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Updated: June 4, 2025
The sternness that had underlain the King's manner rose slowly and spread over the whole surface of his person, as he drew himself up in towering offence. "Lord of Ivarsdale, bethink yourself to whom you speak!" He was royally imposing in his displeasure; the Etheling flushed like a boy before his master; but he had his answer ready, and his head was steadily erect as he gave it.
Drink to the wood maiden, comrades, bare feet and wild ways and all!" Swinging up his horn, he drained off the toast at a draught. "Give us a mistress like that, my lord," he cried merrily, "and we will hold Ivarsdale for her though all of Edmund's men batter at the doors."
Ivar Wide-Fathomer he was named, whence it is still called Ivarsdale. He was of the stock of Lodbrok, they say; and it is said, too, that one of his race is even now with Canute. Since Alfred, my fathers have had possession of it, but it is Danish-built, every stone. You must make believe that you are coming home." So he spun on, carelessly good-humored, as they climbed the wind-ing hill-path.
"I am no less able than the Lord of Baddeby to restrain him," the Etheling said with some warmth. "If it be your pleasure, King Edmund, I will keep him under my hand until the end of the war, and answer for his silence with my life." Then Norman's eagerness got the better of his discretion. "Now, by Saint Dunstan," he cried, "you take too much upon you, Lord of Ivarsdale!
Ah, what a face it was now, since pain had deepened its sweetness and patience had purified its ardor! The radiance of a newly-wakened soul was like a halo around it. Standing there gazing at her, a wonderful change came over the Lord of Ivarsdale.
For the first time in the history of Ivarsdale, the word was spoken with an accent of relief. The page turned from the fire with a cry of bitter rejoicing: "If it is Canute, I will go to him!" In the revulsion of his feelings, the Etheling laughed outright. "Since it is not Edmund, I care not if it be the Evil One himself; and it cannot be he, for Canute is in Mercia."
The flame that flared up showed her arm to be in the grasp of the Lord of Ivarsdale. "You mad young one!" he gasped, as he wrenched the blade from her hold. Voices rose in angry questioning, but Randalin was too fear-benumbed to understand what they said. Norman's keen eyes were turned upon her, and recognition was dawning in their gaze.
"Then should I keep on my way still more lustily," the Lord of Ivarsdale answered, "for his making use of the boy's name to entice me would show that he had discovered our friendship, in which case the youngling would be suffering from his anger." The old man plucked violently at his beard as the walls loomed clearer before them. "Lord, you have already gone through some risk in leaving home.
Certainly Edmund had never received a greeting with more of formal dignity than the young Dane did now, while Edmund could never have spoken what followed with this grim directness which sent every word home like an arrow to its mark. "Lord of Ivarsdale, before I speak further I think it wise that we should make plain our minds to each other.
When all was ready the messenger was brought in between guards. Wrapped in dirty sheepskins, he swaggered to the centre of the room, and the light that fell on his tanned face showed a scar running the full length of his cheek. With his first glance, the Lord of Ivarsdale uttered an exclamation. "Now, by Saint Mary, I have seen you before, fellow!
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