And that Mote was very great, and whenas it was hallowed,
there arose a great lord, grey and ancient, and bewailed him
before the folk, that they had no king over Oakenrealm to
uphold the laws & ward the land; and "Will ye live bare and
kingless for ever?" said he at last. "Will ye not choose
you a king, and crown him, before I die, and we others of
the realm who are old and worn?" Then he sat down, and
another arose, and in plain terms he bade them take the Earl
Marshal to king. And then arose one after other, and each
sang the same song, till the hearts of the people grew warm
with the big words, and at first many, and then more cried
out: "A King, a King! The Earl Marshal for King! Earl Rolf
for King!" So that at last the voices rose into a great
roar, and sword clashed on shield, and they who were about
the Earl turned to him and upraised him on a great
war-shield, and he stood thereon above the folk with a naked
sword in his hand, and all the folk shouted about him.

Thereafter the chiefs and all the mightiest came and did
homage to him for King of Oakenrealm as he sat on the Hill
of the Folk-mote: and that night there was once more a King
of Oakenrealm, and Earl Rolf was no more, but King Rolf
ruled the people.

But now the tale leaves telling of him, and turns again to
Christopher the woodman, who lay sick of his hurt in the
House of the Tofts.