Ingvar and Hubba sat on one side of the fire, where the smoke was driven away from them, and before them was set a long bench where we should be placed.  There Hubba bade us sit down, telling the two men to go without and wait.

So we were left face to face with those two, and I saw that Ingvar’s face was dark with doubt, but that Hubba seemed less troubled.  Yet both looked long and sternly at us.

“Tell us this tale of yours,” said Ingvar at last; “and lie not.”

Now it seemed to me that it were well to get the worst over at once without beating about beforehand.  And now that the jarls knew that Lodbrok was dead, the hardest was to tell them how he died, and why I was here thus.

“Well loved I Lodbrok the Jarl, and well do I love Halfden his son,” I said.  “Have patience with me while I tell all from the first.”

“Go on,” said Ingvar, knitting his brows.

“Safely came Jarl Lodbrok to the English shores,” I went on; “steering his boat through the storm as I think no other man might.  And my father and I, lying at anchor for tide in our coasting ship, took him from the breakers.  Some of his craft taught he me, else had I not been here today.  So he bided with us until I went to sea, and there I met Halfden, and went on a raid with him, coming back from the South Saxon shores to wait at our place for his coming to take Lodbrok home.  But he came not last winter, and so we waited till this spring should bring him.  For my ship was lost, and no other came.”

“What!” said Ingvar; “he died not of stress of storm, but lived so long!  Then he has been slain!” and he half started from his seat in rage.

But Hubba, though his teeth were set, drew him back.

“Hear all,” he said.

I went on without bidding, not seeming to note these things.

“The jarl and I hunted together, and the chance of the day parted us, and he was slain; nor can I say by whom.  But this man and I, being found with his body, were accused of the deed.  And because there was no proof, our great earl, who loves even-handed justice, would have us cast adrift, even as was Lodbrok; that the guilty might suffer, and the innocent escape.”

Then Ingvar rose up, white and shaking with wrath, and drew out his sword.  Whereon Beorn yelled and fell on the floor, grovelling with uplifted hands and crying for mercy.

But the great jarl paid no heed to him, and hove up the sword with both hands over my head, saying in a hoarse voice: 

“Say that you lie—­he is not dead—­or you slew him!”

Now I think the long struggle with the sea, or my full trust in the earl’s words, or both, had taken away my fear of death, for I spoke without moving, though the great blade seemed about to fall, and the fierce Dane’s eyes glared on mine.

“It were easy for me to have lied; I would that I did lie, for then Lodbrok would be living, and I beside him, waiting for Halfden my friend even yet.”