“Is this fight to be to the death?”

“No,” I answered; “else were the rule we made about the boundary of no use.”

Then Griffin cried in a sort of choked voice, “It shall be to the death.”

But I said nothing, and the other second, with Cadwal, shook his head.

Ragnar made no sign, but Cadwal said to Havelok, “You were foremost in the matter just now.  What say you?”

“Rules are rules, and what my comrade says is right.  If the first blow slays, we cannot help it, but there shall be no second wound.  The man who is first struck is defeated.”

“I will not have it so,” said Griffin.

“Well, then, thane, after you have wounded the earl you will have to reckon with me, if you must slay someone.”

Griffin looked at the towering form of my brother and made no answer, and the other second told him that it was right.  There was naught but an angry word or two to be atoned for.  So there was an end, and Ragnar went on guard.  Griffin made ready also, and at once it was plain that here was no uneven match after all.

Both of them wore ring mail of the best.  We had set the two six paces apart, and they must step forward to get within striking distance.  At once Griffin seemed to grow smaller, for he crouched down as a cat that is going to spring, and raised his shield before him, so that from where I stood behind Ragnar I could only see his black glittering eyes and round helm above its edge.  And his right arm was drawn back, so that only the point of his heavy leaf-bladed sword was to be seen glancing from the right edge steadily.  And now his eyes were steady as the sword point, which was no brighter than they.  If once he got inside the sweep of the great axe it would be bad for Ragnar.

One step forward went the earl, shield up and axe balanced, but Griffin never moved.  Then Ragnar leapt forward and struck out, but I could see that it was a feint, and he recovered at once.  Griffin’s shield had gone up in a moment above his head, and in a moment it was back in its place, and over it his eyes glared as before, unwavering.  And then, like a wildcat, he sprang at Ragnar, making no sweeping blow with his sword, but thrusting with straight arm, so that the whole weight of his flying body was behind the point.  Ragnar struck out, but the square shield was overhead to stay the blow, and full on the round Danish buckler the point of the short sword rang, for the earl was ready to meet it.

In a moment the Welshman was back in his crouching guard, leaving a great ragged hole in the shield whence he had wrenched his weapon point in a way that told of a wrist turn that had been long practised.  Ragnar had needed no leech, had his quick eye not saved him from that thrust.

Then for a breathing space the two watched each other, while we held our breath, motionless.  And then Griffin slowly began to circle round his foe, still crouching.