As Egil advanced with a jeering laugh, Helga caught his sleeve; and Rolf
laid an iron hand upon his shoulder.

"Think what you do!" the Wrestler admonished. "This will make the third
of Leif's thralls that you have slain; and you have no blood-money to
pay him."

"Shame on you, Egil Olafsson!" cried Helga. "Would you stain your
honorable sword with a thing so foul as thrall-blood?"

Rolf's grip brought Egil to a standstill. The contempt in Helga's words
was reflected in his face. He sheathed his sword with a scornful
gesture.

"You speak truth. I do not know how it was that I thought to do a thing
so unworthy of me. I will leave Valbrand to draw the fellow's blood with
a stirrup leather."

He turned away, and the others followed. Those of the crew who had
raised their muddled heads to see what the trouble was, laid them down
again with grunts of disappointment. Alwin was left alone, untouched.

Yet truly his anguish would not have been greater had they cut him in
pieces. Without knowing what he did, he sprang after them, crying
hoarsely: "Cowards! Churls! What know you of my blood? Give me a weapon
and prove me. Or cast yours aside,--man to man." His voice broke with
his passion and the violence of his heart-beats.

But the mocking laughter that burst out died in a sudden hush. A moment