“Jarl, I could never say so much as to make them believe me; before them I stand proved a traitor who has turned blade against his lord. And how shall I speak against the truth of that judgment? I am every man’s dastard. Lord, I would as lief go out with them.” His voice broke, and he did not seek to mend it.
But Helvin spoke as curtly as his faintness allowed, “Raise me up,” and when that was done, “Bring me wine.” From the beaker, he lifted a face pitched to determination.
“Let all listen to my words, that I need not speak twice. He bore from me more than any of you would have borne. He lost his temper only when I drove him to frenzy. He struck only to save his life.”
“To save his life, chief? And you with bare hands!” old Visbur said slowly.
Of a sudden, sick shuddering seized upon the Jarl, so that his head drooped and sank. But even as they started towards him, he raised it—raised himself with the force of his passion.
“Now damnation take such loyalty!” he cried. “I have told you that he is not guilty as you think,—I will lower myself to no more explaining. He goes free because I will it. And if any man reports this happening outside, so that even in people’s thoughts my friend be held up to reproach, that man shall be outlawed, and have my wrath besides. Bear that in mind—and leave me now to him—whose support I have always found best.”
Upon the song-maker’s shoulder he fell, spent; and the guard who went last from the room heard his moan:
“My friend, my friend, this is that one thing that could tear us asunder! It will be your life or mine.”
The man had passed out of hearing when Randvar answered slowly: “If that be true, lord, then mine is the life that will end. I know now which would be the easier to bear.”