of hair carelessly away.
'That'll teach me to try carrying twenty in my skirt,' she said. 'Did any fall on you?' She looked anxious.
'Nearly all.'
'Damn. They'll be bruised and no good. If they'd hit the moss they'd have been all right.' She patted the ground beside her. 'It's pretty thick down here, luckily for my arse. Help me up, then.'
Halli opened his mouth, but found he had nothing specific to say. He stretched out a hand and hoisted the girl to her feet.
'Thanks.' She stood before him, brushing fragments of tree out of her clothes and inspecting some scratches on her bare brown arms. She was taller than he was by half a head, and perhaps a little older. She considered her kirtle sadly. 'My aunt is going to kill me,' she went on. 'I'm meant to attend the debates in this tomorrow and of course this is the only formal one I've brought. I should have got changed, but the tent hasn't been put up, and I didn't fancy stripping in the middle of that meadow. Wouldn't have done my marriage prospects any good at all, I shouldn't think. Or maybe it would. Well, pick them up for me, there's a good boy. I suppose they'll have to do.'
Halli had been staring at the girl in something of a daze. 'Do what?'
'Pick them up. The apples.' She waited, eyebrows raised. 'For a servant you're a bit useless. My father would have knocked you into next week by now.'
Halli cleared his throat, drew himself up to his full height, somewhere adjacent to her nape, and spoke in an assertive voice. 'You make a mistake. I'm not a servant.'
The girl rolled her eyes. 'What do you call it then at Svein's House? "Menial"? "Attendant"? "Drudge"? Drudge would do. We could split hairs all day, but the end's the same. Just pick up the apples.'
'My name is Halli Sveinsson. I am—'
'Great Arne, you don't call yourself a "retainer", do you? They call them that at Hakon's, I believe. It's just like them for pomposity. At Arne's House we keep things simple and straightforward. A servant's a servant . . .' She paused. 'What?'
Halli was showing his teeth now; he spoke with pointed care. 'My name is Halli Sveinsson, son of Arnkel, Arbiter of this House, and of Astrid, its Lawgiver. You, whoever you may be, are a guest at my House and are stealing my apples. Might I ask why, instead of treating me with appropriate respect, you demean my status by assuming I am a lowly servant? What explanation can you possibly offer?'
The girl pointed at his clothes. 'No colours.'
'Oh.' Halli looked down. 'Ah.' It was true. Down at the Gathering, his family would be wearing formal cloth of silver and black – even now Leif no doubt pranced in his across the meadow; other important persons of the house, such as Grim, Unn, even Eyjolf, were allowed dark clothes with silver braids. But Halli had been forbidden any formal wear. His tunic was of plain brown cloth; it was worn and stained. On such an occasion it spoke 'servant' loud and clear.
The girl coughed. 'So . . . what explanation can you possibly offer?'
Halli scratched the back of his neck. 'Well, I'm – I'm not wearing the colours.'
'Ye-es. I know. I've just said that.'
Halli felt blood come to his face. 'I can assure you,' he began, 'that I am Halli—'
'No need to give the whole ancestry again,' the girl said. 'We're in an orchard, not a feast hall. I know who you are now. I know all about your lot. I've done your House in my aunt's lessons, more's the pity. Most of you die silly deaths.'
Halli stiffened. 'No, we don't.'
'You do. Bears, wolves, wells, ant-stings . . . What's that if not silly?'
'It was a bee actually. A bee-sting.'
'I'm surprised none of you've died from choking on a fly, though if you keep your jaw open like that, you'll be the one to go.' The girl's face, which had hitherto worn an expression of careless disdain, suddenly split into the broadest of grins. Her eyes creased and twinkled. Halli's stomach gave a lurch, which he attributed to indigestion.
'Anyway,' the girl went on, 'who cares
'That'll teach me to try carrying twenty in my skirt,' she said. 'Did any fall on you?' She looked anxious.
'Nearly all.'
'Damn. They'll be bruised and no good. If they'd hit the moss they'd have been all right.' She patted the ground beside her. 'It's pretty thick down here, luckily for my arse. Help me up, then.'
Halli opened his mouth, but found he had nothing specific to say. He stretched out a hand and hoisted the girl to her feet.
'Thanks.' She stood before him, brushing fragments of tree out of her clothes and inspecting some scratches on her bare brown arms. She was taller than he was by half a head, and perhaps a little older. She considered her kirtle sadly. 'My aunt is going to kill me,' she went on. 'I'm meant to attend the debates in this tomorrow and of course this is the only formal one I've brought. I should have got changed, but the tent hasn't been put up, and I didn't fancy stripping in the middle of that meadow. Wouldn't have done my marriage prospects any good at all, I shouldn't think. Or maybe it would. Well, pick them up for me, there's a good boy. I suppose they'll have to do.'
Halli had been staring at the girl in something of a daze. 'Do what?'
'Pick them up. The apples.' She waited, eyebrows raised. 'For a servant you're a bit useless. My father would have knocked you into next week by now.'
Halli cleared his throat, drew himself up to his full height, somewhere adjacent to her nape, and spoke in an assertive voice. 'You make a mistake. I'm not a servant.'
The girl rolled her eyes. 'What do you call it then at Svein's House? "Menial"? "Attendant"? "Drudge"? Drudge would do. We could split hairs all day, but the end's the same. Just pick up the apples.'
'My name is Halli Sveinsson. I am—'
'Great Arne, you don't call yourself a "retainer", do you? They call them that at Hakon's, I believe. It's just like them for pomposity. At Arne's House we keep things simple and straightforward. A servant's a servant . . .' She paused. 'What?'
Halli was showing his teeth now; he spoke with pointed care. 'My name is Halli Sveinsson, son of Arnkel, Arbiter of this House, and of Astrid, its Lawgiver. You, whoever you may be, are a guest at my House and are stealing my apples. Might I ask why, instead of treating me with appropriate respect, you demean my status by assuming I am a lowly servant? What explanation can you possibly offer?'
The girl pointed at his clothes. 'No colours.'
'Oh.' Halli looked down. 'Ah.' It was true. Down at the Gathering, his family would be wearing formal cloth of silver and black – even now Leif no doubt pranced in his across the meadow; other important persons of the house, such as Grim, Unn, even Eyjolf, were allowed dark clothes with silver braids. But Halli had been forbidden any formal wear. His tunic was of plain brown cloth; it was worn and stained. On such an occasion it spoke 'servant' loud and clear.
The girl coughed. 'So . . . what explanation can you possibly offer?'
Halli scratched the back of his neck. 'Well, I'm – I'm not wearing the colours.'
'Ye-es. I know. I've just said that.'
Halli felt blood come to his face. 'I can assure you,' he began, 'that I am Halli—'
'No need to give the whole ancestry again,' the girl said. 'We're in an orchard, not a feast hall. I know who you are now. I know all about your lot. I've done your House in my aunt's lessons, more's the pity. Most of you die silly deaths.'
Halli stiffened. 'No, we don't.'
'You do. Bears, wolves, wells, ant-stings . . . What's that if not silly?'
'It was a bee actually. A bee-sting.'
'I'm surprised none of you've died from choking on a fly, though if you keep your jaw open like that, you'll be the one to go.' The girl's face, which had hitherto worn an expression of careless disdain, suddenly split into the broadest of grins. Her eyes creased and twinkled. Halli's stomach gave a lurch, which he attributed to indigestion.
'Anyway,' the girl went on, 'who cares
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