Flosi looked up and down the line of Sigfussons with satisfaction, and at Lambi Sigurdarson, Gunnar Lambason, and Grani Gunnarsson with less.
Vebrand Hamundarson, he merely narrowed his eyes at. Certainly, he sounded like a brother of Gunnar, Kolskegg, and Hjort – but where on earth had he come from? *
Putting aside that question, Flosi focused his attention on Ketil Sigfusson. “So that’s the story I heard. Are you with me or against me?”
Ketil tossed a pebble moodily into the river. “It tallies with what Runolf said, for sure. Personally, I’d rather settle this peacefully – but I am going to settle it, one way or another.”
“You’re a real man,” said Flosi admiringly.
Grani and Gunnar jumped up and down. “We want them to be killed, and then outlawed for life!”
“Now, now, boys,” said Flosi. “We can’t always get what we want.”
“I’ve wanted to kill the Njalssons ever since they killed Thrain before my eyes!” squealed Grani.
“You’ve had plenty of opportunity,” snapped Flosi. “What you lack is the balls. None of you children know what you’re getting into! What if we do wipe out Njal’s whole line? Do you think it’ll end there, when Njal’s been laying plans, planting seeds, and making friends for decades? We’ll be begging on our knees by the end of it, and probably lose all our money. Maybe our lives.”
“Well put,” said a voice behind them, and they all whirled round.
“How convenient to meet you gentlemen here,” said Mord, his mustache quirking slightly upward. “I intended to suggest that myself and my followers accompany you to the Thing, in a large and heavily armed body. Body here being figurative, not a singular Trojan body, ha! ha! Would that be satisfactory?”
Flosi and the Sigfussons looked at each other.
“It would be great,” said Flosi, shaking Mord’s hand just a heartbeat late enough to make it awkward. “What if your daughter married my nephew Starkad?”
“A sudden, but not unwelcome proposal,” said Mord. “Perhaps, before accepting, we should talk it over with my eminent father-in-law? Gizur the White – do you recall him?”
“Sure I do,” said Flosi, and the pair rode together to the Thing, deep in conversation.
* At a guess, Rannveig. But one can never assume.
Saxo Dramaticus 