“I am only one,” I said; “Kolgrim and Thord are in this also.”

Then Osmund took a heavy gold bracelet from his arm.

“This is for Kolgrim, your comrade,” he said, half doubtfully, “if I may give it him in remembrance of a brave deed well done.  Will he be too proud to accept it?”

“I may give it him, certainly,” I said, taking the gift.

Then Odda would not be behindhand, and he pulled off his own armlet.

“If Kolgrim is to be remembered, Thord will never be forgotten.  Give this to him in sheer gratitude for swearing at me in such wise that he overcame the sore sickness that comes of the swaying of the deck that will not cease.”

“Give it him yourself, ealdorman,” I said.  “You know him over well to send it by another.  It would not be so good a gift.”

“As you will,” he answered.  “But I fear that viking terribly.  Black grows his face, and into his beard he blows, and the hard Norse words grumble like thunder from his lips.  Then know I that Odda the ealdorman has been playing the land lubber again, and wonder what is wrong.  Nor is it long ere I find out, and I and my luckless crew are flying to mind what orders are howled at us.  In good truth, if Alfred ever needs me to hurry in aught, let him send Thord the viking to see that I do so.  One may know how I fear him, since I chose rather to risk battle with Jarl Osmund on shore than to bide near him in my own ship any longer.”

Then the jarl and I laughed till our sides ached, and Odda joined us when he could not help it, so doleful was his face and solemn were his words when he told his tale.  But I knew that he and Thord were the best of friends after those few days in the ship together, and that the rough old viking had given every man of the crew confidence.  Nevertheless he was apt to rage somewhat when things went in slovenly wise.

So Odda helped me through with Osmund’s thanks, and I was glad.  I was glad also that the horns blew for the feast, so that no more could be said about the Wareham doings.

Now I sat close to King Alfred at the feast, and saw much of his ways with men.  I thought it plain that he had trouble at times in keeping back the pride and haughtiness which I had heard had been the fault in both Neot and himself, for now and then they showed plainly.  Then he made haste to make amends if one was hurt by what he had said in haste.  But altogether I thought him even more kingly than the mighty Harald Fairhair in some ways.

Truly he had not the vast strength and stature of Norway’s king, but Alfred’s was the kingliness of wisdom and statecraft.

Once I said to Odda: 

“Can your king fight?”

“Ay, with head as well as with hand,” he answered.  “His skill in weapon play makes up for lack of weight and strength.  He is maybe the best swordsman and spearman in England.”

I looked again at him, and I saw that since last I turned my eyes on him he had grown pale, and now his face was drawn, and was whitening under some pain, as it would seem; and I gripped Odda’s arm.