‘Pile them as near the door as you can get,’ Hrolf directed his men as they pulled gorse from nearby hedges and grabbed handfuls of weeds, straw and other burnable material from the surrounding fields. ‘And someone get a fire going,’ he went on.
Hrolf shot a sideways glance at Bjorn. He was half-expecting disapproval. The jarl’s champion was lethal in combat but also a bit of a traditionalist in many ways. Burning men inside a building was eminently practical, but ultimately the coward’s way of getting the job done. Bjorn, however, remained apparently unmoved. Hrolf supposed that having seen the Wolf Coats fighting, like himself he had little desire to experience another go on the wrong end of it simply to prove his own manliness.
‘It makes sense, my lord,’ Bjorn said with a shrug. ‘Why lose more men trying to assault the longhouse? The fire will do our work for us. No more of us need risk life or limb.’
Hrolf nodded, pleased that Bjorn was not as stupid as he were ugly.
‘I’m sure the jarl doesn’t care who – or what – kills Einar or Unn, as long as they’re dead,’ Bjorn went on.
Hrolf’s glance this time was a sharp one. What indeed would his father say?
‘Go and search the outhouses,’ he barked. ‘There’s bound to be dry straw somewhere. It’ll burn better than this damp grass.’
‘Hrolf?’ a voice came from inside the longhouse.
Hrolf narrowed his eyes. The voice was Einar’s. He was shouting from one of the windows whose shutters had been opened slightly.
‘Hrolf?’ Einar called again. ‘I have a proposal to make. Talk to me, brother.’
Hrolf gnashed his teeth and strode closer to the longhouse. He stopped before he got too close, though. He had seen how deadly the Irish bitch was with her bow.
‘I am not your brother,’ he shouted back. ‘You’re just another one of my father’s bastards. You’re not worthy enough to be called my brother.’
‘Very well, half-brother, then,’ Einar called back. Hrolf did not miss the mocking tone in the Icelander’s voice. He gritted his teeth and felt the blood boiling within him.
‘There’s been enough killing,’ Einar shouted from the longhouse. ‘Let’s settle this between us.’
Hrolf shook his head. ‘Father wants you dead. And that bitch who spawned you. There is nothing to discuss.’
‘You’ll lose more men trying to set this place on fire,’ Einar called. Hrolf noted the concerned glances some of his warriors sent in his direction. ‘I promise you that. It doesn’t need to be this way.’
‘What do you want?’ Hrolf asked.
‘I claim the right of Holmgang,’ Einar shouted. ‘This quarrel is between us. You and I. It is not really the others’ fight. We will fight a duel. Just the two of us, bound by the rules of Holmgang. If I win, we all go free.’
‘And if I win?’ Hrolf said.
‘If you win then I’ll be dead and our quarrel finished,’ Einar replied. ‘I want you to promise that Ulrich’s Wolf Coat company will go free. You have no real quarrel with them. It’s just circumstance that you are now fighting them.’
‘And what about Affreca?’ Hrolf said, trying his best to sound as disinterested as he could.
‘That’s up to her,’ Einar replied.
Hrolf looked at the ground for a moment.
‘Unless you’re too scared to fight me, of course,’ Einar added. The mocking tone was unmissable now.
Hrolf shot a hasty glance around his men, trying to read their expressions.
‘Lord,’ Bjorn muttered from the side of his mouth, ‘If you fight him you can tell the Jarl Thorfinn that you killed the Icelander bastard with your own hands. I imagine he would be pleased with that?’
Bjorn and Hrolf exchanged evil smiles.
‘Very well,’ Hrolf called back to Einar in the longhouse. ‘I grant you the right of Holmgang. Come out and we shall fight man to man. Tell the Irish woman to put her bow away while we mark out the area.’
He turned to Bjorn. ‘I can beat the farmer boy with ease,’ he muttered. ‘Not that there is any chance of it, but in the unlikely event that perhaps he does actually win, kill him and burn the rest of them inside the longhouse anyway.’