"His name is Jesu," I said. "Also called the Christ, a word which means jarl in the tongue of the Greekmen."

"You speak well for this god of yours," Ragnar said; Gunnar and Tolar nodded. "I am persuaded that this is a matter worthy of further consideration."

They all agreed that it was just that: a matter worthy of further consideration. And such deep cogitation required the aid of ol, to which they applied themselves forthwith. Such strenuous thought, it was then suggested, should not be undertaken without the strength provided by a full stomach; it would be folly to even contemplate such a task without proper sustenance. Thus, the talk quickly turned to who should go and fetch the meat which was soon to be coming off the spits.

In the end, Gunnar, Leif and I went to claim our portion of the meat. We ate and drank amiably, and I fell asleep thinking that, whatever else happened to me in the days to come, my time among the barbarians had not been entirely wasted.

The next morning, King Harald held court in the ring of stones. Anyone with a grievance, or anyone seeking redress, could come before him for a judgement. This custom is roughly similar to the way it is done with the Irish kings and their people. Perhaps it is the same everywhere; I cannot say. But I understood the process well enough just by watching how the people behaved: they came before the king, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, with their supporters behind them for encouragement. They then declared the nature of their grievance and beseeched the king, who sat upon a wooden plank resting on two stones, for his decision.

King Harald seemed to enjoy the proceedings, leaning forward eagerly, hands on knees, listening to the complaints, and making up his mind, often very quickly after only a few questions. I watched the faces of those who went before him, and most often the people appeared to come away satisfied with the justice they had received.

Several times, however, there were scowls and dark mutterings as the aggrieved stumped off to lick their wounds. That is also the way of it in Eire, for it is not possible, even in all fairness, to please everyone, and there is no pleasing some people ever.

As we stood waiting for our turn, I wondered whether Gunnar would be pleased with his judgement, for it was the king himself he held to fault. What would Harald Bull-Roar do?

When called at last, Gunnar strode forth boldly, pulling me along and making me stand beside him. The king looked at me, and his glance put me in mind of our previous meeting; something of the same curious thoughtfulness appeared in his expression.

Lifting a hand to Gunnar, he recognized my master as a free man of Ragnar's tribe and asked him what it was that concerned him. Gunnar answered forthrightly, saying that it was a matter of grievous concern, involving nothing less than the murder of a trusted and long-serving slave.

The king agreed that this was indeed a serious affair. "It would seem," said the king, "a matter for grave consideration." He paused long enough for those gathered around to enjoy his wit, and then said, "You call it murder, why?"

Gunnar replied that he called it murder indeed when a man's slaves were attacked by armed men-indeed, king's men!-attacked and killed without cause. "Odd did not have a weapon," he concluded. "Not even a rock."

"Now that you bring it before me," Harald replied, "I seem to recall that I sent two karlar into that region and only one returned. Perhaps you can tell me how this happened."

Gunnar, anticipating the question, had his answer ready. "During the attack, my good hound killed the man who murdered my slave. For this my hound was killed also. Thus, you can see that I have lost a hound and a slave for no reason. It is not a loss I can easily bear."

The king was not swift to agree with Gunnar, but allowed that hounds did not kill king's men unless provoked. "Who provoked the hound?"

"The karlar," Gunnar answered.

"And who loosed the hound?" asked Harald, suggesting that he knew more about this incident than he had revealed.

"This man, my slave," said Gunnar, indicating me. "He loosed the hound."

Harald Bull-Roar's eyes became hard and his features grew rigid. "Is this so?" he demanded.

I think he expected me to deny it, or to try to explain it away somehow. It took him aback when I simply replied, "It is true."

"Did you know the hound would kill my man?"

"No, lord," I answered.

"Did you think it might happen?"

"Yes."

"You thought the hound might kill a king's man," Harald's voice grew angry and loud, "and yet you loosed the dog anyway?"

"I thought it would be no bad thing if the hound stopped the karlar from killing Odd."

At this, Harald grew puzzled. I think he had made up his mind how this would be settled, but my admission had put a slightly different face on the thing and he now wondered what to do. Looking away from me, he said to Gunnar: "You have lost a slave, and I have lost a warrior. I will pay you for your slave-"

"And hound," added Gunnar respectfully.

"I will pay you for the loss of your slave and hound," Harald said, "and you will pay me for the loss of my warrior. I will tell you now, my warrior was worth twenty gold pieces. Your slave, I think, was not worth half so much."

"No lord." The colour had drained from Gunnar's face; he was no longer so eager for justice as he had been only moments before.

"How much then?" demanded the king.

"Eight pieces of silver," Gunnar suggested.

"Five, perhaps?" wondered the king.

"Six," allowed Gunnar. "And six for the hound."

"If we grant that twelve pieces of silver are worth two of gold, you still owe me eighteen gold pieces for the death of my warrior," said the king. "Pay me now and the matter is settled."

"Lord," said Gunnar ruefully, "I have never held so great a sum in all my wealth, nor has my father, nor his father before him. Not even Ragnar Yellow Hair has so much gold." On sudden inspiration, he added, "All we have, we give to you in tribute."

King Harald dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand. "I care nothing for that. We have made a bargain. You must find the way to pay your part, heya?"

"Though I sell all I have, I could never raise so much wealth," Gunnar said.

Harald seemed to soften then; he lifted a hand to his chin and appeared to consider what could be done to help Gunnar out of his predicament. He granted that it was not good to leave affairs like this unsettled, and conceded that the attack had been fomented by his karlar in the first place.

"Taking this into account," he concluded, "I will not demand the full blood price. The gift of your slave will suffice."

Gunnar, not quite believing his good fortune, made no further protest but agreed at once, lest the king change his mind. Harald summoned one of his men, who stepped to the king's rough throne. The king put out his hand and the warrior gave him a leather bag from which the king withdrew a handful of silver coins. "I would not have you think ill of your king," he said and, selecting a few coins from his hand, motioned for Gunnar and me to approach.

"For the loss of your slave," Harald said, pouring six silver coins into Gunnar's outstretched hands. Then, as if thinking better of his offer, he took three more coins and added these to the others. "For your hound," the king said, and gave Gunnar six more silver pieces. "Heya?"

Gunnar glanced at me and shrugged. "Heya," he replied, greatly relieved. With a flick of the king's hand, my master retreated gratefully, tucking his silver into his belt. The warrior stepped up and took me by the arm; I was brought to the king's throne. Harald Bull-Roar reached out, seized hold of my slave collar and pulled me down to my knees.