“To me it sounds like a living death,” Somerled observed. “Tedium incarnate. What sort of a man chooses to waste his life so?”

Eirik glanced at him. “Hakon is a stalwart warrior,” he said grimly, “and a true friend. His choice has not been an easy one, but he’s taking a wise course. Don’t underestimate those of us you think simple, Somerled. Someday that could get you into trouble.”

Somerled narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Perhaps even he understood that it was not a good idea to pick a fight with Wolfskins.

The supplies came and were loaded into the knarr. The stock arrived: a ram and two ewes, a coop of chickens, another of geese, which kept up a continuous honking chorus and deprived all of sleep. There was also a fine young bull, long-horned, chestnut-coated, and a pair of dreamy-eyed heifers. These they would not load until the day of sailing. Men came back from farms with their wives and children and their selected thralls; the settlement was full to bursting. All in all, it was a fine company.

The day came when the last bright shield was hung on the Golden Dragon’s side, and they launched her into Freyrsfjord for her first real trial. Her oars sang through the water; she moved before the wind, swift and graceful as a great seabird in flight. Ulf pronounced himself well pleased, and failed utterly to keep a grin of satisfaction from his usually sober features. Then Jarl Magnus held a feast to acknowledge the work that had been done, and to wish his kinsman well. In the afternoon there were games: horse fighting, wrestling, running races, and even a bout of Battlefield, in which Eyvind led one team and Eirik the other. It was difficult to play properly when one had to avoid causing the opposition serious injury. Several men from each side were to join the expedition, after all, and they could hardly do so with a split skull, a broken jaw, or a shattered ankle. By dint of some quick prematch negotiation, Eirik and Eyvind guided their teams through a bout which was more spectacular than bloody. They made sure there were plenty of close calls, since the crowd must be entertained. There was a great deal of leaping and dodging, a somersault or two, and lethal blows calculated to miss by a hair’s breadth. Women screamed; children squealed; men yelled helpful instructions. Eyvind’s team was pronounced by the crowd to have won. Wiping the sweat from his face, he glimpsed Signe there, clapping and cheering with the rest, and gave a little bow in her direction. By the time he had straightened up, she was gone from sight.