Now, Thorold was the son of Thorolf, and this was more than he could
stand. He sprang at Ulf without another word. But that son of the
Forest had not been called a wildcat by Sigurd without reason, and
when they came to the ground together it was he who was on top, and he
stayed there, too, till some men came along and picked him off. Things
looked black for Ulf just then.

However, it might have been worse. Thorold was not much hurt, except
in his pride, and Edith Fairhair insisted that before Ulf was flogged
the matter should be judged by the Jarl himself, which was perfectly
proper, since Ulf belonged to his household. Thus Ulf found himself
brought into the hall, the steps echoing among the rafters overhead,
and along past rows of shields and spears that hung upon the wall, to
where the Jarl sat at the further end, on the "high seat" as it was
called. The saga-singer sat there on the low platform, and on the
high-seat itself also rested the Jarl's other visitor, and through the
window the rays of the setting sun glinted like flame on the helmets
which each chief wore, and on the golden bosses and buckles of their
armour.

Jarl Sigurd was not particularly surprised at a claim for justice, but
he was surprised to see among the witnesses his own daughter, standing
modestly apart lest the stranger should think ill of her, yet with her
father's own calm, proud look in her eye. Then he saw Ulf, and began
to understand.

The trial was brief enough, for every one told the truth, even
Thorold. The Jarl heard them patiently, to the last one, then politely
asked the opinion of the other chief. Now the guest, Jarl Swend, knew