Helga set down her pan for the express purpose of clapping her hands.  “Now I am well content; for at last they will see him in all his glory, and know what manner of man they have treated with disrespect.  I have hoped with all my heart for such a thing as this, but by no means did I think he cared enough to do it.”

Alwin shook his head hastily.  “You must not get it into your mind that it is to improve his own honor that he does it now.  I know that for certain.  It is to give his mission a good appearance.”

Helga picked up her pan with a sigh.  “When he begins to preach that to them, he will knock it all over again.”

Alwin considered it his duty to frown at this; but it must be confessed that something very similar was in his own thoughts as he followed his lord into Thorkel Farserk’s feasting-hall that night.  Whatever his religion, the guardsman’s rank and his gallant appearance and fine manners compelled admiration and respect.  It could not but seem a pity to his admirers that soon, with one word, he would he forced to undo it all.

“It is harder than the martyrdom of the saints,” Alwin murmured bitterly.  Then his eye fell upon the silver crucifix, shining pure and bright on Leif’s breast, and he realized the unworthiness of his thoughts, and resigned himself with a sigh.

But he found that even yet Leif’s purposes were beyond him.  Never, by so much as a word, did the guardsman refer to the subject of the new religion,—­though again and again his skilful tongue won for him the attention of all at the table.  He spoke of battles and of feasts, and of the grandeur of the Northmen.  With the old men he discussed Norwegian politics; with the young ones he talked of the famous champions of King Olaf’s guard.  To the women who wished to know concerning the King’s house, and the Queen, he answered with the utmost patience.  He described everything, from weddings to burials, with the skill of a minstrel and the weight of an authority, and always with the tact of a courtier.

Gradually whispers of praise circled around the board, whispers that fell like sweetest music on the jealous ears of Leif’s followers.  Thorhild leaned back from her food and watched him with open pride,—­and though Eric kept his face still turned away, he set his ear forward so that he should hear everything.

Alwin was almost beside himself with nervousness.  “If the crash does not come soon, I shall go out of my wits,” he whispered to Rolf.

The Wrestler turned upon him a face of such unusual excitement that he was amazed.  “Do you not see?” he whispered.  “There will not be any crash.  I have just begun to understand.  It was this he meant when he spoke to you of gaining their friend-ship that they might hear him willingly.  Do you not see?”

Alwin’s relief was so great that at first he dared not believe it.  When the truth of it dawned upon him, he was overcome with wonder and admiration.  In those days, nine men out of every ten could draw their swords and rave and die for their principles; it was only the tenth man that was strong enough to keep his hand off his weapon, or control his tongue and live to serve his cause.