Bladud had a deep voice, and, by way of increasing his chances of concealing his identity, he pitched it a note or two lower than usual as he replied.
“I thank you, sir, for your hospitality and gladly accept it. As to your offer to serve me, I would count it a favour if you will permit me to enter into combat with one of your friends.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the king, in great surprise, “that is a strange request, but I may not deny you. Which of my warriors may it be?”
“It is none of your warriors, sir,” answered Bladud, “but one of your guests who has, I am told, challenged whoever will to fight him for the hand of your fair daughter. I am here now to accept that challenge and to fight with Gunrig if he will.”
“Assuredly, young man, your ambition or presumption seems equal to your prowess,” returned the king with an offended look; “know ye not that this challenge was delivered to chiefs of this country, not to unknown strangers, and although I admit that your tongue seems well accustomed to our language, it has a foreign smack about it which does not belong to those who are home-bred.”
“I am a chief,” answered Bladud, proudly, “and this is my native land.”
“What is your name, then, and where come ye from?” demanded the king.
“That I may not answer just now, but I am here, in your power, if what I say be not found true, you may do what you will with me. Meanwhile I ask permission to accept the challenge.”
At this point Gunrig, unable to restrain himself longer, sprang forward.
“Grant him permission, king,” he cried. “If I were not ready to abide by my word I were not worth my salt. Nay, indeed, whether you grant him permission or not I will fight him, for he has twice beaten me this day, and now insults me, therefore there is a deadly feud between us.”