“Welcome,” said Gudmund, more genial than the last time they’d seen him. He gestured at the benches, currently occupied only by his notoriously wise foster-brother Einar Konalsson. “Take a seat. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Asgrim sat. “I think everyone knows, and I’m not ashamed of it, so I’m not going to whisper. A little help with the court case?”
“Have you talked to anyone else about it?” said Gudmund.
“Skafti and Snorri.”
“Mm. And how did it go?”
Asgrim’s voice dropped to a low mumble. “With Skafti, not great. Better with Snorri.”
“Sounds about right,” said Gudmund. “Well, I was too hard on you last time – things have gone way too far. Can’t have people running around burning houses down. My men and I will be at court, ready to fight if necessary.”
“Thank you,” said Asgrim, relieved.
“Incidentally, ‘my men’ includes my son-in-law Thorstein ‘Hare-lip’ Skaftisson. My daughter Jordis will make sure he’s there with us. When Skafti sees him on our side – well, he probably won’t fight us. Odds are he’ll try to break it up. Which should be his job as Lawspeaker to begin with, but there you go.”
Asgrim and Gizur thanked him repeatedly, and the trio whispered about their plans and opinions of Skafti for a while.
“Don’t go round to any more chieftains,” warned Gudmund. “It’ll look like you’re begging, and some of them might already be supporting Flosi. Stick with the men you have, and keep your weapons ready, but do not start any fights.”
“Yessir,” said Asgrim.
Saxo Dramaticus 