Glendalough Fair Read Free

that the mood would lighten as well. He hoped that for the men of Vík-ló the shorter nights and the occasional glimpse of sun would bring a new, more hopeful view of the world.
    But they did not, at least not in any meaningful way that Thorgrim could see. In those long, cold, wet months, attitudes had hardened more than even Thorgrim realized. Factions had been formed, animosities compounded, and the easing of labor that came with the spring weather just gave the men more time to ponder their grievances.
    Minor irritations turned into fully fledged hatreds. Fistfights flared into brawls, leaving in their wake broken furniture and broken bones. But none of that seething anger, and none of the violence, had ever ended in drawn swords or dead men.
    Until now.
     

Chapter Two
     
     
    Goddess of golden rain,
    who gives me great joy,
    may boldly hear report
    of her friend’s brave stand.
    Gisli Sursson’s Saga
     
     
    Thorgrim approached the rise in the ground that stood between him and the river and blocked his view of the fight. His hand rested on the grip of his sword, Iron-tooth, and the rain continued with not the least respite. He heard footsteps behind him and he turned to see Bersi Jorundarson come running up and fall in at his side.
    “Thorgrim,” Bersi said. “What’s the trouble?”
    “I don’t know yet,” Thorgrim said. “But whatever it might be, I can well image who’s behind it.”
    “Kjartan?”
    “That’s what I would imagine.”
    Thorgrim had never doubted that the men of Vík-ló would sift themselves out into this or that group, and that some hostility would arise between them. It’s what men did. His chief concern was that they would divide themselves up into Norwegians against Danes. But in the end it did not go that way. Instead the men had divided up by those whom they would follow, the chief men, the men who would be masters of the ships.
    Thorgrim’s crew mostly remained loyal to him, but some, those who had joined him in Dubh-linn just six months before, had become friends with the Danes and had gravitated to other camps.
    Most of the men who had followed Grimarr Giant remained loyal to Bersi, and so in turn were willing to show some loyalty toward Thorgrim. Skidi Oddson, known as Skidi Battleax, was another who had gained great stature among the men after the slaughter he had inflicted on the Irish and the death of so many of Grimarr’s chiefs. Skidi had his own following, and they were not so pleased by Thorgrim’s having been made Lord of Vík-ló. But neither were they so opposed to the arrangement that they were willing to start trouble, and they could be counted on if not pushed too hard.
    But some of the men, a ship’s crew, fifty or sixty, came under the sway of Kjartan Thorolfson, who was called Longtooth. Kjartan was loyal to none but Kjartan, and it was that very spirit of defiance that his men admired in him, and emulated.
    Kjartan had spent the winter undermining Thorgrim in a hundred subtle ways, never pushing so hard as to provoke a response that involved edged weapons. But that was coming – Thorgrim could feel that the careful balance would soon be upset – and when it did he would kill Kjartan and see what Kjartan’s men would make of that.
    Maybe the time has come at last, Thorgrim thought. He took the last steps up the rise, stopped and wiped the rain from his eyes. Spread out before him on the open ground near the river, the place where the wood for the ships’ construction had once been stored, was perhaps the oddest sight he had ever seen.
    There were a hundred men at least, too many to consider what they were doing a fight or a brawl. It was more akin to a battle, with swords flailing and men lying motionless on the ground and others shouting and struggling over the field.
    For a moment Thorgrim stood dumbfounded. The action of the men seemed slowed down in the driving rain which flooded Thorgrim’s eyes and made it difficult to get a clear view. The