Then Beorn closed his eyes, and I was turning away, for I need ask no more; but again he spoke: 

“Blind was yon dotard Ulfkytel not to see all this; would that you had slain me in the woods at first—­or that he had hanged me at Caistor—­or that I had been drowned.  But justice is done, and my life is ended.”

Those were the last words that I heard Beorn, the falconer, speak, for I left him, and Raud gave him to drink again.

“Have you no more to ask?” said Ingvar gloomily, and frowning on Beorn, as he lay helpless beyond the hearth.

“Nothing, Jarl.”

“What was the last word he said.  I heard not.”

“He said that justice was done,” I answered.

“When I have done with him, it shall be so,” growled Ingvar, and his hand clutched his sword hilt, so that I thought to see him slay the man on the spot.

“Has he told you all?” I asked of Hubba.

“All, and more than you have told of yourself,” he answered; “for he told us that it was your hand saved my father, and for that we thank you.  But one thing more he said at first, and that was that Eadmund the King set him on to slay the jarl.”

On that I cried out that the good king loved Lodbrok too well, and in any case would suffer no such cowardly dealings.

“So ran his after words; but that was his first story, nevertheless.”

“Then he lied, for you have just now heard him say that his own evil thoughts bade him do the deed.”

“Aye—­maybe he lied at first; but we shall see,” said Ingvar.

Now I understood not that saying, but if a man lies once, who shall know where the lie’s doings will stop?  What came from this lie I must tell, but now it seemed to have passed for naught.

“Now shall you slay the man in what way you will, as I have said.  There are weapons,” and Ingvar pointed to the store on the walls.

“I will not touch him,” I said, “and I think that he dies.”

“Then shall you see the vengeance of Ingvar on his father’s murderer,” the jarl said savagely.  “Call the men together into the courtyard, Raud, and let them bring the man there.”

“Let him die, Jarl,” I said boldly; “he has suffered already.”

“I think that if you knew, Wulfric of Reedham, how near you have been to this yourself, through his doings, you would not hold your hand,” answered Ingvar, scowling at Beorn again.

“Maybe, Jarl,” I answered, “but though you may make a liar speak truth thus, you cannot make an honest man say more than he has to speak.”

“One cannot well mistake an honest saying,” said Ingvar.  “And that is well for you, friend.”

And so he turned and watched his courtmen, as the Danes called the housecarles, carry Beorn out.  Then he went to the walls and began to handle axe after axe, taking down one by one, setting some on the great table, and putting others back, as if taking delight in choosing one fittest for some purpose.