Jarl Sigrún laughed. “I thought you above a child’s saga-tale, Virk.”
“It is true, I have sailed the whale road and seen it,” Virk said.
“And you have drained many a mead horn, too, and perhaps dreamed of these things,” Sigrún said, her drengrs laughing, Guevarr loudest of all. “If these things were truth, I would do all in my power to not let that happen here.” Jarl Sigrún frowned. “But I will not lie to you, Helka will want our coin, and our oaths. And I will tell you a harder truth; if I said no to her, she would still come and take this land for herself. We have not the strength to stop her. She would come, kill me and our strongest and put one of her own in the mead hall as jarl.” She shook her head.
Orka nodded and thought well of Sigrún for admitting this hard truth. But her mind was running ahead, seeing in vivid colours the path Helka would take, the fields of blood and corpses she would tread in her quest to rule all Vigrie.
“But there will be benefits too,” Jarl Sigrún said.
“Benefits!” Virk snorted, though others such as Fálki listened attentively.
“Aye, such as being on the winning side. It is only a matter of time before St?rr and Helka face one another, and the winner will take all Vigrie. That could go well for us.”
“And what if Helka loses?” another voice called out.
“She will not lose,” Sigrún said. “I have seen her drakkars, and her warband. The bones of the dead god Orna rear over her fortress at Darl. I have seen the wings.” She looked slowly across the crowd. “She will not lose.” Her gaze fixed on Virk. “And taxes are a part of life, they are the road to safety and long-life. Queen Helka will protect us from the greater battles of Vigrie, and I will continue to protect you all, as best I can.”
A thought was growing in Orka’s mind, memories of battle and blood circling in her head like sea serpents smelling blood in the water.
“She will ask for a hird-offering from here,” Orka said, for a moment not realising that she had uttered the words out loud.
Thorkel grunted and shifted against his tree, those close to Orka turning and staring at her.
She remembered Thorkel’s words.
We will go to the Althing, keep our heads down and our lips stitched shut…
“Is that not so, Jarl Sigrún?” Orka asked her.
“She may,” Jarl Sigrún said grudgingly.
“She will,” Orka said. “She will take all with a strong arm that own a spear or axe to fight her war for her, the people of Fellur swelling her warband’s ranks.” Orka looked around at the crowd, seeing that realisation dawning in their eyes. The thought of putting down their tools and sharpening their spears and axes, of seeing their sons and daughters carried off on the wave of war.
“That is a long way from now, and much can happen,” Sigrún said. “But it would be better than sitting in our fields and fisher boats when Jarl St?rr’s warband sweeps over the horizon or rows into the fjord. He will not offer us protection. He will offer us iron and blood and the thrall’s collar. This is the only path I can see to protect us all.”
“Protect us?” Virk said. “When you cannot even protect us against murderers and child-stealers?”
Jarl Sigrún’s eyes flittered to Guevarr.
“My nephew has told me of this, of Asgrim and Idrun.”
“And Harek,” Breca said, his voice high and shrill.
Orka felt a swell of pride for her son, having the stones to speak up for his friend in a gathering like this.
“Aye,” Virk said, stepping out of the crowd. “A child stolen and two murdered, all living within your borders, under your protection.” He looked at the gathering. “What protection is that?” he spat.
“You should step back, and close those flapping lips,” Guevarr said.
“And you should learn how to conduct a search, and fulfil your duties in your jarl’s absence,” Virk grunted. A few laughs rippled through the crowd, along with nodding heads and a murmur of agreement.
Guevarr’s lips twisted and his neck flushed red. He took a step towards Virk.
“My nephew has told me of this crime,” Jarl Sigrún said, her voice loud and harsh, stopping Guevarr. “He did all that could be done.”
“That is a lie,” Virk snapped.
Jarl Sigrún stared at him.
“You should not speak to your jarl so,” the warrior-thrall at Sigrún’s shoulder said, something in her voice silencing the whole clearing.