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‘I heard about that.’ Sayrid scowled. If she had been there, she’d have counselled against it. Once a marauding sea king, always one. But she had been in Ribe with the Danes, seeing whether that market was any better than Birka, and the jaarl had followed his instincts. She had to hope that Hrolf the Sea-Rider would honour his pledges and deal with the threat from Lavrans. However, she suspected given time he’d prove the same as every other sea king she’d encountered—an oaf with an overinflated opinion of his self-worth and an insatiable desire for gold, leading to demands for more tribute. The jaarl had been less than pleased when she had voiced her opinion on the subject.
‘Hrolf arrived for a visit to cement the alliance two weeks ago.’ Her brother gave her a sharp look. ‘I thought you saw the jaarl when you returned.’
‘We spoke of other things.’ Sayrid concentrated on keeping her face blank. There was no need for Regin to know how badly the interview had gone and how she’d stormed out. ‘What does this alliance have to do with Blodvin?’
‘Eymundsson spotted Blodvin as soon as he stepped foot on our shores and made an offer that day. Her father wants the better match.’
‘Better match indeed! The dirty scoundrel! We have already paid part of the bride price!’ Sayrid gave vent to her anger and frustration at being kept in the dark about the sea king’s visit and threw the spear with all her might. It stuck deep in the mud, quivering. ‘No one cheats Ironfist’s children.’
‘Because of you, not me.’ Her brother plucked the spear out of the mud and held it out to her. ‘I’m the one she is supposed to marry. I’m not even head of the household. You hold that title by being a shield maiden.’
‘An agreement is an agreement.’ Sayrid crossed her arms and silently willed her brother not to cry any more. ‘Blodvin chose you above all her other suitors.’
‘Hrolf Eymundsson is another proposition altogether. You know his reputation as well as I. He came from nothing in a few years to commanding ships and a horde of Byzantium gold.’
‘Fortune’s wheel can turn sour just as quickly,’ she said. ‘Maybe his time has passed and yours is about to begin.’
Regin hung his head. ‘You know what I’m like in personal combat.’
‘That is all in your mind. Because of what happened when you were ten.’ Sayrid climbed out of the pond. ‘There is very little to wonder why your opponent won. He was a full-blooded warrior and you a mere boy. Far should never have forced you.’
Her father had a lot to answer for. He had been too quick with his fists and tongue, taking particular pleasure in tormenting her younger brother. He had only stopped when she had stood up to him, waving a sword in his face and threatening to use it. He’d retaliated by beating her until her back was bloody, but he had left Regin alone.
It wasn’t his fists she had feared, but his cruel tongue. The worst was when he had proclaimed that any man could have her and all his property as her dowry without paying the customary bride price if they could defeat her in combat.
What a start to her career as a shield maiden it had been! Fighting off a fat drunken imbecile while everyone laughed. The jeers had turned to respectful silence when she met the next contestant, a respected but elderly warrior and disarmed him as well, followed by a young warrior. After that, the challenges had dried up.
‘But Far said—’
‘Far said a lot of stupid things,’ Sayrid couldn’t help but reply. ‘Now he is dead from drinking far too much ale. He can’t hurt you again. Ever.’
‘But…but…’ Her brother swallowed nervously.
‘Our family prospers. Didn’t Jaarl Kettil say how pleased he is with the amount of gold we brought back from our latest trading voyage?’ Sayrid attempted a bright smile. ‘You contributed to it.’
Regin shrugged. ‘I’m still not a great warrior like Far wanted. Kettil will eventually demand a seasoned warrior, one who can lead felags and hold this land, not just a shield maiden.’
‘You’ve other talents,’ Sayrid said before Regin listed his perceived failings as a warrior or Kettil’s stubborn refusal to allow her to lead a felag to the East. ‘You acquitted yourself well in Tønsberg. You saved the lodestone from being washed overboard on that wave.’
He gave a sad smile. ‘That was pure luck and we’d never have been near those rocks if I’d paid attention.’
‘You’re skilled at languages.’
Regin’s nostrils flared slightly, reminding Sayrid of a high-strung horse who was about to refuse to get on board ship. ‘Hrolf will challenge with the sword, not with verses of poetry.’
