knife indeed garnished his waist, and he
used a spear for a staff. Yet none of these preparations made him appear
very formidable. Sigurd stared at him in amazement.

"Tyrker! My eyes cannot believe that you have the intention to undertake
such a march! Before a hundred steps, it will become such an exertion to
you that you will lie down upon a rock in a swoon."

The old man blinked at him with his little twinkling eyes.

"So?" he said, chuckling. "Then will we a bargain together make; for me
shall you be legs, while I be brains for you. Then shall we neither be
left behind for wild beasts to eat, nor yet shall our wits like
beer-foam off-blown be, if so it happens that a beautiful maiden crosses
our path."

Sigurd swore an unholy French oath, as the laughter arose. Would those
jests never grow stale on their tongues? he wondered. He sent a
half-resentful glance to where Robert Sans-Peur stood, calm and lofty,
watching the departure. Whatever else threatened Alwin of England, he
had none of this nonsense to endure. Over his shoulder, as he marched
away, the Silver-Tongued made a sly face at his friend.

The Norman caught the grimace, but no answering smile curved the bitter
line of his lips. Smiles had been strangers to his gaunt dark face for
many weeks now.

The sailors said of him, "Since the Southerner lost his chance at the
bear, he has had the appearance of a man who has lost his hope of
Heaven."

When the noise of the departing explorers sank into the distance, Robert
Sans-Peur strolled away from the busy groups and stretched himself in
the shade of a certain old elm-tree. The chief stripped off his mantle
and upper tunic, and betook himself to the woods with an axe over his
shoulder. The hammers of the carpenters made merry music as they built
the bunks in the new sleeping-house. Out in the sunshine, fishers and
trappers came and went; harvesters staggered in under golden sheaves;
and a group of bathers shouted and splashed in the lake. But the Norman
neither saw nor heard anything of the pleasant stir. Through the long
golden hours he lay without sound or motion, staring absently at the
green turf and the dying leaves that floated down to him with every
breeze.

A meal at midday was not a Brattahlid custom; but when the noon-hour
came, there was a lull in the activity while Kark carried around bread
and meat and ale. Combining prudence with a saving of labor, the thrall
made no attempt to approach th