‘I don’t,’ I muttered, but he went on, unperturbed.
‘—it’s that you should tread carefully, Goscelin of Saint-Omer, or whatever you’re really called. Count yourself lucky that I’m not the sort who’s easily offended, but there are many that won’t take kindly to men who try to deceive them. If there’s one place you don’t want to start making enemies, it’s in Dyflin.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ I answered, though the conviction in my words was undermined somewhat as I felt another heave coming. Grabbing the gunwale to steady myself, I leant over the side, but by now I had nothing left to give and only the slightest dribble came out.
‘Onions,’ Snorri said.
‘What?’ I asked, after I’d wiped a sleeve across my mouth.
‘Onions. I always recommend them for anyone who suffers from ship-sickness. Raw is best, but if you can’t stomach that then boiled will do. Also rosemary and ginger, if you can acquire them. Grind them into a powder and mix them with water. Better still would be to add the juice of a quince, although you’ll be lucky if you find any this side of the Narrow Sea.’
I thanked him for his suggestion, though I’d tried many a remedy for various ailments in my years, few of which I could honestly say had ever seemed to do much good.
‘Why Dyflin?’ he asked. ‘Of all the places to choose exile, why there?’
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘Who?’
I hesitated, wondering whether or not I should tell Snorri. But I supposed he had shown faith in me, despite the fact that I had lied to him, and that was worth something. The least I could do was return the favour.
‘A man called Haakon Thorolfsson,’ I said at last. ‘Have you heard of him?’
‘Haakon Thorolfsson?’ he asked, as if testing the name on his lips to see if it brought forth any memory. ‘I can’t say the name is familiar, but then there aren’t many of us Danes still living in Dyflin these days; it’s an Irish town now, mostly. What is he, a merchant?’
‘A warlord.’
‘A warlord?’ He nodded towards my scabbard. ‘Looking to sell your sword to him, are you?’
I glared at him in warning and he raised his palms to show that he meant no offence. ‘As I said, your business is your own. But I might be able to help you. I know a man who lives in the city, who hears many things and knows many people. Magnus, his name is. I’ll take you to him, if you want. He might have heard of this Haakon, and if he has, there’s a good chance he’ll know where you can find him, too.’
His generosity surprised me, considering that I was but a stranger to him, but I wasn’t about to refuse such an offer. Sometimes fate is harsh and at others it is kind, and all a man can do is take advantage of its kindness while it lasts.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’d like to meet your friend.’
‘I didn’t say he was my friend. Although that’s not to say he’s my enemy, either. Truth be told, he’s not the friendly sort. He keeps himself to himself. Around your age, he is, probably a few winters younger, fond of his secrets. A brooding kind of man, with a temper hotter than hell’s fires.’ He gave me a gap-toothed grin. ‘In many ways you remind me of him.’
I was about to protest, but at that moment a shout came from the lookout by the prow, who had spied land in the distance, ahead and a little to our steerboard side. At once Snorri left me and began barking orders to his crew in their own tongue. The lookout’s eyes were better than mine, and it was a while longer before I was able to see it: at first only a rocky headland rising high above the savage, white-foaming waves, then further along wide beaches of dark sand and shingle, with green meadows and gold-bronze woodlands beyond, and faint wisps of rising hearth-smoke marking out villages and farmsteads, though we were too far away to make out any houses. Cormorants and other seabirds soared in their hundreds, occasionally breaking away from the flock to dive beneath the waves, only to resurface moments later with glistening, writhing fish in their bills.