Passing among the dwellings and across the wide yard, Gunnar and I followed the throng between the birch poles and into the great hall. The room was a dim and very forest-like, with the boles of trees standing the length of the hall, their branches obscured in the smoky darkness of the roof. These rooftrees were painted: red, white, and yellow, but one-that nearest the western corner where the king had his chamber, though it was little more than a stall such as often given to horses-was painted blue.

Sooty torches fluttered in their iron sconces, casting a dim filthy light over all within. The length of the room was lined with sleeping nooks or stalls, some of which were fronted by screens or skin hangings for privacy. Round wooden shields hung from the upper beams above clusters of spears. Two long boards on trestles faced the hearth, with low benches running the length of the boards on either side. The floor was strewn with reeds and straw; dogs sprawled lazily underfoot, or sniffed around the legs of the newcomers.

All lords are alike in the ostentation of their dwellings, and the barbarians are especially given to excessive display. Yellow Hair's chair was a big, oaken throne with rings and bosses of iron; his hearth was wide and deep, stone-lined, with huge iron firedogs to support the vast logs he kept burning day and night. An enormous bronze cauldron hung by a double-linked chain from a tripod; the contents of this kettle bubbled and spluttered.

Lord Yellow Hair strode directly to the gurgling pot and, taking up a long flesh-fork, thrust the implement into the stew. He brought up a steaming hunk of meat which he brought to his mouth and from which he worried off a chunk. Chewing heartily, he swallowed the gobbet down, then turned to those looking on and called in a loud voice: "Ol!" he cried. "Ol! Fort!"

Several young boys scampered away, returning a few moments later with foaming bowls of brown ale-the preferred drink of all Danemen. Yellow Hair drank deep, emptying the bowl into his mouth and quaffing the heavy liquid in great gulps. When he finished, he wiped his yellow moustache on his sleeve, passed the bowl to his champion, and swaggered to his throne, turned to the watching crowd and, with exceeding ceremony, sat down.

This, I believe, was an awaited sign, for no sooner had his lordly rump touched the polished oak, than the entire hall lurched into frantic motion. Instantly, men were jostling one another for places at the board while women darted here and there, and everyone in full cry. The noise! Chaos reigned. My head swam.

Gunnar took his place with the other Sea Wolves who had settled themselves at the board. I was made to stand behind him-not a bad place to be, for there I could observe the bustle of the hall without getting trampled in it-while all around me the people of the settlement prepared a feast.

Ale jars and bowls began appearing, brought to the board by the serving boys running through the hall. The Sea Wolves guzzled down the frothy brew, elbowing one another impatiently, slapping the board with their hands and crying for more. Cups and jars and bowls circled the hall, passed hand to hand.

Several men entered carrying a large vat which they set on an iron stand beside their lord's throne. They proceeded to plunge empty bowls into the vat, and withdrew the vessels full and foaming, and flung them into the maelstrom. Watching the men drink with such zeal, I became aware of my own clawing thirst, but no one gave me anything to drink-nor did I think it likely that they would.

As the Sea Wolves settled to their drinking, the women and girls hastened forth with baskets of black bread. The sight of all those fine round loaves brought the water to my mouth and a sharp ache to my poor empty stomach. I watched as basket after basket was placed upon the board and men took up loaves-two and three at a time!-broke them and stuffed them into their mouths.

Meanwhile, several men busied themselves at the fire. Two iron standards were established on either side of the hearth, and when this was accomplished and the flames brightly hot, the men vanished, only to reappear bearing the whole carcass of a cow on a long iron spit. Three spitted pigs and two sheep followed, and all were placed on the standards to turn slowly over the flames. Soon the crack and sizzle of burning fat was added to the chatter of the flames, and the great hall filled with the savoury aroma of roasting meat.

I thought I would swoon.

To divert myself from my dilemma I looked elsewhere around the hall and saw, sitting on a stool in a darkened corner, a bent old man; what is more, this man was staring at me most intently. When he saw that I marked his gaze, he rose and shuffled forth-more bear than man, so he seemed, for he was dressed in the shreds of filthy rags and his head weaved back and forth as he walked.

His features were begrimed with soot and dirt, and the few straggles of hair left to him were a tangled mat of straw and dung. Round-shouldered and lame, he shambled out of his corner to stand before me, regarding me with eyes so wide and lustrous I assumed he must be mad.

This wretched being stood looking at me for some time, then leaned forward and put his face up next to mine, reached up a grimy hand and rubbed the top of my head-whereupon he laughed out loud, expelling a breath so foul that I gagged and beat the air with my hand. He laughed the more, and I rocked backwards on my heels almost to falling over.

The old man gave my shaven forehead a last pat, opened his mouth in a toothless grin and said, "What is your name, Irish?"

Startled, I gaped at him. "I am-" I paused, trying to remember my name. "Aidan!" I said. "My name is Aidan."

The odd creature smirked and squirmed. He indicated Gunnar sitting at the board a pace away. "Caught you, boy, did he?"

"He did that," I answered.

The stranger laughed and shook himself all over as if this revelation were a singular pleasure to him. "Verity, verity," he said and, still laughing, began to sing: "The Sea Wolves go a-viking and fetch back Irish meat and bone. Gold and silver are more to their liking, but these wolves would devour stone!"

I stared at him in amazement, wondering how this vile being came to speak Latin. Sure, it was a lazy and much-eroded Latin, but the cleric's tongue nonetheless.

"Who are you, man?" I asked.

"Scop, I am," he replied, "and Scop ever more."

"Scop?" I wondered-an unusual name for a most unusual man.

"It means soothsayer, boy. Skald, the Northmen say; you would say bard." He laid a dirty finger beside his nose in a knowing way. "I am Truth Speaker to Ragnar Yellow Hair." At this he indicated the man on the throne with a reverential wave of his hand.

"His name is Yellow Hair? Truly?" I wondered aloud.

"It is that. Mind him, now. He is lord of the Geats and Oscingas." He raised both fists and clashed them together. "Two tribes, mark you. Many knives owe him blood. He is a most worthy gold-giver." Scop closed one eye and peered at me closely. "Be you slave or hostage, Irish?"

"Slave, I believe." I told him about the brief bargaining on the beach.

The old man nodded and placed a sooty finger on my leather collar. "Slave you are, indeed. But that is for the best. Slaves are often treated better than hostages. You might have done worse, Irish-might have done worse. There are places where the shaven men still bring a fair price."

Just then Ragnar saw the old man and called for him. Scop shambled away, laughing and smirking as he went. I stared after him, wondering what manner of man it was that I had just met. I had little time to think about this, however, for Gunnar summoned me.

"Aeddan!" he shouted, craning his neck.

I stepped nearer and he thrust his empty cup into my hands. "Ol!" he ordered, pointing at the vat.