At that moment there was a bustle at the lower end of the hall, and Alric was seen forcing his way towards Ulf’s high seat.
“Father,” he said eagerly, addressing Haldor, “short is the hour for acting, and long the hour for feasting.”
Haldor cast his eyes upon his son and said—
“What now is in the way?”
“The Danes,” said Alric, “are on the fiord—more than six hundred men. Skarpedin leads them. One of them pitched me into the sea, but I marked his neck to keep myself in his memory! They have plundered and burnt at the Springs, and Erling has gone away to attack them all by himself, with only sixty house-carles. You will have to be quick, father.”
“Quick, truly,” said Haldor, with a grim smile, as he drew tight the buckle of his sword-belt.
“Aye,” said Ulf, “with six hundred Danes on the fiord, and armed men descending the vale, methinks—”
“Oh! I can explain that” cried Alric, with an arch smile; “Erling made me change the baton for the split arrow when I was sent round with the token.”
“That is good luck,” said Haldor, while Ulf’s brow cleared a little as he busked himself for the fight; “we shall need all our force.”
“Aye, and all our time too,” said Guttorm Stoutheart, as he put on his armour with the cheerful air of a man who dons his wedding dress. “Come, my merry men all. Lucky it is that my longships are at hand just now ready loaded with stones:—