"Ye are too late," said Annibaal. "I pray thee, rather, for thou art a prince, strike me with thy spear."
"That is a just thing, O jarl," said Sigurd. "He hath been a warrior. Thou wouldst ask thy kinsman to make the hero spearmark on thee if thou wert unluckily perishing in thy bed. Send him marked to his gods, that they take him not for a coward."
"Not yet," said Ulric. "Ben Ezra, talk thou with him as thou wouldst."
In Hebrew and in the tongue of Tyre did the twain converse. When the water came, and the food and ale, Annibaal drank a cup of water, but more he could not do, for he was passing.
"I have learned much," said Ben Ezra; "but he dieth. Refuse him not thy mercy, O jarl. He is a prince, and he is worthy of thy hand. Take thou his own sword and smite off his head lest thou fail of a friend in thine own hour. Quick ere he fainteth!"
Ulric took the long, beautiful sword, which had slain both men and lions, and he struck as became him, for he heard murmurs among the Saxons.
Annibaal had feebly lifted his head to receive the gift he had asked for, and it was severed well, falling upon the sand.
"Well done, O jarl!" shouted Knud the Bear. "I liked him not, but it were shame to let a brave warrior die of thirst. Now do I not fear at all to go on into this place, for we have put blood at the gate."
The other Saxons shouted their approval of their jarl's kindness to Annibaal, and they marched forward willingly, blowing their horns and clashing their spears upon their shields, for all this great ruin was very wonderful.