"Then begin, in Woden's name," answered the chieftain, and settled himself more comfortably for the better enjoyment of the tragedy.
The executioner advanced to the man seated on the log nearest to the left, looked at him, poised his axe, measured his distance, nodded to the thrall to hold the withy tight, planted his feet firmly on the ground, swung the axe swiftly through the air, and the man's head fell at some few paces from the body, which fell forward to the ground. The blow had been dealt so truly and well that the whole thing passed like an ordinary occurrence, and one could hardly realise that a man had just suffered a violent death. No sound had broken the silence of expectancy, only the whizz of the gleaming axe, and the dull thud of the head as it fell on the ground, interrupted the silence.
"Was that well done, eorldoman?" asked the executioner, turning to Arwald.
"Nothing could have been better," nodded the chieftain; "if thou doest thy work like that I will say thou art the best headsman in England."
"I hope thou wilt do something better than that," promptly replied the executioner. Arwald grunted an ambiguous reply, and bid him go on with the next man.
The executioner then stepped up to the next man and went through the ghastly preliminaries as before, performing the business as deftly as he had previously done, only the withies which were twisted into this man's hair were jerked out of the hands of the thrall, who was holding them, and struck the next thrall a stinging blow in the face, which caused him to cry out, and made all the spectators laugh.
Arwald was put into an extra good humour by this event, and he felt inclined for a little playful conversation with the victims. So addressing the West Saxon who was to be executed next, he asked him what he thought of the death he was so soon to suffer.
"We must all die some day, and as I am tired of looking at thy fat carcase, the sooner I can get away the better," answered the West Saxon contemptuously. The nearest bystanders, who had heard the remark, began to laugh, and Arwald became angry.
"What art thou waiting for, man?" he said to the executioner. "Let him have his wish at once," and the man's head fell with the others.
It was now Athelhune's turn, and Arwald, deceived by his exceeding pallor, hoped to obtain some sign of weakness from him, and asked him whether death did not look very dreadful.