“And—a woman!” cried another man. “Why would they send a woman? And what kind o’ leader should she be for a fleet o’ six boats?”
“A competent one, fro’ what I could see,” Quarrie managed to fit in before they were off again.
He let them rage for a time, getting the most of it out. Ma had come in and stood quietly at the door that led to Da’s quarters.
“We maun ready our defenses,” said Morchan at the last. “Call up all the men. Distribute weapons. The armory is well stocked. If we reinforce the gate—”
“Yet most the dwellings lie outside the walls. They will come wi’ fire, as they always do.”
“Aye, we maun resign oursel’s to losing much o’ the settlement—”
“Unless we gi’ them wha’ they want.”
Quarrie said it quietly, but it silenced everyone there. Ma took a step forward into the room.
“This woman,” Quarrie went on far more calmly than he felt, “has asked for only one man.”
“Ye canna believe her, lad!” Morchan cried earnestly. “’Tis a ploy. A way to get us to lower our defenses.”
“How? How would it lower our defenses to hand over one man?”
“Ye are talking about a sacrifice.”
“Aye.”
“And wha’ makes ye think if ye hand over one man, they will no’ tak’ him and then burn us to the ground anyway?”
Quarrie did not have an answer to that, not one he could present to these men. He simply believed Hulda Elvarsdottir.
He did not know why.
“’Twould be an agreement founded in honor.”
“A Norseman has nay honor!” Morchan howled. “Yer wits must be addled if ye think different.”
“’Tis a gamble,” Quarrie agreed. “A risk I am willing to take.”
“Nay.” Ma spoke for the first time.
“Lad”—Morchan stepped up to Quarrie—“think on it. ’Tis a sentence o’ death, whether they come back and attack us or no’.”
Itwasa sentence of death. A quite painful and horrific death, without a doubt. One more terrible than Quarrie could likelyimagine. Looking at it squarely, he asked himself if he had the balls. He loved his home, but—
Hadhe the balls?
“Besides…” It was Borald who once more stepped up to face Quarrie. “They want the man who slew their leader down on the shore, last year.”
“Nay,” said Ma again.
This time Quarrie glanced at her. “No’ to worry, Ma. I will no’ turn Da over to them. I told them ’twas I who killed yon leader.”
“But ’twas no’ ye,” Morchan said doggedly.
“The Norsewoman does not ken that. She was no’ there. Besides”—a spasm passed through Quarrie—“I think they want a scapegoat. Someone upon whom they may loose their displeasure and hate. It need no’ be Da.”
“’Twas your father took that young man’s head.”
“And received in return the blow that besets him yet. Is it no’ my duty as his son to accept this in his place?”
