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Updated: April 30, 2025
"My own eyes saw that " He ended in a howl as a half-gnawed sheep-bone from the warrior's hand struck him with a force that knocked him sprawling among the ashes. "Do not trouble yourself to answer until you are questioned," the Scar-Cheek recommended briefly. And a round of laughter followed the poor scapegoat as he picked himself up, groaning, and crept away into the shadow.
Echoes awoke as well in the breasts of those who listened. When the minstrel laid aside his harp for his cup, Snorri Scar-Cheek brought his fist down in a mighty blow upon the earth. "To hear such words and know one's self doomed to wallow in mast!" A dozen shaggy heads wagged surly acquiescence. But from the figure outstretched upon the splendid bearskin a harsh voice sounded.
"It is the dance of the Northern Lights!" they cried. "Thor has sent him his own sword!" The lines of English were wild with anger. "Crush him, the hornet, the wasp! Crush him, Edmund!" they roared. In his exultation, the Scar-Cheek rolled himself over and over on the grass, and wound up by thrusting his shaggy head into the lap of the red-cloaked page.
Bending forward, with strained ears and starting eyes, the spectators saw that the Northern King was speaking, eagerly, with now and then an impulsive gesture, while the English King listened motionless. "Has he got out of his wits?" the Scar-Cheek roared, fairly dancing with impatience. In Randalin's face a flash of memory was struggling with bewilderment.
The Scar-Cheek, who had been scanning her critically where she stood before them, drinking, gave a pitying grunt. "By the crooked horn, boy, you must have had naught but ill luck since the time of Scoerstan! No more meat is on you than a raven could eat; and the night I was in the Englishman's hall, you had the appearance of having been under a lash. Your guardian spirit must have gone astray."
When they came to a spot along the bank which was open enough to give them an unobstructed view of the island, they permitted her to scramble down and seat herself upon the grass, where they ringed themselves around her, twenty deep. "Now for it! While they are waiting for Edmund to land; before there is anything to watch," the Scar-Cheek commanded.
Her face was so ghastly that the man who first caught sight of it did not recognize her, and snatched up his weapon as against an enemy. It was the Scar-Cheek who offered the first welcome in a jovial shout. "The hawk escaped from the cage! Well done, champion! Did you batter a way out with your mighty fists? Did you get fretful and slay the Englishman?
Were you not the leader of the band we drove away last month?" The Scar-Cheek laughed impudently. "I will not conceal it; yet I did not know that my beauty was so showy. The chief was wise to send Brown-Cloak to do the spying." "Brown-Cloak! The beggar?" was cried all down the hall. But the messenger's eyes had fallen on the black-haired boy, who stood staring at him from the fireside.
I got them before me and questioned them, and the Scar-Cheek boasted of having done it. This is his hair. If you remember anything about the fellow, you understand that he was not alive when I took it from him." The King looked immovably at the yellow mass. "You have behaved in a chieftain-like way and I thank you for it," he said.
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