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Updated: June 24, 2025
The English youth noticed, however, that amid all Leif's flowing eloquence there was no reference to the new faith. The feast waxed merrier and noisier. One of the fiddlers began to shout a ballad, to the accompaniment of the harp. It happened to be the "Song of the Dwarf-Cursed Sword." Sigurd swallowed a curd the wrong way when the words struck his ear; even Valbrand looked sideways at his chief.
"It does not become the bowerman of Leif Ericsson to do the dirty work of a foreign whelp. If you have the ambition to be more than " He was interrupted by the sound of approaching thunder. Valbrand descended upon them, his new tunic drenched, the scars on his battered old face showing livid red. "Is it likely that I will wait all day while two thralls quarrel over precedence?" he roared.
I speak the truth when I say that this is the merriest diversion I have, standing out here, watering linen, and watching who comes and goes. And now that my pan is empty, I must betake myself indoors again. Yonder is Valbrand beckoning you."
You are a fool to keep an accomplished man at work that any simpleton might do. I will not bear with your folly. I will slay the hound the first chance I get." He ended breathless and trembling with passion. Valbrand stood aghast. Leif's brows drew down so low that nothing but two fiery sparks showed of his eyes.
A little further, and they encountered the border of drift-ice that, travelling down from the northeast in company with numerous icebergs, closes the fiord-mouths in summer like a magic bar. "I shall think it great luck if this breaks up so that we can get through it in a month," Valbrand observed phlegmatically. "A month?" Alwin gasped, overhearing him. The old sailor looked at him in contempt.
He said abruptly: "It is not altogether befitting that one who has the accomplishments of a holy priest should go garbed like a base-bred thrall. What is the color of the clothes that priests wear in England?" Alwin answered, wondering: "They wear black habits, lord. It is for that reason that they are called Black Monks." Rising, Leif beckoned to Valbrand.
To the others, this also was inexplicable. They scratched their heads, and rubbed their ears, and gaped at one another. Leif smiled grimly as he caught their looks. Picking a silver ring from his pouch, he tossed it to Valbrand. "Take this to Kark to pay him for his broken head, and advise him to make less noise with his mouth in the future."
The more outrageous Valbrand depicted him, the better he was pleased. Leif made no comment whatever, but sat pulling at his long mustaches and eying them from under his bushy brows. When the steersman had finished, he asked, "Is Kark slain?" Glancing back, Valbrand saw the bowerman sitting up and feeling of his wounds.
And you," he added, with a nod over his shoulder at Alwin, "do you take yourself out of his sight somewhere. It is unwisdom to tempt a hungry dog with meat that one would keep." "If I had so much as a hunting-knife," Alwin cried furiously, "I swear by all the saints of England, I would not stir " Valbrand wasted no time in argument.
"Get you quickly forward and wipe up the beer Valbrand has spilled over his bench." For a moment, Alwin's eyes opened wide in amazement; then they drew together into two menacing slits, and his very clothing bristled with haughtiness. He deigned no answer whatsoever. A pause, and Kark followed his voice. "What now, you cub of a lazy mastiff! I told you, quickly; the beer will get on his clothes."
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