Foremost of all rode a mighty chief on a black horse, and I saw that it was Ingvar himself, the king of the Danish host.  Well I knew the armour, for it was that which he had worn at the great sacrifice, though now it shone no longer, but was dulled with the stains of many a hard fight.  Now, too, round his helm ran the gold circlet of the king.

“Know you yon great man?” asked Eadmund of me; for I would not leave him, but stood before him in my place.

“It is Ingvar the king,” I answered; “he who was Jarl Ingvar.”

“Speak to him, and ask him to leave the land in peace,” he said.

Now I thought that was of little use, but I would do the king’s bidding, and asked what I should say.

“Offer him ransom, if you will,” Eadmund answered.

So I went forward, and stood at a bowshot’s length from our people, leaning on the axe that Lodbrok had made me, and there waited till the Danes came on.  And presently Ingvar saw me, and knowing that I was one who would speak with the leader, rode up, looking curiously at me as he came.

“Skoal to Jarl Ingvar!” I said when he was close.

He reined up his horse in surprise, lifting his hand.

“Odin!  It is Wulfric!” he said.  “Now, skoal to you, Wulfric!  But I would that you were not here.”

“How is that, Jarl?” I asked; but I had ever heard that the jarl was in high good humour before a fight.

“I would not fight with you, for you have been our guest.  And many a man have I questioned since yesterday, and all men say that you were my father’s friend.  It was a true story that you told me.”

“You believed it rightly, Jarl.”

“Aye—­and therefore I will not fight with you.”

Then I asked him to leave the land in peace, and his face darkened.

“I speak of yourself alone,” he said, “as for land and king and people—­that is a different matter.”

“You have had your revenge,” I said.

“What?” he asked fiercely.  “Is the life of Lodbrok, my father, worth but the death of a hound like Beorn?  Stand aside, Wulfric, and let me have my revenge in full.”

Now, seeing that our talk was earnest, there rode up another Danish chief, and it was Guthrum, the man who had seemed to take my part at the idol feast.  I was glad to see him come at this moment.

“Here is Halfden’s friend,” said Ingvar to him, “and he, forsooth, would have us go in peace.”

And the Danish king laughed harshly.

“Why, so we will, if they make it worth our while,” said Guthrum, nodding to me.

“What ransom will you take from us?” I asked them.

“The keeping of Eadmund, your king,” answered Ingvar; “nothing more nor less.”

“It seems to me that you will have to fight before you take him,” I said plainly; for no man in all the Anglian ranks would have listened to that.

“That is too much,” said Guthrum.  “Tell him to own you as overlord and pay scatt {xxi} to us, holding the kingdom from you, and that will save fighting—­and surely the whole land will be weregild enough for Jarl Lodbrok.”