I must have been born iron in a day of iron, for survive I did, to give the lie to Tostig's promise of dwarf-hood.

I outgrew all beakers and tankards, and not for long could he half-drown me in his mead pot.

This last was a favourite feat of his.
It was his raw humour, a sally esteemed by him delicious wit.
My first memories are of Tostig Lodbrog's beaked ships and fighting men, and of the feast hall at Brunanbuhr when our boats lay beached beside the frozen fjord.

For I was made drink-boy, and amongst my earliest recollections are toddling with the wine-filled skull of Guthlaf to the head of the table where Tostig bellowed to the rafters.

They were madmen, all of madness, but it seemed the common way of life to me who knew naught else.