“This is all your fault,” hissed Thorgeir Starkadarson. Mord yawned.
‘Are you ever going to tire of repeating that? The first time in court, it was dramatic, I grant you that. On the way home, it was tedious. Outside my window last night, irritating – and right now I’m trying to enjoy my scrambled eggs. Can you save it till after breakfast at the very least?”
“We lost a lot of money because of you,” said Thorgeir Otkelsson stoutly.
“How so? The raid, that was entirely your plan. I bear no responsibility for your naptime choices, and as for allowing Njal to arbitrate the case, I made my opinion amply clear.”
Starkadarson thumped the table.* “I suppose you had a better plan, then?”
“I have a dozen at any given time,” said Mord, pointing at Otkelsson with his fork. “You. You need to become intimately acquainted with Ormhild, Gunnar’s kinswoman. I’ve heard she’s the outgoing type, shall we say, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Hmm. I don’t see why not,” said Thorgeir Otkelson cautiously. “How will that help?”
“It’ll irritate Gunnar.” Mord shrugged. “Isn’t that what you’re after? Do you see a downside?”
“I guess not.”
“Is there a second part to the plan?” asked Thorgeir Starkadarson. “Who should I sleep with?”
“Whom,” said Mord. “And whomever you like – it makes no difference. Step 2 is to attack Gunnar.”
“Not much of a connection between those steps, is there,” said Thorgeir Starkadarson.
“In between, I’ll spread rumours that Gunnar is furious with the two of you,” offered Mord.
“He is,” snapped Thorgeir Starkadarson. “And your plan will just make him more furious, and then we attack him at some undetermined point in the future. That’s your entire plan.”
“Correct,” smirked Mord. “Cunning, isn’t it?” He gave Starkadarson a pointed glance, and Starkadarson subsided.
“Sounds good to me,” beamed Thorgeir Otkelson, not noticing that little exchange.
By the end of summer, everyone in the district knew that Otkelsson was sleeping with Ormhild. Gunnar was indeed furious, especially when the affair continued for an entire year, but Ormhild was, after all, a grown woman and starting another lawsuit with anyone named Thorgeir wasn’t high on Gunnar’s to-do list.
In the meantime, Starkadarson spent more and more time at Mord’s house, poring over maps and working out the perfect plan of attack. Soon enough, the moment came – a backpacker scrambled in with a message for Mord. Gunnar, grown less** cautious after an entire year, was on his way to Eyjar – alone.
Mord had Thorgeir Starkadarson on speed-dial, and soon both Thorgeirs met up at Kirkjubaer. Since twenty-four men hadn’t worked last time, they reasoned, twenty-five should do the trick. Choosing an ambush spot by the Ranga River***, they settled in to wait.
Before long, two riders appeared in the distance. One was Gunnar, halberd in hand and bow slung across his shoulder. The other was Kolskegg, a last-minute voice of reason in Gunnar’s trip planner, armed to the teeth.
* Mord’s scrambled eggs scattered in terror.
** He was well into negative numbers by now.
*** By this point, it was a tradition; locals called it Ambush Bend. What the warriors lost in surprise, they gained in the dramatic backdrop of rushing waters. Said locals kept a pool as to which of the ambushers would end up in the river itself, and a few enterprising youths had even dragged stones underwater to form a crude target, with a large boulder serving as the bullseye.
Saxo Dramaticus 