Some instinct drove Shef forward across the ring, sauntering slowly till he came face to face with his accuser. He looked at him, tilting his head back to accentuate his greater height.
“If you know I came from the ships,” he said, “you know there were two ships fighting. One was a Viking. It was the Frani Ormr, the great ship of Sigurth Ragnarsson. Did you not see the Raven Banner? The other one was mine, and Sigurth was running from it. Get me back to it and I’ll give you a man’s price in silver.”
“What kind of ships chase Viking ships?” said the burly man.
“English ships.”
The listening crowd made noises of surprise, disbelief. “It’s true the first ship was a Viking,” said a voice. “But he wasn’t running. He was leading on. And he fooled the other skipper proper. If that second ship was English they must all be fools. Mast and sail all wrong, too.”
“Take me back to it,” repeated Shef.
Karli’s voice came from behind him. “He couldn’t do it if he wanted to, stranger. No boats. We Ditmarshers are bold enough in the marsh, but half a mile out to sea and that’s pirate water.”
The burly man flushed and glanced angrily round. “That’s as may be. But if you’ve nothing else to say, one-eye, then what I said stands. You’re my slave till I find a buyer. Hand over that spear.”
Shef tossed the spear in the air, caught it at its point of balance, and feinted a lunge. He grinned broadly as the other man jumped clumsily away, then turned his back on him, ignoring the threatening axe. He began to stroll round the circle, looking into face after face, and addressing his words directly to the pendant-wearers in the circle. They were just like the Norfolk farmers whose disputes he had so often judged as a jarl, he decided. Get their interest and exploit their village divisions.
“A strange thing,” he remarked. “Man gets washed up on the shore, might be alive, might be dead, what do you do with him? Where I come from, the fishermen, if they have the cash, put a silver ring in their ears. You know what that’s for. So if they drown and their bodies come to shore, the folk are paid for burying them. The folk would bury them anyway, in duty, but they don’t like the idea of taking a last service for nothing.
“Now here I am, no ring in my ear, but not dead either. Why should I get worse treatment? Have I done any harm? I’ve made a gift to your Karli there, and in exchange he’s knocked me down, bloodied my nose, loosened my teeth, and given me a sore jaw—so we’re all good friends.”
A rumble of amusement. As Shef had guessed, Karli was something between an object of admiration and a standing joke.
“Now what surprises me is our friend behind me.” Shef jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the burly man. “He says I’m a slave. Well, maybe. Says I’m his slave. Did I go to his house? Did he capture me single-handed in peril of his life? Maybe you all decided that anything that fell off a ship belonged to him. Is that right?”
This time a definite rumble of rejection, and what sounded like a loud breaking of wind from Karli.
“So what I suggest is this.” Shef had almost completed his circuit now, and was coming back face to face with the burly man. “If you want to make a slave of me, Nikko, then take me along to Hedeby and put me in the sale-ring. If you can make a sale, well and good. But then you must share the money with the village. Till you get to Hedeby, though, I stay free: no bonds, no collar. And I keep my spear. Sure, you can guard me as much as you like. Finally, till we get there I’ll work for my keep.” Shef tapped his pendant. “I have a skill. I’m a smith. Give me a forge and tools and I’ll work at whatever you need.”
“Sounds fair enough,” called one voice. “I have a plowshare with its edge coming away, needs careful work.”