As Sebert turned from the darkness, the boy struggled up and stood before him. “If they could be made to believe a lie about the food? If they could be made to believe that you have enough to continue this for a long time? Their natures are such that already it must have become a hardship for them to remain quiet.”
The Etheling’s eyes were riveted on the other’s lips; his every muscle strained toward him. Under the stimulus the page’s words seemed to come a little less uncertainly, a little more quickly.
“I think I could manage it for you, lord. They think me your unwilling captive: you remember what the messenger said about freeing me? If I should go to Rothgar—” his voice broke and his eyes sought his friend’s eyes as though they were wine-cups from which he would drink courage— “if I should go to Rothgar, lord, I could declare myself escaped, and he would be likely to believe any story I told him.”
Sebert leaped up and caught the lad by the shoulders, then hesitated, weighing it in his mind, half fearing to believe. “But are you sure that your tongue will not trip you? Or your face, poor mouse? What! Can you make them believe in abundance when your cheeks are like bowls for the catching of your tears?”
The boy seemed to gather strength from the caressing hands, as Thor from the touch of his magic belt. He even gave a little breathless laugh of elation. “As to that, I think he is not wise enough to guess the truth. I will tell him that you have thought it revengeful toward him to starve your Danish captive; and because it is in every respect according to what he would do in your place, I think he will have no misgivings.”
Pulling the soft curls with a suggestion of his old lightheartedness, the Etheling laughed with him. “You bantling! Who would have dreamed you to that degree artful? Are you certain your craft will bear you out? I would not have you suffer their anger. Are you capable of so much feigning?”
For an instant the boy’s eyes were even audacious; and all the hollowness of the cheeks could not hide a flashing dimple. “Oh, my dear lord, I am capable of so much more feigning than you guess!” he answered daringly.
“Nay, have I not been wont to call you elf?” Sebert returned. Then his voice deepened with feeling. “By the soul of my father, Fridtjof, if you bring me out of this snare, me and mine, I declare with truth that there will be no recompense you can ask at my hands which I shall not be glad to grant—” He paused in the wonder of seeing the sparkle in the blue eyes flee away like a flitting light.
The page turned from him almost with a sob. “Pray you, promise me nothing!” he said hastily. “If ever I see you again, and you have more to give me than pity—Nay, I shall lose my courage if I think of that part. Get me out quickly while the heart is firm within me. And give me a draught from your cup to warm my blood.”
“Certainly it would be best for you to come to them while they are in such a state of feasting that their good-humor is keenest and their wits dullest,” Sebert assented.