With petulant force, Alwin jammed his bearskin cap down upon his head and turned to retrace his steps.  Turning, his eye fell upon an object that Eric had just taken from the steward and held up to the light to examine.  The flames caught at it eagerly, flashing and sparkling, so that even at that distance Alwin had no difficulty in recognizing the brass-hilted knife.  Eric burst into a mighty roar of laughter.  His voice, never greatly subdued, penetrated to every corner of the room.  “I could stake my head that it is Leif’s!  I myself gave it to him for a name-fastening.  And you found it in Skroppa’s den?  Oh, this is worth a hearing!  Here is mirth!  In Skroppa’s den,—­Leif the Christian!  Ho, Flein, Asmund, Adils, comrades,—­listen to this!  No jester ever invented such a jest.”

He got on his feet and beckoned them with both arms, stamping with laughter.  Catching sight of Alwin’s white face at the door,—­for it was ashen white,—­he beckoned him also, with a fresh burst of malicious laughter.

“And you, you little priest-robed puppet, come nearer, so you shall not lose a word.  Oh, it will be great fun for you!  And for you, my Thorhild,—­and the haughty-headed Helga!  And gray old Tyrker too!  Listen now, Graybeard, and learn, even with one foot in the grave.  Saw you never such a game as this foster-son of yours has played with unchanging face!” He choked with his laughter, so that his face grew purple; and the household waited, leaning from the benches, nudging and whispering; the servants gaping over the dishes in their hands; Alwin standing by the door, motionless as the dead; Sigurd sitting, still as the dead, in his place.

Stamping and rocking himself back and forth, and banging on the arm of his seat, the Red One got his breath at last, and bellowed it out.  “Leif the Christian in the den of Skroppa the Witch!  His knife proves it; Thorhall found it among the rocks at her very door.  Saw I never such slyness!  Think of it, comrades; he is driven to ask help of Skroppa,—­he who feigns to scowl at her very name!—­he who would have us believe in a god that he does not trust in himself!  Here is an unheard-of two-facedness!  Never was such a fraud since Loki.  Here is merriment for all!”

He continued to shout it over and over, roaring with mocking laughter; his men nudging each other, sniggering and grinning and calling gibes across the fire.  Leif’s men sprang up, burning with rage and shame,—­then stood speechless, daring neither to deny nor resent it.

Alwin made a quick step forward to where the firelight revealed him to all in the room, and cried out hoarsely:  “Here is falsehood!  My hand, and no other, took Leif Ericsson’s knife to the den of Skroppa the Witch.”

Motion and sound stopped for a moment,—­as though the icy blast, that came just then through the opening door, had frozen all the life in the room.  Then a voice called out that the thrall was lying to cover his master; and Eric’s laughter burst out anew, and the jeering redoubled.