The Dane saluted him with a surly nod, and he answered with such smooth
words as the thrifty old Norse proverbs advise every man to practise.

"Greeting, Gorm Arnorsson! Here is great industry, if already this
Spring you have gone on a Viking voyage and gotten yourself so good a
piece of property! How came you by him?"

Gorm gave his "property" a rough push forward, and his harsh voice came
out of his bull-thick neck like a bellow. "I got him in England last
Summer. We ravaged his lather's castle, I and twenty ship-mates, and
slew all his kinsmen. He comes of good blood; I am told for certain that
he is a jarl's son. And I swear he is sound in wind and limb. How much
will you pay me for him, Karl Grimsson?"

The owner of the booth stroked his long white beard and eyed the captive
critically. It seemed to him that he had never seen a king's son with a
haughtier air. The boy wore his letters as though they had been
bracelets from the hands of Ethelred.

"Is it because you value him so highly that you keep him in chains?" he
asked.

"In that I will not deceive you," said the Dane, after a moment's
hesitation. "Though he is sound in wind and limb, he is not sound in
temper. Shortly after I got him, I sold him to Gilli the Wealthy for a
herd-boy; but because it was not to his mind on the dairy-farm, he lost
half his herd and let wolves prey on the rest, and when the headman
would have flogged him for it, he slew him. He has the temper of a black
elf."