"The multitude hath paused," said Sigurd. "They gather around a man. Let us go see."
Right and left parted the crowd as the Saxon column marched onward, but it halted suddenly, the people closing around and behind it, curiously staring, but not touching nor inquiring whence it came.
There was an open space on the broad highway, and five paces in front of the jarl stood the man of whom Sigurd had spoken. He was of full height and broad, but Ulric said in a low tone to Ben Ezra, in Latin:
"He looketh not altogether like a Jew. I have seen darker Saxons. I think he is a jarl. Such as he might be a leader of men."
Proud was the bearing of Sigurd, the son of Thorolf, the sea king; high and stern was the aspect of Ulric, the son of Odin; tall and powerful men were all the other vikings; but not among them all was there one with the dignity of this plainly dressed Jew rabbi, who stood there unarmed and with only a turban on his head.
He spoke not now to the Saxons, but before him on the earth rolled and wallowed one who seemed in agony. His eyes were starting from their sockets and there was foam upon his lips. A shriek burst from him as his convulsed limbs beat the earth.
"He hath a demon!" said Ben Ezra to Ulric. "The evil spirit teareth him. There are many such. Let us see what this rabbi will do. I think him a learned one. Only the learned may deal with demons."
"Come out of him!" commanded the princely man, stooping to touch the demoniac.
On his face was a kindly smile, nevertheless, but they saw not his eyes, for he was looking downward.