Leathers would do, Thorkell thought to himself. With the way these Greeks fought, there was little risk thus far of them making it through his people to hit Althaea with more than a thrown javelin. While she still had some vulnerabilities with the leather, it was also the only armour he believed she'd be able to keep the march up in. Chain would weigh her down far too much, and any of the other options that had begun to surface amongst the band required far too much time and dedication for someone that was supposed to try adn stay out of the fighting.
Thorkell spent his time in the smithy wel, testing out the newly struck blades that were here. While their armour might not be as effective, being bronze, the Greeks knew good iron. A lot of captured weapons were being melted down and reforged into the straighter, alrger swords that the Norse favoured, as well as axes and a few hammers for the larger amongst them who favoured such. He heard the rasp of leather being pulled on, knowing that she was dressing herself behind only a screen. There was the urge to throw it aside, and make good on many of the threats that had been lobbed at her. It would be ewasy, he'd crush her to wall, and...
And where would that leave him? Gratified perhaps, but Thorkell had to admit that in the end, if he had to keep her close, not doing anything that gave her reason to try and kill him might be in his best interests. Ultimately he knew that if she killed him, the Jarl would likely find another to take her in, as a Seer had more value than a warrior. He sighed, testing the edge of a heavy knife, finding it to his satisfaction, and sliding it into a sheathe and then into his belt. An extra knife was never a bad idea.
The woman that stepped around the screen was not the Althaea that he'd seen before. It was another person. Her form ahd been partially hidden in the expanse of her dress before this, and he knew that he was going to have to be more vigilant in the near future, since she was likely going to be attracting far more attention to herself than she ahd been before, simply by virtue of being clad for the campaign.
When she was laced up, he knew that she'd be resonably safe on the trip, adn was about to leave when he felt her hand on his arm, and he actually felt himself tense a second under the unexpected contact. What was more when she spoke, she spoke in the safe clipped and hard edgfed language that he did. He stared at her a moment, feeling a twinge in his mind at what she was saying. She'd known the language, and it was apparently divinely gifted. Wasn't sure I could trust you... The words echoed in his head. They were...fair, but at teh same time he had to wonder just what else she was hiding from him?
There was still work to be done, adn they left the smithy, with THorkell looking about to ensure that the expedition was being prepared for properly. The men knew their tasks though, most of them having done this very activity dozens of times. He knew there was an unspoken need in this raid. Hitting the farms was good for causing the city strife. But eh island had only so much food, and had never been meant to support this many warriors. They would need to acquire what they could from the raid, to feed the warriors for more time. And they were always short on alcohol, which led to frayed tempers. These Greeks favoured wine, but he would see what could be found. When Althaea asked a question about the armour, he heard out her words, adn then allowed himself a smile.
"It is not...common for our women to pursue the fighting arts. But those who do are strong of will and determined. They are in many ways more...clever, and less direct than the men of my people, but in many ways no less lethal." He explained. "The company has perhap twenty of them among us." He explained. He gestured off to the side, near the edge of the plateau that the compund was on, where two women stood, clad in simple linen shifts, but moving a sword each through several fluid, graceful patterns. "They know they cannot match us in raw strength, so they learn to make each movement count. Those that manage, live on. Those that do not...die the same as any warrior on the field."
Her next request, after a moment made him hesitate. A thousand reasons not to give her a weapon leapt to mind, with precious few to allow it. If she was attacked by one of his men, she might deter them with a bared blade, but by drawing iron on them she might escalate things dangerously. But then...any amount of time she bought for herself increased the odds of his arrival to end the matter decisively. Dangerous or not, she didn't know how to properly use it to wound a fighting man. It was...reasonably safe. He slowly slid the sheathed knife he'd acquired int he smithy from his belt, and handed it to her. It was what his people called a seax, a fighting knife. For him, it was an effectgive knife. For her...the blade was nearly the length of her forearm, adn three fingers wide. It was nearly as large as some of the smaller swords carried by the Greek warriors.
"It's a killing blade. By mindful of it. And do not draw it unless you are in immediate danger. Drawing a weapon among my people announces your intent to kill them. The men may react...poorly, should you do so." He explained offhand, knowing that the jarl may not approve of this. But the jarl was not here, nor was he coming on the raid. It was Thorkell's decision to make, and for good or ill...he'd made it.