head upon them.

His companions did not seem to be unused to such outbursts. Rothgar appeared
to find it more amusing than anything else, for his mouth expanded slowly in a
grin. A snort of impatience distended the nostrils of Thorkel the Tall. "At
such times as these," he said, "are brought to my mind the words of Ulf Jarl,
that a man does not really stand well upon his legs until he has lived
twenty-five winters."

Up came the young King's yellow head. There was no question now about his
temper. A spot of fiery red marked each cheek-bone, and his colorless eyes
were points of blazing light.

"Better is it to stand unsteadily upon two legs than to go naturally upon
four," he retorted. "If I also am a beast, at least there is a man's mind in
me that tells me to loathe myself for being so. Even as I loathe you--both of
you--and all your howling pack! Make me no answer or, by the head of Odin, you
shall feel my fangs! You say that my will is like the wind's will. Can you not
see why, dull brutes that you are? Because it is not my will, but yours,--now
Rothgar's beast-fierceness, now your low-minded craft. Because I am not
content with myself, I listen to you. And you--you-- Oh, leave me, leave me,
before I lose my human nature and go mad like a dog! Leave--You laugh!" As he
caught sight of Rothgar, he interrupted himself with a roar. His hand shot to
his belt and plucking forth the jewelled knife that hung there, hurled it, a
glittering streak, at the grinning face. If it had reached home, one of
Rothgar's eyes would have gone out in darkness.

But the son of Lodbrok had known his royal foster-brother too long to be taken
by surprise. Throwing up a wooden platter like a shield, he caught the
quivering blade in its bottom, whence he drew it forth with good-humored