Suddenly, in changing his hold, Egil grasped the other’s wounded shoulder.  The grip was torture,—­a spur to a fainting horse.  The blood surged into Alwin’s eyes; his muscles stiffened into iron.  Egil swayed, staggered, and fell headlong, crashing.

Mad with pain, Alwin knelt on his heaving breast.  “If I had a sword,” he gasped; “if I had a sword!”

Shaken and stunned, Egil still laughed scornfully.  “What prevents you from getting your sword?  I shall not run away.  Do you think it matters to me how soon my death-day comes?”

Alwin was still crazy with pain.  He snatched the bronze knife from his belt and laid it against Egil’s throat.  Sigurd’s brow darkened, but no one spoke or moved,—­least of all, Egil; his black eyes looked back unshrinkingly.

It was their calmness that brought Alwin to himself.  As he felt their clear gaze, it came back to him what it meant to take a human life,—­to change a living breathing body like his own into a heap of still, dead clay.  His hand wavered and fell away.  The passion died out of his heart, and he arose.

“Sigurd Haraldsson,” he said, “for what you have done for me, I give you your friend’s life.”

Sigurd’s fine face cleared.

“Only,” Alwin added, “I think it right that he should explain the cause of his enmity toward me, and—­”

Egil leaped to his feet; his proud indifference flamed into sudden fury.  “That I will never do, though you tear out my tongue-roots!” he shouted.

Even his comrades regarded him in amazement.

Alwin tried a sneer.  “It is my belief that you fear to speak of Skroppa.”

“Skroppa?” a chorus of. astonishment repeated.  But only two scarlet spots on Egil’s cheeks showed that he heard them.  He gave Alwin a long, lowering look.  “You should know by this time that I fear nothing.”

Helga made an unfortunate attempt.  “I think it is no more than honorable, Egil, to tell him why you are his enemy.”

Unconsciously she spoke of the thrall now as of an equal.  He noticed it; Egil also saw it.  It seemed to enrage him beyond bearing.

“If you speak in his favor,” he thundered, seizing her wrist, “I will sheathe my knife in you!” But even before she had freed herself, and Rolf and Sigurd had turned upon him, he realized that he had gone too far.  Leaving them abruptly, he went and stood a little way off with his back toward them, his head bowed, his hands clenched, struggling with himself.

For a long time no one spoke.  Sigurd questioned with his eyes, and Rolf answered by a shrug.  Once, as Helga offered to approach the Black One, Sigurd made a warning gesture.  They waited in dead silence.  While the voices of the other men came to them faintly, and the insects chirped about their feet, and the birds called in the trees above them.