When we had arranged thus with these men, I went to Asbiorn to learn how he had bestowed Arnkel.

“He is down at the wharf,” he answered.  “Aye, on board the ship.  Maybe you had better come and see him.”

“I do not know that I have aught to say to him,” said I.  “The man is not worth a word.  What do the townsfolk say of him?”

“They had a good deal to say,” he answered.  “Not what one would call good words, either.  There is no party on his side here, and you will have naught but welcome on all hands.  Nevertheless, come down to the ship before you go to the guest house for the night.  I sleep on board.”

“The people cannot hold you as in league with Arnkel now,” I said.  “They will not molest you.”

“They know that there is no league between us now, at all events,” he answered, with a short laugh.  “No, there will be no trouble of any kind.”

Bertric and I rose up and bade Eric’s men go to the guest hall, and so we two went out of the great door with Asbiorn.  With us came Phelim and my Caithness men, and Gorm the Steward, and a dozen of the others of the place.  It was a still, frosty night, and overhead wavered and flickered across the stars the red and golden shafts and waves of the northern lights, very brightly, so that all the sky seemed to burn with them, and it was well nigh as light as day with their weird brightness.  Under them the still fjord glowed in answer, silent and peaceful, as the fires burned up and faded.

We went to the stockade gate, and down the little street to the wharf.  Only a few men were about, but they were not armed, and the houses were dark now.  There was no sign of unrest in all the place, as there well might have been had things gone awry for us.

“Have a care, Asbiorn,” said Bertric.  “There may be some gathering to rescue Arnkel, for all the quiet.”

He laughed again, and his laugh was hard.

“There will be none,” he said, and pointed.

The mast of the ship had been stepped again, but the sail was still on deck.  Only a spare yard had been hoisted half-mast high across the ship.  And at the outboard end of it swung, black against the red fires of the sky, the body of the man who had wrought the trouble.  He had found the death which he deserved.

“Hakon’s word,” said Asbiorn quietly.  “You mind what he said.”

I remembered, and it came to me that Asbiorn had done right.  I do not know what else could have been done with such a man.  And in this matter neither I nor Gerda had any hand.

“The townsfolk judged him,” said Asbiorn again, “and we did Hakon’s bidding.  Else they had hewn him in pieces.”

Suddenly the red wildfires sank, and it was very dark.  In the darkness there came from seaward a sound which swelled up, nearer and nearer, as it were the cry of some mighty pack of hounds, and with the wild baying, the yell of hunters and the clang of their horns.  It swept over us, and passed toward the mountains while we stood motionless, listening.