"Now the long sword!" said Ulric, throwing aside the short falchion provided for him. "O but its edge is keen!"
He heard the trumpet sound and the door before him opened. Then the great multitude shouted with admiration and the Saxons themselves wondered.
"He is so beautiful!" exclaimed Tostig the Red. "O that we must lose him! What shall we do without our jarl?"
"Would that I might die with him!" groaned Wulf the Skater, but Knud was thoughtful.
"Do we not know him?" he said. "Is he not the son of Odin? Are all our gods dead? I think the Nornir are not here and that the valkyrias will not come."
A tower of white stood the jarl, with but a silken garment from waist to knee, and his golden-curled head was a glory. In his hand was the African sword, its bright blade and the jewels of its hilt glittering.
"It is not the sword I sent him," muttered Julius. "That might have broken in his hand, but this will not. He is like Mars! O Caius, what thinkest thou of thy barbarian and of thy sesterces?"
"Wilt thou double thy wager?" asked Caius. "I am pleased with my Saxon lion."
"Nay," laughed Julius, "thou wilt have losses enough. Thou wilt see him torn shortly."
For the trumpet spoke again and the lion sprang out of his cage with a roar like distant thunder. The sun rays fell upon his face, however, and he lifted his head, blinded for a moment. Then he saw the throng and he walked along a few paces, as if willing to spring among the tiers of seats, but they were high and he looked again around the arena. Motionless stood Ulric, watching the lion, and between them now was but half the width of the arena. Men breathed not, but leaned forward in their places, and now the eyes of the great beast perceived the jarl and he roared with the roar of hunger and wrath.