Where Hrolf fell...

Einar, his brother, wanted us to leave the sword where Hrolf fell to the axe of a Scot, but I said 'do you want to see some Scot use it on one of us next time we pass this way?' By the grace of Odin, I had my Fujifilm Finepix in my saddle-bag, so I took a photo and we packed the sword when we left.

We can raise a memorial stone to Hrolf when we go to his home village of Aras.

That's how it is when you're a viking. He was a decent lad, but if he drank less then he'd have been soberer and might have dodged that hairy big Scotsman's cleaver.