Jarls Hraold and Óttar clashed over a difference of opinion despite being old friends from their Dublin days; the argument almost came to blows.
“If you want your share of the bishop’s silver, you’ll stay and raid alongside me. Otherwise, you can sail off to Ireland on your own. I never thought I’d live to see the day when Óttar the Black didn’t have the stomach for a fight.”
Ottar’s hand shot to his sword hilt. “Watch your words, or you’ll regret them, Magnusson! You’re missing the point. I’m saying that King Edward is more dangerous now that he has relinquished forty pounds of silver. We no longer have surprise on our side. I counsel easier pickings in Munster.”
“And I say we’re here now! You have three ships, I have sixty, so it’s my say that counts!” A thick vein throbbed at Hraold’
