“In this wise will I answer you, lord, as is the very truth. This morning the gold-adorned maiden chanced upon him in the forest; and after the fashion of damsels with things that are new to them, she showed interest in his jingling accomplishments. Word followed word until, on discovering that there was gentle blood in him, she had gone so far as to honor him with an invitation to join her following. You would say that if he had one good strain in him he would have shown thankfulness for her favor. Instead of that, however, he answered her even with ill-temper, jeered at the life she offered him, ended the talk by informing her that he did not think her service good enough for him. If you think I am making it out worse than it is, I shall not blame you,—only ask him to deny it.”
It is strange how different one’s own sentiments can seem when echoed by another’s mouth, and after time has allayed the irritation from which they sprang. The song-maker had enough gentle blood to dye his face at the recollection of his quarrel with the beautiful Brynhild; nor could he meet the glance the Jarl bent on him, but stood grinding the cedar twigs under his heel and wishing that they were some portion of the French One’s comely body.
But Helvin Jarl spoke tranquilly. With the passing of his belief that Olaf was in pursuit of him, fierceness like a storm wind had passed from his bearing and left him jarlfully poised.
“That is to be said of his fault, beausire, that it needs mending; but hardly are you the man to do it. This one thing is enough to hinder it, that you are known to be the most jealous of all my sister’s suitors. Think only how spiteful tongues might slander you, and say that instead of resenting rudeness you were in truth avenging it on the Songsmith that Starkad’s daughter showed him such great kindness! Better that you hand it over to me, beausire, since, besides being her brother, I am also answerable for this man. For I may as well take this time to make it known that the Songsmith has consented to enter my household, and make for me the songs which, even before I strayed here to-night, I found pleasure in. What needs be said, I will say, beausire, and overtake you shortly.”
Rising, he made a gesture of dismissal which, if it lacked French grace, had at least Norse decision. Before it Thorgrim’s bland son was forced to bow, and, bowing, to back out of the circle of the firelight. When he had become a dark shape in the moonshine, the Jarl turned to where his new follower was waiting in keen discomfort.
“Do not imagine,” he said, “that I am going to pretend to be surprised that you lost your temper with my sister. So has her haughtiness grown, that what I wonder at is that some man is not driven to slay her. Only for your own sake do I remind you—as so often I have been reminded—that good manners are like a coat of mail in that every breach of them opens a hole for the thrust of your enemies.”
Of reproof it was the mildest. In his self-dissatisfaction, the song-maker was even moved to outdo it, and muttered with another kick at the log in front of him:
“You say less than you might if you wanted to push the matter. It is seen that your sister thinks me no better than a boor.”
“I should be two-faced to say more,” Helvin returned, “for to me the happening is even of service. Now, when I no longer have before me the honestness of your face to make me believe in you, it will stand me in some stead to be able to tell myself that I know you spoke the truth about scorning court ways and preferring my service over that of another, as has not been the case before. Do not take it ill that I need proof. This happens to me for the first time that I trust any one. Yet I wish it were possible for you to fare back with me to-night.”
Remembering the crops that must be talked over with Erna, the traps that must be explained to the old Vikings, the young master of the Tower hesitated; but the instant the Jarl read his difficulty, he ended it courteously.