Two years after his return home, father called a gathering of his karls and thralls to make an announcement. Eilaf denied any knowledge of what it might concern and mother, equally unforthcoming, said, “Go to the meeting and you’ll find out.
Father sat in his favourite box chair, the one with battle images carved on its side panels. Placed in the centre of the raised dais, where the high table usually stood, he overlooked the gathering crowd milling around in the body of the hall.
“Eilaf, Ulf, Asbeorn!” he called, “come and sit, here!”
I arrived first of the three and chose the seat at his right hand, which earned me a glare from my elder brother. Why four years seniority in the accident of birth should make him feel more important eluded me. With hesitation and ill-grace, he sat on the
