While she was trying to unravel it all, one pair of the hurrying feet halted
before the entrance. After a muttered word with the sentinel, they came on and
brought the son of Lodbrok into view. The girl started up with a gasp of
alarm, then made the strange discovery that she was no longer afraid of him.
Though he showed against the linen wall as brawny and big of jowl as he had
loomed up the night before, she found herself moved only to dislike. What had
been the matter last night? Understanding nothing of the clairvoyant power of
sharpened nerves, she set it down tn cowardice, and put on an extra swagger
now as her eyes met his.

Rothgar surveyed the sprig of defiance with no more than a perfunctory
interest. "It seems that you are the son of Frode the Dane," he said in his
heavy voice. "Frode was a mighty raven-feeder; for his sake I am going to
support you until you can go well on your legs. Have you had anything to eat?"

As she shook her head, Randalin's heart rather softened toward him. But it
hardened again when the thralls had brought the food, and he had sat down and
begun to share it. Seen in a strong light, his rich tunic proved to be foul
with beer stains, while his great hands reeked with grease. His thick lips,
his heavy breathing--bah, he was revolting! Before she had finished the meal,
she had come to the conclusion that she hated him.

Perhaps it was as well that there was something to add firmness to her
bearing. As he swallowed his last mouthful of food, Rothgar said abruptly,
"Canute has put your training into my hands. It is his will that I find out
how much skill you have with weapons."

It was nothing more than she should have expected, yet it came upon her with
the suddenness of a blow. She could only stammer, "Weapons?"