three years away from the honest sweaty wool and fish smell of us from the north. So far away it wrinkled his nose now, even as Finn wrinkled his nose at the sweet-smelling boy.
All the same, we clasped forearms as old friends and I felt the leap of my heart at that — him, too, I fancied, from the look in his eyes. He had grown from the skinny boy with only a dozen years on him and his tangled black curls were combed and oiled and fell to the shoulders of the white shirt he wore over sea-green breeks.
'Is that a beard?' demanded Finn and Jon Asanes, laughing and blushing, batted the gnarled and filthy hand which was trying to feel his chin. Little Olaf watched it all with interest, saying nothing.
'Either you flew,' Jon said, looping a leg over a bench as if it were a horse and pouring ale, 'or my message to you is still sailing.'
'What message?' grunted Kvasir, then was nudged by Thorgunna into making introductions. Jon Asanes had been told of Kvasir's marriage, but this was his first meeting with Thorgunna and everyone could see she was dazzled by him. It was hard not to be for, with a youth's summers on him, The Goat Boy now had a breadth of chest and a slender waist and a bright and even smile that was always echoed in his dark eyes.
Then Olaf stepped up, having to look up to Jon Asanes, who now had some height on him, too. Jon was, I realized as I watched him and Olaf study each other, about the same age now as I was when we had met on Cyprus and called him Goat Boy. Yet, with less than a handful of years between us, I felt old enough to be the Goat Boy's grandfather.
'You smell nice,' said Olaf. 'Not like a man, though. Like a flower.'
Jon Asanes astounded me and showed how much he had learned about dealing with traders, for he didn't bristle at this, as I expected from someone of his age. Instead, he grinned.
'You smell like fish dung,' he countered. 'And your eyes cannot make up their minds on colour.'
They stared for a moment longer, then Olaf laughed with genuine delight and you could see the pair of them were friends already.
'The message?' I asked and Jon Asanes smiled a last smile at little Olaf and turned to me, a storm gathering on his brow.
'I sent it awhiles since, by a Gotland trader,' he said and looked sideways at me. 'An old friend is arrived,'
he added. 'He is staying with Christ-followers in the German quarter. I say friend, but I doubt if it is true.'
He paused and looked at me, then the others.
'I did not tell Tvorimir,' he added, 'since it was a matter best kept between few, I was thinking.'
I felt the chill then and it was nothing to do with draughts from the door. Magpie caught my eye and slapped a grin on his red face.
'I will go if you like,' he said, but I shook my head; I trusted Tvorimir — well, as much as I trusted any trader — and, besides, we had few friends in this part of the world. Instead, I turned to Jon Asanes and asked, though I already knew the answer.
'Who?'
'Martin, the monk, with news for you, he says.'
'Odin's eye,' growled Finn. 'That name again, like a strange turd in your privy. I thought he had died.'
Not yet,' Jon answered with a grin, 'though he looks much like a corpse.'
'I had thought to have seen the last of him in Serkland,' Kvasir admitted. Thorgunna, who had heard some of this, kept quiet and Magpie, who was bemused by all of it, looked from one to the other, demanding explanations.
'What does he want?' I asked and, again, I already knew the answer — his holy spear, which I had in my sea chest, wrapped in sealskin. Jon Asanes confirmed it.
'In exchange,' he went on, 'he says he will give you news worth the value of it to you.'
'I doubt that,' muttered Finn, 'for he was ever as slippery as a fresh-caught herring.'
They tossed the tale of it between them for Magpie's benefit — how Martin, the German monk, had stumbled on the secret of Attila's treasure and been forced to reveal it by Einar, so putting all the Oathsworn on the hard
All the same, we clasped forearms as old friends and I felt the leap of my heart at that — him, too, I fancied, from the look in his eyes. He had grown from the skinny boy with only a dozen years on him and his tangled black curls were combed and oiled and fell to the shoulders of the white shirt he wore over sea-green breeks.
'Is that a beard?' demanded Finn and Jon Asanes, laughing and blushing, batted the gnarled and filthy hand which was trying to feel his chin. Little Olaf watched it all with interest, saying nothing.
'Either you flew,' Jon said, looping a leg over a bench as if it were a horse and pouring ale, 'or my message to you is still sailing.'
'What message?' grunted Kvasir, then was nudged by Thorgunna into making introductions. Jon Asanes had been told of Kvasir's marriage, but this was his first meeting with Thorgunna and everyone could see she was dazzled by him. It was hard not to be for, with a youth's summers on him, The Goat Boy now had a breadth of chest and a slender waist and a bright and even smile that was always echoed in his dark eyes.
Then Olaf stepped up, having to look up to Jon Asanes, who now had some height on him, too. Jon was, I realized as I watched him and Olaf study each other, about the same age now as I was when we had met on Cyprus and called him Goat Boy. Yet, with less than a handful of years between us, I felt old enough to be the Goat Boy's grandfather.
'You smell nice,' said Olaf. 'Not like a man, though. Like a flower.'
Jon Asanes astounded me and showed how much he had learned about dealing with traders, for he didn't bristle at this, as I expected from someone of his age. Instead, he grinned.
'You smell like fish dung,' he countered. 'And your eyes cannot make up their minds on colour.'
They stared for a moment longer, then Olaf laughed with genuine delight and you could see the pair of them were friends already.
'The message?' I asked and Jon Asanes smiled a last smile at little Olaf and turned to me, a storm gathering on his brow.
'I sent it awhiles since, by a Gotland trader,' he said and looked sideways at me. 'An old friend is arrived,'
he added. 'He is staying with Christ-followers in the German quarter. I say friend, but I doubt if it is true.'
He paused and looked at me, then the others.
'I did not tell Tvorimir,' he added, 'since it was a matter best kept between few, I was thinking.'
I felt the chill then and it was nothing to do with draughts from the door. Magpie caught my eye and slapped a grin on his red face.
'I will go if you like,' he said, but I shook my head; I trusted Tvorimir — well, as much as I trusted any trader — and, besides, we had few friends in this part of the world. Instead, I turned to Jon Asanes and asked, though I already knew the answer.
'Who?'
'Martin, the monk, with news for you, he says.'
'Odin's eye,' growled Finn. 'That name again, like a strange turd in your privy. I thought he had died.'
Not yet,' Jon answered with a grin, 'though he looks much like a corpse.'
'I had thought to have seen the last of him in Serkland,' Kvasir admitted. Thorgunna, who had heard some of this, kept quiet and Magpie, who was bemused by all of it, looked from one to the other, demanding explanations.
'What does he want?' I asked and, again, I already knew the answer — his holy spear, which I had in my sea chest, wrapped in sealskin. Jon Asanes confirmed it.
'In exchange,' he went on, 'he says he will give you news worth the value of it to you.'
'I doubt that,' muttered Finn, 'for he was ever as slippery as a fresh-caught herring.'
They tossed the tale of it between them for Magpie's benefit — how Martin, the German monk, had stumbled on the secret of Attila's treasure and been forced to reveal it by Einar, so putting all the Oathsworn on the hard
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