it was just as well Eirik had not come.

“Eyvind?”

Someone was speaking to him. His mind had wandered; while he thought of escape, the arbiters had risen and retired to a smaller chamber, and now only Olaf Sveinsson was left. Around the hall, ale was being poured, and the place buzzed with speculative chatter. Tadhg still stood there, his arm now in the grip of the heavily armed Thorvald; Gudbrand stood ready to convey Eyvind himself back to the cell.

“Eyvind?” Olaf spoke again. “It’s time to go now. I don’t think you heard the king. The two of you must return to your place of confinement until we reach our decision.” Olaf turned to Gudbrand. “Treat them well. Give them food and drink. No rough stuff, understand? This man is sick, he’s close to passing out. Don’t forget he took a knock to the head that morning at the Whaleback, and that was after a long winter of imprisonment in Odin only knows what conditions. Go on, take them down now.”

“Wait—you can’t lock up the priest—” Eyvind blurted out, alarmed to see the way Thorvald hustled his captive out into the hallway. “I’m the prisoner here, not him—he hasn’t done anything—’”