There, a dozen yards to the left, the meal was nearly over; between
the gnarled trunks the fire shone like a red eye; and bursts of merriment and
snatches of boisterous song marked the beginning of the drinking.
Sometimes a woman's lighter laughter would mingle with the peal. Sometimes,
through the sway-ing branches, Randalin caught sight of the flower-fair face
of an English girl, bending between the shaggy yellow heads of the captors.
Once she came upon a brawny Viking employing his huge fingers to twine a
golden chain around a white throat. The girl's face was dimpling bewitchingly
as she held aside her shining hair. Randalin had an impulse of triumph.
"I wish that Sister Wynfreda could see that, now, since it is her belief that
Danes are always overbearing toward their captives," she told herself. "This
one has no appearance of having felt blows or known hard labor. She could not
have been entertained with greater liberality in her father's house--"
She broke off suddenly, as the words suggested a new train of thought. This
girl must have been driven from her father's house by Danes, even as she
herself had been driven forth by the English. Yet here was she eating with her
foes, taking gold from their hands! Could she have honor who would thus make
friends with the slayers of her kin? Randalin watched her wonderingly until
leaves shut out the picture.
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