“Well then, Redwald, it seems unsafe for you to go near Streone—­”

“It will be unsafe for him,” I said savagely, for my temper was sorely tried by my failure, as I have said.

Egil laughed.

“Why, then, all the more must I keep you out of his way.”

“Hang me and have done,” I said; “I am of no more use.”

“That,” quoth Egil, “is what I thought concerning myself when you had me down in the fight.  Now I am here to let you go, and bid you take heart.  This is but chance of war, and one must take it as it comes.”

Now it was so plain that the honest chief wished me well, that I could not but thank him for his words, though, indeed, just at this time I seemed to care little for what became of me.

“You are a generous foe, Egil Thorarinsson,” I said.

“You and I shall be good friends some day, as I hope,” he said; “meanwhile we will be fair foes.  You slew me not, because I had fallen more or less by chance.  Therefore I will let you go because you have fallen into my hands by chance.  I will only lay this on you, that you shall bide with Earl Wulfnoth for two months before you fight against us again.”

I was full of wonder at this, for he might well have made me promise to take up arms against Cnut no more, and I could have done no less than promise it, seeing that I was in his hands.

“Why, I must tie you down for a while,” he said laughing at my face of doubt.

“Nay, Egil, I do but wonder that you set me free at all,” I said.

“Is that so?  I have wondered that you slew me not in the heat of battle.  Well, I will add this, that if we fall on Earl Wulfnoth you may fight for him.”

I held out my hand, and Egil took it.

“You have my word, Egil; you are most generous,” I said.

Then he glanced at sword Foe’s Bane.

“Some day you and I, maybe, will have a good fight for your sword in all friendliness,” he said.

“Surely I thought you would take it back,” I cried.  “I feared so, for it was my father’s sword.”

“Aha!  I knew there was somewhat strange about that blade,” he said.  “Tell me what story it has.”

I told him in a few words about the winning of the sword from the grave mound by Thorgeir, my grandfather, and asked Egil how he came by it.

“I bought it from a man after Nacton fight, and I have never had any luck with it.  I was sure it was a magic sword of some sort; for it let go three men whom I should surely have slain with any other blade.  It seemed to turn in my hand.  Such swords as these will not be used by any other than he who can win them from the owner.”

“Ottar, Olaf’s scald, said that it would draw the holder to me,” I said; “but I would not believe it.”

“You English have forgotten the old sayings,” Egil said.  “Now you know that he is right; keep the sword therefore.”

Then I said: