over the fire, staring absently into the embers; the heat toasting her
delicate face rose-red, the light touching her hair into a wonderful
golden web. She looked up at Sigurd with a faint frown; then dropped her
chin back into her hands and forgot him.

Alwin came and placed himself before the chief's seat, where the young
Viking had stood. He was not so picturesque a figure, with his shorn
head and his white slaves'-dress; but he stood straight and supple in
his young strength, his head haughtily erect, his eyes bright and
fearless as a young falcon's.

Leif put his questions. "What are you called?"

"I am called Alwin, Edmund Jarl's son."

"Jarl-born? Then it is likely that you can handle a sword?"

"Not a few of your own men can bear witness to that."

Rolf spoke up with his quiet smile. "The boy speaks the truth. One would
think that he had drunk nothing but dragon's blood since his birth."

"So?" said Leif dryly. "It may be that I should be thankful my men are
not torn to pieces. But these accomplishments count for naught; none
here but have them. You must accomplish something that I think of more
importance, or I shall sell you and buy a man-thrall who has been
trained to work. It seems that you can read runes: can you also write
them?"

In a flash of memory, Alwin saw again Brother Ambrose's cell, and his