Leif Frond and the Viking Games by Joan Lennon Page A

her where her men should set up their tents. I bet she’ll want to supervise that – everybody knows how bossy she is – and in the meantime,
you
could go and check the games field, which is, as you know, on the other side of the settlement, right in the opposite direction.”
    â€œPerfect!” He was gone before you could draw breath. A quick man, my father, in spite of him being the size of a moose.
    Right,
I thought.
Find the Widow, and head her off.
    There were visitors milling about everywhere, all dressed up and ready to have a good time, calling out greetings and exclaiming on how the children had grown and boasting about how well their young men would do this year at the Games. But even in such a crowd, it wasn’t hard to find Brownhilde. I just made for the sound of someone giving a great long list of orders, loudly, who
wasn’t
my sister Thorhalla(she’s the one I’m pretty sure is part troll). And there she was – the utterly awful Widow. I walked right up to her, cleared my throat and said, “Welcome to Frondfell, ma’am.”
    â€œEh? Is someone speaking to me?” she trumpeted. “I’m hearing voices!”
    I sighed. “Down here, ma’am.”
    She still peered about for a moment before she realised I was, in fact, in front of her, partially obscured by the major outcropping that was her bosom. I stepped out from under its shadow.
    â€œAh, there you are! Yes, boy? What do you want?”
    â€œI have come to greet you, gracious lady, and offer you welcome to Frondfell. And escort you to a place for your people to put up your tents. And… and…” I stumbled to a halt. The Widow had bent over and was staring at me fixedly from scarily close quarters.
    â€œI know those eyes,” she muttered. Then, quick as a gannet, she grabbed my chin and tilted my head back and forth so hard I thought it might unscrew and come away in her hands. “You’re Hallfred’s boy, aren’t you?”
    I tried to nod. “Yes, ma’am. Hallfred Frond is my father.”
    It was a terrible mistake. The moment thewords were out of my mouth, the Widow Brownhilde squealed with delight and then…
    â€¦she hugged me.

    It was without a doubt the most appalling experience of my life.
    She lifted me off the ground. It was like being smothered and, because she had big gold knobbly brooches on her dress, knobbled to death at the same time. It was horribly hot and… squirmy and… horrible and…
    I don’t want to talk about it.
    Then, finally, just as I thought I was going to pass out from lack of air, the Widow dropped me. She was glaring at someone, and the look on her face could have soured milk that was still inside a cow.
    The Widow had spotted Granny.
    I don’t know exactly where the bad blood between my granny and the Widow started.Nobody would tell me. As far as I can guess, one of them said something to the other one, and that one said something back, but it was all so awful that it can’t be repeated to someone of tender years (by which they mean
me
).
    There they stood, two tough-as-iron ladies, eyeballing each other. You’d be hard pressed to pick a clear favourite between them. The Widow had weight and reach but Granny – well, Granny had
cunning
.
    It was going to be a long, long day.
    But then something
else
happened, something which distracted me and Granny and the Widow and everyone else on the beach as well. Did I say that the Widow’s was the last ship to arrive? We’d all thought so, but we were wrong. Quite unexpectedly,
another
ship now came into view. And what a ship! It was magnificent, with an enormous red-and-white striped sail and a snarling dragon’s head on its high prow and an array of battle-battered shields over more oarlocks than you could count. This was no ordinary boat. This was a raider – long, lean and fast, the kind of ship that strikes fear into