When the crowd had gone from the courtyard Allogia returned to the
hall in which the steward and Olaf had been kept under the protection
of the guards. Dismissing the men, she turned to Sigurd Erikson.

"You have asked me to save the boy's life, hersir," said she, "but,
alas! I cannot do it. All that the king will do is to give a few
hours' respite. At sunrise the law is to take its course, and much
do I fear that its course will be death."

Olaf heard her words, but did not show any fear of the expected
punishment. It seemed, indeed, that he had become suddenly hard
of heart and dauntless, as though he thought that the killing of
a man was a matter to be proud of. Certainly, in his own mind, he
did not look upon the taking of Klerkon's life as an act of guilt
deserving punishment. He recalled what he had seen on the viking
ship years before. The old man Thoralf had fallen to Klerkon's share
in the dividing of booty. Thoralf had held little Olaf by the hand
as they stood apart on the ship's deck, and Klerkon had come up
to them and roughly separated them, flinging Olaf across to where
young Thorgils stood. Then, tearing off Thoralf's cloak, the viking
had said: "Little use is there in an old toothless hound, but his
flesh may serve as food for the fishes;" and, drawing his sword,
he had given the aged man his death blow and tilted him over into
the sea. So Olaf and Thorgils had sworn to take vengeance upon this
viking, and Olaf had now fulfilled his vow.

The queen came nearer to Olaf, and looked at him tenderly. "It is
a great pity," said she, "that one so fair should be doomed to die
before he has grown to manhood. It might be that with good training
he would become a very famous warrior, and I would gladly see him