I think that Hodulf had forgotten that he would have to answer this question, or else he thought that everyone knew him, for he did not reply all at once.

“You may ask the king for your reward,” he said, after a little thought, “for this is his business.  Now you know that it will be best for you to be secret and sure.  Not much worth will your chance of escape from torture be if this becomes known.  But you know also that the reward is certain.”

“The king!” cried my father, with a sort of gasp of surprise.

I could almost think that I saw him staring with mouth agape as would a silly thrall; for so well had he taken the thrall’s part that had I not known who was speaking all the time, I had certainly had no doubt that one was there.

“Come to Hodulf, the king, and pray for freedom and your gold as a boon of his goodness, saying naught else, or making what tale you will of a hard master, or justice, so that you speak naught of what you have done, and that—–­and maybe more—–­shall be granted.”

“You yourself will speak for me?”

“I am the king—–­and think not that the darkness will prevent my knowing your face again,” Hodulf replied.

There was a threat in the words, and with them he turned his horse and rode away quickly northwards.  I heard the hoofs of his men’s horses rattle on the road as they joined him, before he had gone far.

When the sounds died away altogether, and there was no fear of his coming back suddenly on us, my father whistled and I joined him.  He almost started to find how near I was.

“You have heard all, then?” he said.

“Every word,” I answered, “and I like it not.  Where is this sack he spoke of?”

It lay at his feet.  A large sack it was, and full of somewhat heavy and warm that seemed to move a little when I put my hand on it.  Still less did I like the business as I felt that.

“More also!” quoth my father, as if thinking of the king’s last words.  “If that does not mean a halter for my neck, I am mistaken.  What have we here, son, do you think?”

“Somewhat that should not be here, certainly,” I answered.  “There would not be so much talk about drowning a dog, as one might think this to be.”

“Unless it were his wife’s,” answered my father, with a laugh.

Then he stooped, and I helped him to get the sack on his shoulders.  It was heavy, but not very—–­not so heavy as a young calf in a sack would be; and he carried it easily, taking my spear to help him.

“The thrall is even going to take this to the house of Grim the merchant, whom the king will not know again, though he may see in the dark,” said he; “then we shall know how we stand.”

We met no one on our way back, for the town had gone to sleep, until the watchman passed the time of night with us, thinking no doubt that we had fish or goods in the burden.  And when we came home a sleepy thrall opened to us, for all were at rest save him.  And he too went his way to the shed where his place was when he had stirred the fire to a blaze and lit a torch that we might see to eat the supper that was left for us.