The mention of “England” perked Ragnar’s ears, but he kept any sign of recognition carefully from his expression.
He toyed with the lamb’s ears as he decided what to do with these strange men.
“Tell your men to hand over their arms.”
He said softly, tugging a little on Achilles’ clothes to examine what they were made of, and establish his dominance, subtly. He smoothed out the fabric on his shoulder and spoke again, even softer.
”If any of them put up a struggle I will have them burned." He patted his shoulder then returned his attentions to the lamb.
”You will stay with me.. Prince.”
Achilles was, perhaps, a little too excited by the tugs on his clothing, the smoothing of the fabric, it was another barrier broken to him. Touch had happened and that only paved the way to other more interesting things. A smile came to his lips and he turned to his men,
They looked hesitant, hands on their weapons, looking nervously between Ragnar and Achilles, one of them began to speak but Achilles cut him off, voice stern,
’Tó̱ra.’
His men obeyed, each coming forward to hand the weapons over to Ragnar’s men, Achilles only watched. Their blades were sharp and the swords themselves incredibly well made, carved and detailed. He soon gathered the folds of his clothing up, exposing his thigh and the blade strapped against it. He took it off and lay it on the ground at Ragnar’s feet. His other weapons had been left behind on the boat.
‘Thank you,’ he said to Ragnar, bowing his head a little, 'what may I call you?’