"Have a care, Asbiorn," said Bertric. "There may be some gathering to rescue Arnkel, for all the quiet."
He laughed again, and his laugh was hard.
"There will be none," he said, and pointed.
The mast of the ship had been stepped again, but the sail was still on deck. Only a spare yard had been hoisted half-mast high across the ship. And at the outboard end of it swung, black against the red fires of the sky, the body of the man who had wrought the trouble. He had found the death which he deserved.
"Hakon's word," said Asbiorn quietly. "You mind what he said."
I remembered, and it came to me that Asbiorn had done right. I do not know what else could have been done with such a man. And in this matter neither I nor Gerda had any hand.
"The townsfolk judged him," said Asbiorn again, "and we did Hakon's bidding. Else they had hewn him in pieces."
Suddenly the red wildfires sank, and it was very dark. In the darkness there came from seaward a sound which swelled up, nearer and nearer, as it were the cry of some mighty pack of hounds, and with the wild baying, the yell of hunters and the clang of their horns. It swept over us, and passed toward the mountains while we stood motionless, listening.
"It is the wild hunt," said old Gorm, gripping my arm. "It is Odin who chases the wraith of Arnkel hence."
But Phelim looked up to where against the dark cliff the cross stood out bright above the hall.