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than his stepdaughter, Magnus thought, his jaw tightening. But despite Olav’s adornment, despite his display of wealth, there was a paunch at his belly that couldn’t be hidden by the wide belt, and a distinct sagging of his jowls beneath that gray-threaded beard of his. But to be fair, he was nearly as tall as Magnus and looked reasonably fit for his years. Magnus disliked him immediately and intensely. He didn’t waste time. He said without preamble, “I have come for two reasons, Olav. The first and most important is that I wish to wed with your stepdaughter, Zarabeth. The second is that I wish to trade with you. I bring fine beaver and otter pelts from the Gravak Valley in Norway. Also I have sea ivory from walrus tusks, antler, and birds’ feathers for pillows, all from the Lapps who live to the north. When we reach agreement, I wish to be paid in silver.”
    â€œNaturally,” Olav said, dazed a moment at the thought of the birds’ feathers. King Guthrum wanted feather pillows for himself and his new consort, wanted them badly, and no one had been able to suit his fancy with the proper kind of feathers. The man who would bring the desired feathers to him would doubtless place himself in favor with the Danelaw king. The young man stood before him—arrogant and proud and sure of himself. Aye, Olav’s initial impression of him had been quite correct. And he was comely as a man should be: lean, strong, amazingly handsome, as most of the Norwegians were, with his thick blond hair and vivid blue eyes. He was clean-shaven and possessed of a stubborn square jaw. There was a small cleft in his chin. A mark of the devil, some of the more backward Saxons would claim, andcross themselves. Olav merely wanted to kill him and steal his feathers. Instead, he said easily, “I will willingly trade with you, Magnus Haraldsson, if your goods are of the quality I require. Now that I know your name, I realize I have heard of you from other traders. Your name is respected.”
    Magnus merely nodded. “Now, I would know the brideprice for Zarabeth.”
    Olav wished he held a dagger in his hand. He wished he could strangle the life out of this insolent man with his bare hands. At the moment he didn’t care about the damned birds’ feathers, he didn’t care about anything but killing this man. But he didn’t have a weapon, nor did he have the strength to kill the Viking with his bare hands. He played for time, saying, “Zarabeth is my only daughter, aye, and even though she carries not my blood, it matters not to me that she doesn’t, for I hold her in high esteem. So high is my esteem that I give her free choice to choose her mate. As for her brideprice, it is beyond what most men could pay, for she is valuable, not only to me but also to a man who would wish to take her from me.”
    â€œWhat is her brideprice?”
    Olav raised a thick blond eyebrow. “First, Magnus Haraldsson, she would have to tell me that she wished to wed with you. I will not discuss brideprice until I know that I am speaking seriously.”
    â€œZarabeth wants me, doubt it not. I do not lie. What is her brideprice?”
    Olav knew that a brideprice quoted to a Viking meant that if the Viking believed the price too high, he would simply steal the woman with no more bargaining, and no warning at all. Thus Olav shook his head. He would take no chances that the Viking would kidnap Zarabeth and sail back to Norway with her. “Not as yet, Magnus Haraldsson. First I mustspeak with my stepdaughter. If she tells me that she wants you—without your being present to coerce her or in any way influence her—why, then we will discuss the brideprice.”
    Magnus was impatient to have it done, impatient with this old man and his delaying tactics, but he supposed that Olav was behaving as a parent should. He assumed his father had behaved the same way when young men had asked to wed his