“Half the men stay on board,” Hakon told Egil as they neared the traditional meeting place of the Tronds, known as Frosta, which was nothing more than a flat finger of land that poked into the Trondsheimsfjord, a morning"s sail from Lade.
For as long as men could remember, Tronds from the eight areas of the Trondelag had come to this place annually to shake off the winter"s chill, to reconnect, to trade, and to pass laws. But this gathering was different. Gathered here, at this moment, were the most powerful men among the Tronds, those who would be called upon should war come to the land. No women or trading goods or animals came with them. Custom dictated that Frosta assemblies remain peaceful, but this was no ordinary assembly, and Hakon was under no illusion that his presence here woul
