“Unhand the girl,” he commanded.
“Nay,” cried the woman; “she shall serve as an offering to Odin. The battle goeth against us, and the fierce one demandeth a victim. Away!”
The youth grasped the woman by the wrists. “Release thy hold,” he shouted; “or, by St. Peter of blessed memory, I will forget that thou art a woman.”
“Forget it, then! Strike if thou durst! Strike, and upon thy head fall the curse of Odin.”
“I care not for Odin’s curses,” cried the Saxon, “but I war not with women. Unhand the girl!”
The woman only tightened her grip the more on the long beautiful hair of Egwina.
“There is but one way, maiden.” The youth let go one of the woman’s wrists to draw his seax. The woman thought that he meant to cut off her hands. Egwina was of the same opinion, and suffering though she was, exclaimed, “For the love of Heaven, maim not the woman!”
There was a grim smile on the youth’s face. He raised the seax and the stroke fell. With a scream the woman let the bright hair of the maiden fall, and fled to the others.
“Oh, didst thou hurt her?” cried Egwina, as the young man assisted her to her feet.
“No;” and he held up two fair locks of her hair. “I meant only to sever thy hair from thy head.”