encountered a pictured cross. As he handed it back, he turned his eyes
on Alwin, blue and piercing as steel.

"It is likely that you are a high-born captive. That you can read is an
unusual accomplishment. It is not impossible that you might be useful to
me. Who is your master? Is it of any use to try to buy you from him?"

Rolf laughed. "Certainly you are well named 'the Lucky,' since you only
wish for what is already yours. This is the cook-boy whom Tyrker bought
to fill the place of Hord."

"So?" said Leif, in unconscious imitation of his old German
foster-father. He sat staring down thoughtfully at the boy,--until his
attendant took jealous alarm, and put his horse through a manoeuvre to
arouse him.

The guardsman came to himself with a start and a hasty gathering up of
his rein. "That is a good thing. We will speak further of it. Now, Olaf
Trygvasson is awaiting my report. Tell them I will be in camp to-morrow.
If I find drunken heads or dulled weapons--!" He looked his threat.

"I will heed your orders in this as in everything," Rolf answered, in
the courtier-phrase of the day. His chief gave him a short nod, struck
spurs to his horse, and galloped after his comrades.




CHAPTER VIII