made me his
friend."

He spoke with the utmost mildness, merely glancing at the grinning crew;
yet they sobered as though their mirth had been turned off by a faucet,
and Thorgrim gave the thrall a civil welcome.

"It is a great pity," he continued, addressing the Wrestler, "that you
cannot see the Flesh-Tearer, since you came for that purpose; but it has
happened that he has lamed himself, and will not be able to fight for a
week. Do not go away on that account, however. My ship has brought me
some cloaks even finer than the one you covet,"--here it seemed to Alwin
as if the little man winked at Rolf,--"and if the Englishman is as good
a swordsman as you have said--ahem!" He broke off with a cough, and
endeavored to hide his abruptness by turning away and picking a fur
mantle off a pile of costly things.

Alwin's momentary surprise was forgotten at sight of the treasure thus
disclosed. Beneath the cloak, thrown down like a thing of little value,
lay an open book. It was written in Anglo-Saxon letters of gold and
silver; its crumpled pages were of rarest rose-tinted vellum; its
covers, sheets of polished wood gold-embossed and adorned with golden
clasps. Even Alfred's royal kinswoman had never owned so splendid a
volume. The English boy caught it up with an exclamation of delight, and
turned the pages hungrily, trying whether his mother's lessons would
come back to him.

He was brought to himself by the touch of Rolf's hand on his shoulder.
They were all looking at him, he found,--once more with expectant grins.
Opposite him an ungainly young fellow in slave's garb--and with the air
of belonging in it--stood as though waiting, a naked sword in his hand.

"Now I have still more regard for you when I see that you have also the
trick of reading English runes," the Wrestler said. "But I ask you to
leave them a minute and listen to me. Thorgrim here has a thrall whom he
holds to be most handy with a sword; but I have wagered my gold necklace
against his velvet cloak that you are a better man than he."

The meaning of the group dawned on Alwin then: he drew himself up with
freezing haughtiness. "It is not likely that I will strive against a
low-born serf, Rolf Erlingsson. You dare to put an insult upon me
because luck has left your hair uncut."

A sound like the expectant drawing-in of many breaths passed around the
circle. Alwin braced himself to withstand Rolf's fist; but the Wrestler
only drew back and looked at h