The summer sun lay broad across Hedeby's harbor, where merchants came and went with the tide.
Among them were men claiming to bear the Reich's seal, their wagons stacked with bolts of cloth, casks of wine, and chests stamped with the eagle.
To all eyes, they were imperial envoys sent by Conrad to "bind Denmark in friendship."
At night, though, in the smoky corners of taverns and halls, they whispered different words.
To Jarl Skarde, broad-bellied and hungry for land:
"The queen binds the king's hand. Conrad himself knows this. Remove her, and you will be rewarded with estates in Holstein. The Reich favors those who serve."
To Leofric, Saxon exile with a grudge against the emperor:
"The boy cannot march south while his mother whispers of Rome. Conrad has promised you return to your lands. Help us, and he will make you more than what you were."
To Ásbjǫrn, captain of the watch and debtor to gamblers:
