After walking four days-in a more or less easterly direction-we came to a big river bounded by wide water meadows on either side. In the centre of the meadow on the far side of the river stood an immense stone, marking the council ring, the theng place. On the broad flat lea, and down below on the gentle slopes of the riverbanks, were ranged a number of camps, most with rush-covered huts, though some boasted ox-hide tents.

We crossed the meadow and made our way along the riverbank to the fording place. "Ah, look, Tolar," said Gunnar, pointing to one of the tents. "There is Ragnar's tent."

Tolar nodded.

"Perhaps they can tell us why we have been summoned like this."

We waded across the river, and Gunnar and Tolar were hailed by men from various camps, whom they greeted genially as we passed by. Some looked askance-watching me with unfriendly eyes-but no one stopped or challenged me. Perhaps it was because I had been given the task of holding tight to Garm's collar, lest he bound away to fight with one of the other dogs guarding the various camps. However it was, I was relieved that no one demanded an explanation of me, and I was content simply to observe.

I had supposed, living among barbarians, that I had grown indifferent to their habits and appearance. I was wrong. The sights that met my eyes as we made our way through the various encampments almost made me gape with amazement. I saw men-and women too, for there were many women in attendance-covered in the skins of wild animals, looking more feral than any of the beasts whose pelts they wore; and there were others who wore nothing at all, and whose bodies were stained with strange designs in blue and ochre. All were big, for the Danefolk are an exceedingly large race, and many, although full-grown, were fair-haired as maidens; but, whether fair or dark, most all of them wore their locks braided in long thick ropes of hair, decorated with feathers, leaves, shells, and wooden ornaments.

I could but shake my head in wonder.

Some barbarians, lately arrived, greeted their kinsmen with cries and much commotion; others worked at building shelters and sleeping places. Everyone talked loudly, with much shouting and bellowing. Oh, they are a noisy breed; I could scarce think.

The mingled scents of food cooking over various fires brought the water to my mouth, even as the smoke stung my eyes. We passed by several small camps and cooking fires, and I looked with longing at the roasting meat and bubbling cauldrons.

The tent of Ragnar Yellow Hair was a white-spotted oxhide, around which ten or more men sprawled, lazing the day away, waiting for the council to begin. At our approach one of them raised a hand and sang out, alerting anyone who cared that Gunnar and Tolar had arrived.

"Hey, Gunnar."

"Hey, Bjarni. Are you winning the battle?"

"We are holding our own, I think," the man said with a yawn. "The king is not here. He is drinking ol with King Heoroth and the jarls."

"Where can we make camp?"

"There is a good place behind the tent-so I was told."

"Very well, we will take it," Gunnar said, and Tolar nodded his agreement. "But please do not trouble yourself. We would not disturb your much-needed rest."

"Come drink with us later," Bjarni said, closing his eyes. I think he was asleep again before we had walked six paces.

We three spent the rest of the day making camp: I gathered stones from the river to make a fire-ring; Gunnar chopped wood from the huge mounded store of sawn logs King Harald had provided; Tolar gathered reeds from the riverbank. We were about our preparations when Ragnar returned to his tent. Gunnar and Tolar went to greet their lord, leaving me to arrange the bundles of reeds on the ground so we would not have to sleep on the bare earth.

Thinking we would soon require a cooking fire, I began stripping dry bark to use as kindling. I was about this task when a rough voice captured my attention. Raising my head, I looked around. An enormous man stood over me, glaring down from his height. My heart sank.

"Greetings, Hrothgar," I said, hoping to placate the man who had tried to drown me in the king's ale vat. I lay aside the wood and sat back on my heels.

"Slaves are not permitted here," he said, and made other remarks which I could not follow. His speech was slurred with drink, and difficult to understand.

I did not know what to say, so I simply smiled inoffensively and nodded.

Reaching down, he grabbed my collar and hauled me upright. He held his face close to mine. "Slaves are not permitted here." His breath was foul and he stank of sweat and sour beer.

"Gunnar brought me."

His eyes narrowed. "You are a slave, and you are a liar."

"Please, Hrothgar-I want no trouble."

"Nay," he said, a vicious grin spreading across his bloated face, "it will be no trouble." He pushed me away hard, and I fell sprawling to the ground. "Now I will show you what happens to slaves who use their tongues for telling lies. Stand up on your feet."

I rose slowly, a sick feeling spreading through my inward parts. Glancing around quickly, I hoped to see Gunnar returning, but I did not know where he had gone and I did not see him anywhere.

I thought to call out, and opened my mouth to do so, but Hrothgar's fist was flying towards my face before I could draw breath to shout. I ducked under the blow and stepped lightly aside. He turned and swung again, and I ducked again.

"Stop, Hrothgar. Please, stop," I pleaded, moving another step to the side.

"Stand still!" he bellowed.

His booming voice drew the attention of some of the nearer barbarians. They began shouting to one another that there was a fight to be seen, and we were quickly surrounded by a ring of interested onlookers. Some of them called for Hrothgar to catch me, while others urged me to elude him. I took the advice of the latter, and moved slowly sideways, step by step. Each time the great hulking Dane swung at me, I moved aside, sometimes ducking under the blow, sometimes bending backwards out of his reach. And each time he missed, Hrothgar cursed and grew more angry.

Soon he was sweating and puffing, his face red and ripe to bursting.

"Let us cease now," I said. "We have no quarrel, you and I. Let us end this and walk away."

"Stand still and fight!" he roared, mad with rage and drink.

He swung again, and I ducked. But I had gone to that well once too often, and this time he anticipated my movement. As his right hand swung over my head, he threw his left fist low to catch me. Alas, I saw it too late.

The blow caught me on the jaw. But, drunk as he was, there was no real force in the swing. I fell back, more from surprise and losing my balance, than from the force of the swing. Hrothgar thought he had felled me, however. I let him believe this.

"You have beaten me, Hrothgar. I cannot fight any more."

"Stand up!" he raged. "I will knock you down again."

"My legs will not hold me. You have defeated me."

"Stand on your feet!" He stooped and snatched up a piece of wood-one of those I had been stripping. This he threw at me. The throw was clumsy and I rolled easily aside.

I made a chore of climbing to my feet, shaking my clothes all around. With a mighty growl, the barbarian swung at me. I leapt away, side-stepping once again. Hrothgar, unbalanced by the force of his swing, toppled forward onto his knees. This brought a great peal of laughter from those looking on, and a roar of rage from Hrothgar.

"Please," I said, "let us stop now, Hrothgar. I cannot fight any more."

He pushed himself up and lunged at me, throwing wide his arms. I jumped lightly back and he hugged the earth. Again the throng laughed, and I realized that they were calling for me to defeat him. I gazed around the ring of faces and saw Gunnar and Tolar standing in the forefront jeering with the rest.