“For my own part, I would that men might partake of them, for I like not to get old.”
“’Tis a pretty tale,” remarked the maiden who had listened with interest.
“Thinkest thou so?” cried the skald, much pleased. “Once such tales were heritage of Saxon as well as Dane; but now have they turned aside from the old gods, and taken up with mass and rood until their strength has waned, and no longer have they courage in the strife. Truly, to the followers of Odin doth the victory come.”
“It hath not been so always,” cried Egwina, stung out of caution. “I trow that King Alfred hath borne the victory often from thee. What he hath done, that will he do again.”
“Maiden, what knowest thou of the king? Bracelets the most massive, many gifts, and a place on the high seat would Guthrum give thee for tidings of Alfred. Speak!”
“Naught, naught,” answering the girl, realizing her mistake. “I speak only a Saxon’s hope. Is it unseemly that we should wish our king victorious in place of thine?”
“Nay; ’tis natural,” returned Sigurd. “But methought that thou didst speak as if thou wert ware of the king’s doings.”
“I would that I were,” answered the maiden with fervor. “What should a simple maiden wot of the king?”
“Speaketh she the truth?” demanded Sigurd of his daughter.
“In seeming, but not in deed,” returned the seid woman. “Be patient, my father. This night in the hall of Hakon the jarl will Gyda perform the seid. Then shalt thou know all that lieth in the maiden’s heart.”