Free Fin Gall by James L. Nelson

disarming.
                  “Pleased to meet you!”  Ornolf thrust a meaty hand at Magnus, and Magnus took it and shook.
                  “You do not look a man of no consequence,” Thorgrim observed.
                  “I am an associate of Orm’s who is lord of Dubh-linn, that much is true,” Magnus said.
                  “So you are a Dane, then?” Ornolf asked. “The lot of you here, Danes?”
                  “Yes,” Magnus said. “But it is no matter. Danes, Norwegians, Swedes, we are all here of a purpose. Settle this savage place. Establish trade.” He smiled, the kind of smile meant to win converts.
                  “There, Thorgrim, you see?” Ornolf roared. “I have been telling Thorgrim,” Ornolf said to Magnus, “that you Danes are not nearly the treacherous sons of whores most make you out to be.”
                  “Indeed,” Magnus smiled. “We are not.”
                  “Well, then,”Ornolf said, “I would be proud to drink with you and call you friend.”
                  Be your friend’s true friend, to him and his friends, Thorgrim recalled the old saying. Beware of befriending an enemy’s friend .
                  Who are the enemies, he wondered, and who the friends?
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
     
     
     
     
    A man should drink
    in moderation
    be sensible or silent.
                            Hávamál
     
     
     
     
     
                  F
    or a man of no consequence, Magnus Magnusson commanded a lot of respect , or so it appeared to Thorgrim Night Wolf. With a word Magnus cleared a half dozen men from the table so that he and Ornolf and Thorgrim would have a place to sit in relative private. With a wave of his arm and a nod, mead and wine and food appeared.
                  “So,” he said, after they had all drunk deep and Ornolf had set into the chicken, “you have been lucky in your raiding?”
                  Thorgrim made a low growling noise, despite himself. He did not care for questioning, could see that this Magnus was too smooth by half. But he understood that it was his own rash actions that had put them in a compromised position, so he held his tongue.
                  “Lucky?” Ornolf raved, spitting bits of chicken. “Damned unlucky. England was a paradise once, gold everywhere, monasteries and churches bursting with the stuff. You just had to bend over to gather it up. Now? Picked bloody clean. Back when I was your age, when men had balls, we took all there was. Not a damned thing left!”
                  “Really? I had heard your hold was quite full.”
                  “Heard?” Thorgrim asked. “From who, the fat one who was poking around our longship?”
                  Magnus smiled. “Asbjorn. A fat one indeed. I heard you nearly broke his finger. I’m sorry you did not cut his throat.”
                  Thorgrim nodded. That was good to hear, anyway, that Asbjorn was not universally loved. “We’ve had some luck, despite what Ornolf says.”
                  Magnus nodded and his thoughts were moving down some new path. “You were off the coast, in this last storm. Any luck then? Find any of these Irish out at sea?”
                  Thorgrim shook his head.
                  “Ha! Irish at sea?” Ornolf raged. He stopped, looked at Thorgrim. His smiled faded. “Oh, no. Not a damned one.”
                  Thorgrim looked at Magnus. The Dane had not missed that, Ornolf’s awkward retreat.
                  “You’re certain?”
                  Thorgrim leaned back and folded his arms. “We had some luck. A trader, loaded to the gunnels. Danish, it turned