t it seems over good to be
true--Swein dead--and your offered help!"

Then they both laughed, well content, and so Eadmund called the
steward, and wine and meat were set for the king, and they sat down
and talked, as he ate with a sailor's hunger. But I listened not to
their talk, my mind being over full of this good fortune of my own.
I had none left of my own kin, and till today I had been as it were
alone.

Presently, however, I heard an East Anglian name that was dear to
me. Eadmund asked how it was that Swein Forkbeard had died, for
none thought that his end was yet to be thought of as near. Now it
would seem that he had gone suddenly.

"He was at Gainsborough," said Olaf, "and he was about to make his
way south to Eadmund's burg. Whereon men say that to save his town
and shrine the holy martyr, King Eadmund, whom Ingvar slew, thrust
Swein through with an iron lance. Some say that he slew him
otherwise, but all agree as to his slayer. And now I think that
England will rise."

"What of Cnut, Swein's son?" asked Eadmund.

"He is but a boy. What he may be in a few years' time I know not.
With him it will be as with myself. I was given a ship when I was
twelve years old, and thereafter all that my men did goes to my
credit in the mouths of the scalds. Yet my men and I know well that
Rani, my foster father, whom you will soon know, was the real
captain and leader for the first three or four years."

Then said Eadmund:

"Cnut is of no account."

Olaf laughed a little, and answered:

"Cnut's own arm may be of little strength, but his name is on the
lips of every Dane. There are three chiefs who will hold the
kingdom in his name, and they are the men whom you must meet:
Thorkel the High, his foster father; Ulf Sprakalegsson the jarl,
his brother-in-law; and Eirik the jarl, whose brother Homing holds
London even now. Good men and loyal they are, and what they do Cnut
does."

"I have three chiefs in my mind who can match these," said our
atheling. "Olaf the king, and Ulfkytel of East Anglia, and Edric
Streone, my foster father."

Then Olaf looked in the face of Eadmund, as it seemed to me in
surprise, and made no answer.

"Are we not equal then?" asked the atheling.

"I have heard that Edric Streone is on the Danish side," said Olaf.
"Cannot Utred of Northumbria be trusted?"

"Edric has but sought rest, from need," answered Eadmund. "I know
not what else he could do at last. He will join us again as soon