“It seems to me that this land is in the hands of us heathen without your giving.”

“So that may be, for the time,” answered Eadmund; “but your time of power has an end.”

“Has it so?” said Ingvar, and his eyes flashed.  “Where is your help to come from?  Do you look to Ethelred?—­He is busy in Wessex with more of us heathen.  Where is Mercia?—­It is ours.  Will Kent help you?”

“Our help is in the name of the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth,” answered Eadmund, lifting his eyes heavenwards so earnestly, that in spite of himself the wild heathen king followed their upward gaze for a moment.

It was but for a moment, and that weakness, as he would deem it, was the spark to light Ingvar’s wrath, that as yet he had kept under.

“Hammer of Thor!” he shouted, “you dare throw that in my face!  Now will I show you if heathen or Christian is stronger.”

Then with his face white with rage he turned to his men:  “Bind him to yon tree, and we will speak with him again!”

Now if it is well that I did not die with my king, it was well at that moment for me that my axe hung at my saddle bow, and that my horse—­to which I had paid no heed in my troubles—­had wandered a little way, for I should surely have fought to prevent this dishonour being wrought.  And I sprung to reach the axe, for the short sword I wore was of no use against so many.  But Raud was close on me, and he dropped from his saddle on my shoulders as I passed him, so that I fell, half stunned under him, and one of the other men ran up, and ere they had stripped and bound the king to a tree, I was bound hand and foot, and rolled by Raud into a thicket where I might escape Ingvar’s eye.  And, indeed, he paid no heed to me, but watched the king.

So must I lie there with my heart like to break, seeing all that went on, and I will tell it as best I may.

Ingvar strode to the young oak tree to which they had bound the king and looked fixedly at him.  Then he said, “Scourge this man,” and his men did so.  But the king made no sign by word or motion.  I saw Ingvar’s rage growing, and he cried as his men forbore, shrinking a little from their quiet victim: 

“Ask for mercy, Christian, at the hands of Ingvar the godar, the priest of Odin and Thor, and you shall go free.”

But the king met his gaze sadly and firmly, answering: 

“That were to own that you have power over me through your false gods.”

“Power I have,” said Ingvar; “ask for mercy.”

Thereat the king answered no word, though his lips moved, and I alone knew what his words might be, for though his hands were bound he moved his noble head in such wise as to make the sign of the Cross.  And I think that he spoke to himself the prayer of forgiveness that he had learnt therefrom.

Almost then had the Dane smitten him in the face, but to this cowardice Ingvar the king had not yet fallen.  He drew back a few paces, and took his long dagger from his belt, and at that I thought that he was going to slay the king, and I closed my eyes, praying.  But he spoke again.