"And in the name of the King of Kings," said the Judge, turning after him, "I command you to let them alone."
There was a dead hush for a moment, and then the Judge looked down at Jason and said once more, "Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here! Speak!"
But before Jason could make answer, Jorgen Jorgensen had broken in again:
"My guards are at Reykjavik," he cried, "and I am here alone. You are traitors, all of you, and if there is no one else to arrest that enemy of my country, I will do it myself. He shall go no further. Step back from him."
So saying, he opened his cloak, drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it. A shrill cry arouse from the crowd. The men on the Mount stood quaking with fear, and Greeba flung herself over the restless body of Michael Sunlocks.
But Jason did not move a feature.
"Old man," he said, looking up with eyes as steadfast as the sun into Jorgensen's face, and pointing towards Sunlocks, "if you touch one hair of this head, these hands will tear you to pieces."
Then one of the men who had stood near, a rough fellow with a big tear-drop rolling down his tanned cheeks, stepped up to Jason's side, and without speaking a word offered him his musket; but Jason calmly pushed it back. There was dead silence once more. Jorgen Jorgensen's uplifted hand fell to his side, and he was speechless.
"Speak now," said the Judge. "Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here?"
Jason stood silent for a moment as if to brace himself up, and then he said, "I have laid my soul bare to your gaze already, and you know what I am and where I come from."