Rurik was the first of the jarls to reach the royal hall. The early autumn light slanted through the high windows, glimmering upon the polished oak beams and the pennants that hung unmoving in the still air. He crossed the flagstones with quiet composure, handed his tribute ledger to Godwin, and completed the customary formalities before the king.
"How fares Bjorn?" Ragnar asked when the ceremony was done.
The question set Rurik on his guard. Anything that touched upon the royal family demanded caution. He replied in a tone of studied neutrality, relating the practical details of the Icelandic settlement—its ships, its trade goods, its hardships—nothing more.
"For near twenty years," said Ragnar, his eyes gleaming, "there have been tales of a far western land. I never thought the man who found it would be my own son."
