“I will have no ransom,” he said, very savagely.

“Nevertheless,” I said quietly, knowing that his word was not the only one to be spoken on that matter, “let me tell you of it, that you may tell the other chiefs.”

“I am the king,” he answered, glaring at me.

“Then, King, hear my words, and give them to those under you.”

“Speak to this man,” he said, pointing to one of the courtmen; for they heard all I said, and he could not refuse to listen altogether to what concerned his fellow chiefs.  Then he rode past me, and the men, save that one of whom he spoke, followed him.

Now I was angry as he, but kept that to myself, and waited till he was out of hearing before I looked at the man who waited.  And when I did so, the man grinned at me, saying: 

“Truly it is like old times to see you stand up thus to the jarl—­king, I mean.  There is not a man in our host dare do it.”

And lo! it was my friend Raud the forester.  His beard was gone, and he had a great half-healed scar across his jaw, so that I had not known him even had I noticed any but Ingvar.

Then I was glad, for here was one whom I could trust, even if his help was of little use.

“Glad am I to see you, Raud my friend, though it must be in this way.  Why is the jarl so angry?”

“Why, because the bishop has escaped us.  We never saw so much as his horse’s tail.  And if he be like the bishop we saw at Hedeby, I am glad.”

“Surely he is,” I said.  “But now I have come to offer ransom for the king, and you must tell Guthrum and the other chiefs that it would be paid very quickly if they will take it.”

At that Raud shook his head.

“I will tell them, but it is of little use.  There has been talk of it before, but when we came into East Anglia Ingvar claimed the king for himself, giving up all else.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because when he made Beorn speak, Beorn said that Eadmund the King had set him on to slay Lodbrok.  I heard the man confess it.”

“But he left that story, telling the truth about himself,” I said.

“Aye, so he did.  But the tale has stuck in Ingvar’s mind, and naught will he hear but that he will have revenge on him.”

“What will he do?” I said, looking after the Danish king, who went, never turning in his saddle, with bowed shoulders as one who ponders somewhat.

“How should I know?” answered Raud, carelessly.  “Let us go on.  Maybe if you come with me we shall hear them speak together.”

“Raud,” I said, “if harm is done to the king, I shall surely fall on some of you—­and Ingvar first of all.”

“Not on me with axe, I pray you,” he answered laughing, and twisting his head on one side.  “I mind me of Rorik.”

“Let us be going,” I said, for I could not jest.

So we trotted after the party, and when we were near, Raud left me and went to Ingvar’s side, speaking to him of what I had said.  Then the jarl turned round to me, speaking quietly enough, but in a strange voice.