Free The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) by Judson Roberts Page A

Someone other than Gunhild. But I did not believe now that it could be me.
    That evening, as dusk was falling and all were gathering in the longhouse in anticipation of the evening meal, I called all of the folk of the estate to come together in the open center of the longhouse, around the hearth. Hastein, Torvald, Tore, and several others of the crew came also, no doubt curious about what I intended to do.
    Stepping up onto the edge of the hearth so all could see and hear me, I addressed them. It felt strange to do so. It was like something that Hrorik or Harald would have done. But now they were both gone, and there was only me.
    "I have some things to tell you," I began. "By now, all of you have heard that it was Toke and his men who killed Harald, up on the Limfjord."
    When I said that, many of the carls, and some of their wives, turned and stared at Gunhild. She glowered back at them. I continued. "In the morning, at first light, I am leaving with Jarl Hastein and his men. We sail in pursuit of Toke. Many of the carls of this household, plus men from the village, are joining us on our hunt. I am grateful to all who are coming with us."
    "And I am grateful that you and your high and mighty companions will be leaving," Gunhild muttered, loud enough for all to hear. "You have left those of us who stay behind sparse fare to make it through the winter."
    I could feel that all eyes were on me, that all the folk of the estate were wondering what I would say to Gunhild, what I would do. I chose to ignore her. We would have words later, she and I. But now, I needed to speak to those who would come with us, and those who would stay behind.
    "Ubbe, who was foreman here for many years, is dead. Someone who is remaining behind must take his place, must see to the running of the estate, and be in charge," I said, turning back and forth, scanning the upturned faces before me, as if trying to decide, although in truth, I had made the decision earlier that day.
    "I have always managed this estate, whenever Hrorik was away," Gunhild protested.
    This time I did answer her. "Aye," I said. "But now things are greatly changed here. And I want someone other than you—someone I know I can trust—in charge."
    "Who are you to decide? Who are you to give orders?"
    The voice came from the back of those who stood gathered in front of me. I did not see who uttered the words, but I recognized the voice: Floki.
    "I am Hrorik's son, acknowledged by him before he died," I answered, in a voice that sounded more filled with confidence and authority than I felt. "I am, by right and law, now the heir to these lands."
    More than a few of the carls of the estate standing before me shook their heads and muttered under their breath. It would seem that some of the folk here did not agree. This was not going well.
    "Do you think your claim is stronger than Toke's?" demanded Gunhild, ignoring the fact that most of the warriors present in the longhouse would be sailing on the morrow with the intention of finding and killing him. "You are a bastard. Bastards cannot inherit."
    "I was acknowledged by Hrorik as his son. And Toke has no claim. He was disinherited by Hrorik," I replied. "As you well know. As all here know," I added, hoping my words might cause at least some to feel shame, because they had accepted him as the heir. I could feel an anger growing inside me at these folk.
    "As to who will manage the estate while I am gone, I have made my decision. Gudrod," I called, "come up here and stand beside me."
    He stood motionless for a long moment, a startled expression on his face, then Gudrod pushed through the crowd and made his way toward the hearth. When he reached it, I held my arm out, locked wrists with his, and pulled him up beside me. Under his breath, he murmured to me, "Is this wise? I am just a carpenter. I do not know how to run this estate." I murmured back, "You will learn. You have lived here your whole life. You know how this estate, this farm,