‘Yes.’
‘And a door in the corner tower, close to the landing-place?’ ‘I do.’
‘Be there, with a dozen stout monks, to-morrow, an hour after sundown, and take what we give you. After that, the concern is yours, not ours.’
‘Monks?’ said Philammon. ‘I am at open feud with the whole order.’
‘Make friends with them, then,’ shortly suggested Smid.
Philammon writhed inwardly. ‘It makes no difference to you, I presume, whom I bring?’
‘No more than it does whether or not you pitch her into the canal, and put a hurdle over her when you have got her,’ answered Smid; ‘which is what a Goth would do, if he were in your place.’
‘Do not vex the poor lad, friend. If he thinks he can mend her instead of punishing her, in Freya’s name, let him try. You will be there, then? And mind, I like you. I liked you when you faced that great river-hog. I like you better now than ever; for you have spoken to-day like a Sagaman, and dared like a hero. Therefore mind; if you do not bring a good guard to-morrow night, your life will not be safe. The whole city is out in the streets; and Odin alone knows what will be done, and who will be alive, eight-and-forty hours hence. Mind you!—The mob may do strange things, and they may see still stranger things done. If you once find yourself safe back here, stay where you are, if you value her life or your own. And—if you are wise, let the men whom you bring with you be monks, though it cost your proud stomach—’
‘That’s not fair, prince! You are telling too much!’ interrupted Smid, while Philammon gulped down the said proud stomach, and answered, ‘Be it so!’
‘I have won my bet, Smid,’ said the old man, chuckling, as the two tramped out into the street, to the surprise and fear of all the neighbours, while the children clapped their hands, and the street dogs felt it their duty to bark lustily at the strange figures of their unwonted visitors.