When the wrist was set and bandaged, the trader presented them with a silken scarf to make into a sling, and had them served with horns of sparkling mead.  This gave a turn to the affair that proved of special interest to Alwin.  There is an old Norse proverb which prescribes “Lie for lie, laughter for laughter, gift for gift;” so, while he accepted these favors, Tyrker began to look around for some way to repay them.

His gaze wandered over fabrics and furs and weapons, till it finally fell upon the slaves’ bench.  “Donnerwetter!” he said, setting down his horn.  “To my mind it has just come that Leif a cook-boy is desirous of, now that Hord is drowned.”

The girl saw his purpose, and nodded quickly.  “It is unlikely that you can make a better bargain anywhere.”

She turned to examine the slaves, and her eyes immediately encountered Alwin’s.  She did not blush; she looked him up and down critically, as if he were a piece of armor, or a horse.  It was he who flushed, with sudden shame and anger, as he realized that in the eyes of this beautiful Norse maiden he was merely an animal put up for sale.

“Yonder is a handsome thrall,” she said; “he looks as though his strength were such that he could stand something.”

“True it is that he cannot a lame wolf be who with the pack from Greenland is to run,” Tyrker assented.  “That it was, which to Hord was a hindrance.  For sport only, Egil Olafson under the water took him down and held him there; and because to get away he was not strong enough, he was drowned.  But to me it seems that this one would bite.  How dear would this thrall be?”

“You would have to pay for him three marks of silver,” said the trader.  “He is an English thrall, very strong and well-shaped.”  He came over to where Alwin sat, and stood him up and turned him round and bent his limbs, Alwin submitting as a caged tiger submits to the lash, and with much the same look about his mouth.

Tyrker caught the look, and sat for a long while blinking doubtfully at him.  But he was a shrewd old fellow, and at last he drew his money-bag from his girdle and handed it to the trader to be weighed.  While this was being done, he bade one of the servants strike off the boy’s fetters.

The trader paused, scales in hand, to remonstrate.  “It is my advice that you keep them on until you sail.  I will not conceal it from you that he has an unruly disposition.  You will be lacking both your man and your money.”

The old man smiled quietly.  “Ach, my friend,” he said, “can you not better read a face?  Well is it to be able to read runes, but better yet it is to know what the Lord has written in men’s eyes.”  He signed to the servant to go on, and in a moment the chains fell clattering on the ground.

Alwin looked at him in amazement; then suddenly he realized what a kind old face it was, for all its shrewdness and puny ugliness.  The scowl fell from him like another chain.