"How--not cheer?" roared back a scarred old berserk, his ferocious face beaming. "Ho! Thor smite the silent ones! Howl your joy, sea-wolves! Our earl has come again--Haoi!"
"Howl! howl, wolves of Hild!
He, our hersir,
He, our hero,
Have we here!"
rang out the mellow voice of a skald from the thick of the crowd, and the quickly turned verse was echoed by a roar to be heard even at Casseneuil.
Olvir's eyes sparkled, and he wheeled Zora slowly around, that he might see all. As the shouting died away, he lifted his hand, and answered the boisterous welcome: "Greeting to you, sons of Thor! My heart leaps at the sight of viking faces! But now I must go to the Frank king. I will come again before nightfall. Arm yourselves as for battle, that I may see if the camp-sloth has overtaken you."
"If one man shows a rust-speck on mail or helmet, strike off my hand," said Floki.
"The Crane has looked to it!" grumbled the old berserk. "There are softer-spoken leaders. But he has kept all well in hand, even as against Liutrad's red pig."
"I will hear of that later; now I must be going. Farewell," replied Olvir, and Zora passed with her triple burden through the opening crowd.