Noble in splendor was Helvin Jarl as the firelight caught the golden embroideries and jewelled clasps of his sweeping robes; and noble in purpose was his pale finely cut face under the mass of blood-red hair when he raised the great horn and spoke so that all could hear him.
“I drink the toast to the old gods and to the new,” he said, “and to those who have gone before me; but the vow I make is no vow that I shall be great. What I promise is that I shall make no other man small. I take oath that under my rule every man shall live a free life in all such matters as concern himself, nor shall any be forced into ways against which his mind rebels. I take Heaven and all of you as witnesses!” Putting the horn to his lips, he drank.
Mechanically, the ranks of standing men imitated the motion, their eyes continuing to stare at him over their cup rims. But before the draught was down, the call of free blood to free blood had been heard. From young courtmen and young guardsmen went up ringing cheers. It counted for little that some of the lawmen murmured, and Magnus Fire-and-Sword spoke to his neighbor from under a frown.
Only the Jarl noticed that, and noticing, smiled mockingly. When the tumult had sunk once more he spoke, the smile dwindling to a droop of his mouth-corner.
“The first thing that I must try my hand on is the filling of the other high-seat with the man I hold highest in honor. That would be to take a great deal on my hands if custom did not say that he must be a holy man, which makes the choice easy.”
He paused to clear his throat with a swallow of wine, and perhaps to note how the arrogant face of Magnus was losing some of its displeasure. Then he went on, his voice so cool and keen that it bit like a blade:
“As for you, priests, I know only one of you for whom I have any honor at all. I have heard many talk of the mercy of Christ, whose hands had cut blood-eagles in other men only for being unable to believe as they did. I have heard not a few talk of Christ’s humbleness whose tempers were so overbearing that men would have risen up and slain them if they had not held up their holy names for shields. I have seen many Odinmen who put on the Christ-faith like a kirtle, but I have seen only one who made it a part of his nature and showed it forth in his acts. He is the Swede whom men call the Shepherd Priest. It is my offer and will that he shall come forward and take the place opposite me.”
At the eastern end of the room, in the lowliest seat by the door, a man rose hastily—an ungainly old man in rusty robes—and lifted a hand in protest; and in the same instant the stately velvet-draped form of Magnus became wrathfully erect before his place.
“This—this is sacrilege!” he thundered. “I call all Christian men to resist this mockery—this—”
“Sacrilege?” The young Jarl’s voice pierced like a spear, scorn-barbed. “This I have often said, that it was a sacrilege that you should give rein to a devil’s nature in the name of Christ! That I honor the cause by honoring the man who stands most truly for it—be he king-born or thrall-born—that is honesty. Had you any love of your faith amid your self-love, you would see it.”