From Kark’s audience burst another volley of exclamations.

“It is because he is always lucky!”—­“It cannot be done.  Remember Eric!”—­“The Red One will slay him!”—­“You forget Thorhild his mother!” “Hail to the King!” —­“It is a great honor!”

“Silence!” Valbrand commanded.  Kark went on:  “Leif said that he was willing to do whatever the King wished; yet it would not be easy.  He spoke the name of Eric, and after that they lowered their voices so that I could not hear.  Then at last Olaf leaned back in his high-seat and Leif stood up to go.  Olaf stretched forth his hand and said, ’I know no man fitter for the work than you.  You shall carry good luck with you.’  Leif answered:  ‘That can only be if I carry yours with me.’  Then he grasped the King’s hand and they drank to each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes.”

There was a pause, to make sure the messenger had finished.  Then there broke out cheers and acclamations and exulting.

“Hail to Leif!  Hail to the Lucky One!”—­“Leif and the Cross!”—­“Down with the hammer sign!”—­“Down with Thor!”—­“Victory for Leif, Leif and the Cross!”

Shields clashed and swords were waved.  Kark was thrown bodily into the air and tossed from hand to hand.  A wave of mad enthusiasm swept over the group.  Only Helga stood like one stunned, her hands wound in her long tresses, her face set and despairing.

The Black One was the first to notice her amid the confusion.  He dropped the cloak he was waving and stared at her wonderingly for a moment; then he burst into a boisterous laugh.

“Look at the shield-maiden, comrades,—­look at the shield-maiden!  It has come into her mind that she is going back to Thorhild!”

For a moment Alwin wondered who Thorhild might be.  Then vaguely he remembered hearing that it was to escape a strong-minded matron of that name that Helga had fled from Greenland.  That now she must go back to be civilized, and made like other maidens, struck him also as an excellent joke; and he joined in the laugh.  One after another caught it up with jests and mocking.

“Back to Thorhild the Iron-Handed!”—­“No more short kirtles!”—­“She has speared her last boar!”—­“After this she will embroider boar-hunts on tapestry!”—­“Embroider?  Is it likely that she knows which end of the needle to put the thread through?”—­“It will be like yoking a wild steer!”—­“Taming a shield-maiden!”—­“There will be dagger-holes in Thorhild’s back!”—­They crowded around her, bandying the jest back and forth, and roaring with laughter.

Always before, Helga had taken their chaff in good part; always before, she had joined them in making merry at her expense.  But now she did not laugh.  She rose slowly and stood looking at them, her breast heaving, her eyes like glowing coals.