In an instant they had all turned to scan the moon-lit open. And now that they were silent, the thud of hoofs became distinct. Shouting their welcome, some hurried to heap fresh fuel on the fire, and some ran after more ale-skins; while others rushed forward to meet the messenger and run beside his horse, riddling him with questions.
Folding his arms, the chief awaited him in grim silence. If glances could have burned, he would have writhed under the look that a pair of iris-blue eyes was dealing him over a bread crust. But it may be that his skin was particularly thick, for he betrayed no uneasiness whatever.
When the man finally stood before him, Rothgar said sternly, “It is time you were here! Ten days have gone over your head since I sent you out. You must do one of two things,—either tell great tidings or submit to sharp words.”
The Brass One laughed as he saluted. “I should have been liable to sharp steel had I come sooner, chief. Would you have taken it well if I had left without knowing how it went with the battle?”
“Battle!” three-score mouths cried as with one voice. “Who were victorious?”
The man laughed again. “Should I come to you with a noisy voice and my chin held high, if other than one thing had happened? Honor to the Thunderer, the Raven possessed the field!”
Such a clamor arose as though the wolf-pack had tasted blood. Three times, through the trumpet of his hands, Rothgar bawled a command for silence. “One horn you may have, then all this must be told before you eat,” he gave orders. And he strode restlessly to and fro until the time came when the horn stood on end above the man’s mouth and then was lowered reluctantly.
Drawing his hand across his lips, the Brass One cleared his throat. “At your pleasure, chief. Is it to your mind to begin with the battle? Or do you rather wish to hear of my journey thence? I admit that that part is somewhat likely to stick in my teeth and in your ears. From Otford to Shepey was little better than a retreat, and if—”
“The battle! the battle!” a chorus of voices cried, and the chief confirmed the choice.
“The battle, by all means! The other will do for lesser dishes when the first edge is off our appetite. Where was it? And how long since? Yet, before any of these, how goes it with my royal foster-brother? And how do his traitors carry sail, Odin’s curse upon them! Speak! How fares he?”