Sigurd shouted with laughter.  “He did not!  I will wager my head he did not!  Certainly the foster-son who would show disrespect to Leif the Lucky would be putting his life in a bear’s paw.  It makes no difference that it is customary for many silly old men of lower birth to allow themselves to be trampled upon by fiery young men of higher rank, like old wolves nipped by young ones.  King Olaf’s heir dare not do so to Leif Ericsson.  No; what I would have you understand is that I know what I am doing because I know Leif’s temper as you know your English runes.  From the time I was five winters old to the time I was fifteen, I lived under his roof in Greenland, and he was as my father to me.  I know his sternness, but I know also his justice and what he will dare for a friend, though Olaf and all his host oppose him.”

He let fly a Norman oath as, splod! a handful of wet clay struck between his bare shoulders.  Turning, he saw among the bushes a mischievous hand raised for a second throw, and scrambled laughing to his feet.

“The trolls!  First to drive me from my bath and then to throw mud on me!  Poison his bowl, if you love me, Alwin.  Ah, what a throw!  It is not likely that you could hit a door.  What bondmaids’ aiming!  Shame!” Mocking, and dodging this way and that, he gained the welcome shelter of the sleeping-house.

A rush of big white bodies, a gleam of dampened yellow hair, an outburst of boisterous merriment, and the camp was swarming with hungry uproarious giants, who threw shoes at each other and shoved and quarrelled around the polished shield, before which they parted their yellow locks, stamping, singing and whistling as they pulled on their tunics and buckled their belts.

“Leif is coming!—­the Lucky, the Loved One!” Helga sang from her booth; and the din was redoubled with cheering.

“By Thor, it seems to me that he is coming now!” said Valbrand, suddenly.  He had finished his toilet, and sat at the table, facing the thicket.  Every one turned to look, and beheld Leif’s thrall-attendant gallop out of the shadows toward them.  No one followed, however, and a murmur of disappointment went round.

“It is nobody but Kark!”

Kark rose in his stirrups and waved his hand.  He was of the commonest type of colorless blond, and coarse and ignorant of face; but his manners had the assurance of a privileged character.

“It is more than Kark,” he shouted.  “It is news that is worth a hearing.  Ho, for Greenland!  Greenland in three days!”

“Greenland?” echoed the chorus.

“Greenland?” cried Helga, appearing in her doorway, with blanching cheeks.

They rushed upon the messenger, and hauled him from his horse and surged about him.  And what had seemed Babel before was but gentle murmuring compared with what now followed.