Part 12 (1/2)
”Helgi, he had hardly begun ere I knew the end, and could name my warning voice. The tale was the burning of Laxafiord, and the voice was my brother Olaf's.”
”And the hermit?”
”Is Thord the Tall, the last of the burners.”
”Is! Then you slew him not?”
”My dagger was drawn, I was bending towards him, when I heard without the steps of Osla. I fled--ask me not what I thought or what I did. Thord the Tall and I both live, and I would know whether the G.o.ds would have it so. Wherefore I meet Liot this morning.”
”Then you have spared Olaf's burner for the sake of the burner's daughter?”
”I had eaten his bread and shared his dwelling for six weeks, and but for that daughter I had never lived to meet him.”
”He slew your brother, Estein.”
”There is no need to remind me of that.”
”Methinks there is; he still lives.”
”And I still love his daughter.”
Estein turned away as he spoke, and gazed with folded arms over the grey waters.
Helgi looked at him in silence; then he went up to his side.
”Forgive me, Estein,” he said, ”and let Odin judge you. I love you too well to be aught but a friend whatever you may do.”
”Helgi! but for you I think I should fall upon my sword.”
His friend tried to force a laugh, but it came hard.
”Nay, rather seek a sword for Liot Skulison, for I see we are nearing the holm.”
”I had forgotten Liot,” said Estein. ”We will loose his bonds, and let him choose his weapons.”
He found Liot sitting in the waist bound hand and foot. His eye was as firm as if he had been in his own hall, and he looked up indifferently as Estein approached.
”Do you remember me, Liot?” asked his captor.
”Ay, Estein. You, methinks, are one of the bairns I thought I had slain. Well was it for you that the Orkney tides run strong. But the luck has changed, I see; and you were a bold man, Estein Hakonson, to change it as you did. Why did you not burn us out?”
”Because I wanted you alone.”
”Ay, torture is a pleasant game for the torturers. How do you intend that I shall die?”
”By my sword, if the G.o.ds will it. In an hour, Liot, we fight to the death. Our battle-ground is yonder holm, the weapons you may choose yourself; and meanwhile I shall loose your bonds, and if you wish to eat or drink you may.”
A look of blank astonishment came over the Viking captain's face.
”This is a merry jest, Estein,” he said.