"Here, you great warrior, who are you?"
He pointed to me, and the colour was coming back to his face, while his eyes were fierce. He would make one bid for his power yet.
"I am Malcolm of Caithness, the jarl," I answered. "I am the champion of Queen Gerda, whom I and my comrade here saved from the ship in which you would have burned her.
"Listen, Thorwald's men. We took her, well nigh dead, from the chamber where your king was laid. See, what are these arms I wear? They will prove it, for they came thence, and are her gift."
"Aye," he sneered in a harsh voice, "you took them at the same time you took the girl.
"To your arms, men, and see that these robbers do not escape."
The courtmen sprang at their weapons, and there was uproar enough. For a moment I could not tell what might come, and my hand was on my sword hilt, though I would not draw the weapon yet. Then came Gerda's clear voice again.
"To me, Gerda's men," she cried, and her sword flashed out. "He lies, and you know it."
Three men led a rush down the hall to us, and one was lame. They were my Caithness men who had escaped from Asbiorn here. After and with them were a dozen older courtmen of Thorwald's. The women screamed and shrank back against the walls of the hall, hiding behind the tables. We had naught to fear from the thralls here, for they were shouting for Gerda.
One of Eric's men leaned over to Arnkel and spoke to him. Then he shook his head and scowled at him, and stood up and raised his hand.