“Well, be he right or be he wrong, it were easier to make the Glommen run up the fells than to alter the King’s determination; and it seems to me that it behoves every man who loves his country, and would spare further bloodshed, to submit to what is inevitable.”
“Every lover of his country deems bloodshed better than slavery,” said Erling, “because the death of a few is not so great an evil as the slavery of all.”
“Aye, when there is hope that good may come of dying,” rejoined the jarl, “but now there is no hope.”
“That is yet to be proved,” said the youth; and Glumm uttered one of those emphatic grunts with which men of few words are wont to signify their hearty assent to a proposition.
“Tut, kinsman,” continued Rongvold, with a look of perplexity, “I don’t like the idea of seeing so goodly a youth end his days before his right time. Let me assure thee that, if thou wilt join us and win over thy friends in Horlingdal, a splendid career awaits thee, for the King loves stout men, and will treat thee well; he is a good master.”
“It grieves me that one whose blood flows in my veins should call any man master!” said Erling.
“Now a plague on thee, for a stupid hot-blood,” cried the jarl; “if thou art so displeased with the word, I can tell thee that it need never be used, for, if ye will take service with the King, he will give thee the charge and the revenues of a goodly district, where thou shalt be master and a jarl too.”
“I am a king!” said Erling, drawing himself proudly up. “Thinkest thou I would exchange an old title for a new one, which the giver has no right to create?”
Glumm uttered another powerfully emphatic grunt at this point.
“Besides,” continued Erling, “I have no desire to become a scatt-gatherer.”