The man sat cross-legged before the camp fire, swathed in a voluminous black robe, another next to him picking at the remains of a cooked bird, skewered on a wooden stick. This man forked small pieces of flesh into the first"s mouth, juices running down his chin, but he seemed to care not, all of his attention on his food. Until Hardrada stepped in front of him, then he stopped munching. He shot the other a glance, the carcass dropping into the flames where it sizzled and cracked. The second man then slipped away into the night. Without looking up, the man in the black robe gestured for the Viking to sit.
There were at least a hundred armed Arabs in the camp, most of them armed with spears and bows, now trained towards the gathering of Vikings who stood, twitching, fingering their swords
