The attraction proved to be a chattering brown ape that some sailor had brought home from the East. Part of the spectators regarded it as a strange pagan god; part believed it to be an unfortunate being deformed by witchcraft; and the rest took it for a devil in his own proper person,—so there was great shrieking and scattering, whichever way it turned its ugly face. It happened that Sigurd was better informed, having seen a similar specimen kept as a pet at the court of the Norman Duke; so the terror of the others amused him and his companion mightily. They stayed until the creature put an end to the show by breaking away from its captor and taking refuge in the rigging.
It was a fascinating place altogether,—that beach,—and difficult to get away from. Almost every ship brought back from its voyage some beast or bird or fish so outlandish that it was impossible to pass it by. Twilight had fallen before the pair turned in among the hills.
Between the trees shone the red glow of the camp-fires. Through the dusk came the pleasant odors of frying fish and roasting pork, with now and then a whiff of savory garlic. Alwin turned on his companion in sudden excitement.
"It is likely that Leif is already here!"
Sigurd laughed. "Do you think it advisable for me to climb a tree?"
They stepped out of the shadow into the light of the leaping flames. On the farther side of the long fire, men were busy with dripping bear-steaks and half-plucked fowls; while others bent over the steaming caldron or stirred the big mead-vat. On the near side, ringed around by stalwart forms, showing black against the fire-glow, the chief sat at his ease. The flickering light revealed his bronzed eagle face and the richness of his gold-embroidered cloak. At his elbow Helga the Fair waited with his drinking-horn. Tyrker hovered behind him, touching now his hair and now his broad shoulders with an old man's tremulous fondness. All were listening reverently to his quick, curt narrative.
Sigurd's laughing carelessness fell from him. He walked forward with the gallant air that sat so well upon his handsome figure. "Health and greeting, foster-father!" he said in his clear voice. "I have come back to you, an outlaw seeking shelter."
Helga spilled the ale in her consternation. The old German began a nervous plucking at his beard. The heads that had swung around toward Sigurd, turned back expectantly.
More than one heart sank when it was seen that the chief neither held out his hand nor moved from his seat. Silver-Tongued and sunny-hearted, the Jarl's son was well-beloved. There was a long pause, in which there was no sound but the crackling of flames and the loud sputtering of fat.
At last Leif said sternly, "You are my foster-son, and I love your father more than anyone else, kinsman or not; yet I cannot offer you hand or welcome until I know wherein you have broken the law."