“A most beloved man you appear to be,—I bid you only beware how you carry it too far. The sagas do not lack instances of king-born men whose bane came out of their boldness. It would be unlucky if some one should whisper to the Jarl that you are ambitious to get more popularity than he has.”
The Songsmith doffed his merry mood at that, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Then they widened in dismay as darting past Mord to the threshold, they encountered the gray-clad form of the Jarl himself, silhouetted against the white glare of the sunlit snow.
In the pause that followed, Starkad’s son appeared to be the only one at ease. Inclining his head in acknowledgment of the advice-giver’s salute and the hunters’ uncertain murmur, he came slowly forward, drawing off his furred gloves.
“That is rightly said,” he assented, “that if such a whisper should come to my ears it would be very unlucky. The prophecy is wrong only in hinting that it is for the song-maker that the bad luck would come in.” He answered with a reproachful look Randvar’s look of relief.
What Mord answered could not be heard for the cheers that the hunters let forth for Helvin Jarl. Only the slamming of the door behind the advice-giver made a faint jar.
The Jarl thanked them graciously when the racket was over, then addressed himself to his friend:
“So long was your harp-string in mending that it pleased me to come on here and look for an arrow-ornament to take the place of the one I lost. Let us betake ourselves now to the search. It is likely to be in the inner chamber among the gold things.” Laying a hand upon Randvar’s shoulder, he moved him forward, speaking carelessly of this or that weapon on the wall.
But only so long as they were within ear-shot of the groups on the benches did the Songsmith yield to the pressure. Fire-color had flamed in his face. By main force he came at last to a stand-still, and spoke without looking at his companion:
“I think, lord, that I will not go in with you. I am not used to so much heat—and the smell of the furs—I will await you under the oak. I find that—I am not well. By your leave!”
But the tightening of his lord’s hand upon his shoulder showed that he did not have his leave.