"Aye," replied the discontented men, and then they shouted to Lysias: "Sing!"
Not at once was he ready to sing, and the harp sounded on as if he heard them not.
"Sing! Sing!" they shouted again. "Sing, or we will slay thee!"
"Slay on, cowards!" laughed Lysias, angrily. "What care I for slaying!"
For he had been muttering hoarsely to himself something about Sapphira and there were tears in his eyes.
"Down!" shouted Sigurd, to a viking who was drawing his seax. "Harm him not, lest I send thee a spear! I would hear his harp. Down, I say!"
The spear of Sigurd was a matter to be avoided, and the seaman left his weapon sheathed and sat down. But at that moment arose the voice of Lysias in a grand Greek song, a song of war and of contending warriors.
"Right!" shouted the men to Sigurd. "Thou shalt slay any that shall rob us of our harping. He singeth well."
None would have expected a voice so powerful and so sweet, and they who heard it clapped their hands or clashed their spears upon their shields.