room. Their father had just come in, adjusting the thick leather belt to which his battle axe was strapped.
‘Did you find those rascals?’ he asked as soon as he spotted Einar.
‘Yes.’ The boy helped his brother, who’d got a bit tangled up in his chainmail.
‘So where are they?’ The jarl looked around, as if he expected the twins to suddenly pop out from some nook or cranny.
‘They’re trudging along the road.’ Einar smiled at Bragi, who thanked him with a nod for his help.
‘Have you been climbing again?’ His mother emerged from behind her husband and gave Einar a stern look. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that it’s dangerous?’
‘But Mum…’ He began, wanting to explain once more that he knew the route well.
‘No “but Mum”!’ Astrid cut him off with a stern expression. ‘What if you’d fallen? What if something had happened to you?’ Now she looked genuinely worried. She walked quickly over to Einar and took hold of his hands. ‘Look! You’ve grazed your hands again!’ Holding him by the wrist, she pulled him further into the house. ‘We need to dress that.’
‘But it’ll heal in a moment…’ Einar tried to wriggle out of it.
‘No, it won’t just heal!’ His mother had a very firm grip, and on top of that she possessed some limited magical abilities, so not even Olaf dared to oppose her. ‘The druids say you have to dress every cut, no matter how small, so you don’t get ill!’ Before the door to the first floor closed behind them, Einar managed to cast a pleading glance, but Bragi merely spread his hands helplessly, whilst his father shrugged, pretending not to notice the plea for help.
Einar was unable to escape along the way and had to submit to his mother’s care. Astrid rubbed his hands with an oily ointment containing strong alcohol and some herbs. Besides, the lad preferred to think they were herbs, because who knew what the druids had put in it. When the treatment was over, Einar made his
