The Sword Song of Bjarni Sigurdson by Rosemary Sutcliff

writhing dragon-knots that must have been torn down from a chieftain’s hall; horse harness and five hide ropes; bags that spewed gold and silver and copper coins and small broken-up bits of metal, whose value, like that of the coins, would be by weight. There was even a carved wooden manikin dressed in a wisp of soaked cloth and a string of blue beads, that must have been a bairn’s toy before it took the fancy of some freebooter with maybe a bairn of his own to take it home to.
    The share-out was done in several stages and took a long time, so that long before the end the autumn night had closed round them, blotting out the world beyond the smoking wind-teased torches. First the tribute-share of Evynd the Easterner was set aside for him. Most of the church treasure was in that pile, seeing that though he was not exactly a follower of the White Christ himself, his queen and many of the household were. Then the ship chiefs made their choice. Onund took only one thing for his share, a splendid and beautiful ice-bear skin, yellow as old ivory, and flung it down before Aesa, who had come out with the other girls to look at the sea-harvest thatthe men had brought home: ‘Here’s a bonnie thing for our marriage bed, that shall keep you warm when
Sea Witch
puts to sea.’ And there was a cheerful roar of laughter, while the girl, flushing in the torchlight, bent to gather the heavy folds against her.
    The rest of the booty was divided into five; five steep piles stacked each on a spread cloak before one of the ship chiefs; and each from his own pile the ship chiefs began the gift-making among their own crews.
    Most of the things would be used simply to trade – for what use is a silver-mounted drinking cup to a man who needs seed corn for his plot or a new pair of sea boots? That was understood. But there were things that would be kept and treasured as the gift to a carle from his chief; an enamelled arm-ring, a fine pattern-forged sword blade, a chain of silver and turquoise for a woman’s neck.
    Bjarni, a mercenary who had sold his sword-service to the one-legged sea lord for one sea-faring summer and then one more and received steady pay for it as a mercenary should, had not had anything from the share-out before, and he did not expect it. But at the very end he heard his own name called, and when he scrambled to his feet and answered the call, Onund grinned up at him, saying, much as he had said once before, ‘For a good fight in good company,’ and tossed him something shapeless and bright. Bjarni caught it and, feeling it unexpectedly light and warm as loops of it tumbled through his fingers, saw that he was holding a string of massive amber beads that caught the torchlight like gobbets of clouded honey.
    ‘A good fight in good company,’ he agreed, and returned the grin. And turning away he met the eager gaze of Thara Priestsdaughter standing among a chattering cluster of girls nearby. He looked away quickly, pretending not to have seen, pretending not to knowthat she wanted him to give her the string of amber. Quite a few of the longships’ crews were making gifts out of their share to the girls of their choice. He saw Sven Gunnarson on the fringe of the torchlight, with great care and concentration hanging a heavy coral and silver drop in his woman’s ear and following it up with a smacking kiss before they both disappeared into the darkness. He grinned again and put the fragile beauty round his own neck, squinting down at it and not heeding the angry whisk of a girl’s blue skirts as she swung away to become deeply interested in somebody else.
    In the next days the interrupted ready-making for Onund’s wedding got under way again. There was a great baking and brewing; best clothes taken from storage kists, shaken out to air and mended if need be; a black ram and a milk-white ewe were chosen out of the bridegroom’s flock and set aside for sacrifice to Odin, the lord of all the Gods, and to Frigga, his wife,