The King looked a little perplexed.
“Thou wilt not have much heart to the business if that be so,” he said.
“When you command, sire, it is my duty to obey,” replied Hauskuld.
“Nay, but I can find other stout men for this thing. There is Hake of Hadeland. Go, send him hither. I will not put this on thy shoulders.”
“Sire, you are considerate,” said Hauskuld, “but this foster-brother of mine I count an enemy, for reasons that I need not tell. Besides, he is said to be a warlock, and for my part I firmly believe that he is in league with Nikke, so that it would be a service to the gods to rid the world of him. If you will permit me, I will gladly go on this errand, and as this Atli is a stout man, it would be well to take Hake and a few of the berserkers along with me.”
“Do as thou wilt,” replied the King, with a wave of his hand, as he turned away; “only, what thou doest, see thou do it well and quickly.”
The berserk shouldered his battle-axe and left the hall. As he walked away the King stood in the doorway looking after him with a mingled expression of admiration and dislike.
“A stalwart knave,” he muttered to himself, while a grim smile played on his large handsome features; “a good fighting brute, no doubt, but, with such a spirit, a bad servant, I fear.”
“There are many such in your army,” said a deep, stern voice behind him.
The King turned quickly round, with a look of anger, and fixed a searching glance on the huge form of Rolf Ganger, who stood leaning on the hilt of his sword with a quiet, almost contemptuous smile on his face.