“He lies,” growled the Dane.  “Some thrall picked me up, and this man took me from him.  He was on the prowl for castaways on the morn of the storm.  Nigh dead I was, or would have fought.”

He spoke low and quickly, and the trader seemed not to understand his Danish.  But I saw that he spoke the truth.

Now I think that if this shipmate of mine had been fairly taken captive as he raided, I should have let him take the reward of his work.  But this chance was a different matter.

“Show me the receipt for payment to that thane of whom you speak,” I said.  “If you can, well and good; if not, then we will go to the sheriff and see this matter righted.  I know the man as a freeman.”

“Ay, in his own land,” said the trader, beginning to bluster.  “What is that to me?  Here in England he is masterless—­”

“No,” said the Dane; “this is my master.  Heard you not how I owned to a black eye from him?”

And he looked at me in a half proud way which told me how the bonds had broken him, and yet how they had not yet made him shameless if he must beg me for help to freedom.

Then said Werbode quietly: 

“Where is that receipt?  I suppose that if you paid for his man, my friend has to repay you for ransoming him.  It is a simple matter.”

“I do not carry it with me, stranger.  You know not this land of ours.  It is at my inn.  I can show it, of course.”

“Well, then,” said I, “I will take my man and answer for him.  Bring the writing to the house of the sheriff, where I lodge, and what is there set down I will pay you.”

Now there were a dozen idlers gathered by this time, and seeing that the trader hesitated, I called to one, who seemed to be a forester by his staff and green jerkin, and bade him fetch the sheriff, if he could find him.  I would have the matter settled here.  Whereon the slaver gave in.

“Well, then,” he grumbled, “I hold you answerable for him.  Take him, and get your money ready.

“Let him free,” he said, turning to his men.

That they did with somewhat more readiness than one would have expected.  The Dane shook himself and looked round him.  And then, without a word of warning, he sprang straight at the slaver and wrested his whip from him.  Then he swung him round by the collar of his leather jerkin, and lashed him in spite of the sword which the man drew.  The idlers shouted, and Werbode laughed, while the two men had all they could do to prevent the other slaves from breaking away; or else they themselves had no reason to object to seeing their master tasting his own sauce.

The heavy plaits of the whiplash curled round the legs of the trader, and he writhed.  They caught his short sword and twitched it from his hand, to send it flying among the gathering crowd, and then the man lay down and howled for mercy.  But the thralls of the crowd were only too pleased with the sport, and as I and Werbode did not interfere, to do so was no one else’s business.