To
procure himself peace, he was forced to creep back to my feet like a dog that
has been kicked. Was there gold enough in his bribe to regild his fame?"
The gnarled old face of Thorkel the Tall grew livid; growling in his grizzled
beard, his hand moved instinctively toward his sword. But Rothgar caught his
arm with a boisterous laugh.
"Slowly, old wolf!" he admonished. "Never snarl at the snapping of the cub you
have raised."
The King had not moved at the threatening gesture, and he did not move now,
but he echoed the laugh bitterly. "In that, you say more truth than you know,
foster-brother. He is a wolf, and I am a wolf's cub, and you are no better. We
are all a pack of ravening beasts, we Northmen, that have no higher ambition
than to claw and use our teeth. Talk of high-mindedness to such--bah!" He
flung his arms apart in loathing; then, in a motion as boyishly weary as it
was boyishly petulant, crossed them on the table before him and pillowed his
head upon them.
His companions did not seem to be unused to such outbursts. Rothgar appeared
to find it more amusing than anything else, for his mouth expanded slowly in a
grin. A snort of impatience distended the nostrils of Thorkel the Tall. "At
such times as these," he said, "are brought to my mind the words of Ulf Jarl,
that a man does not really stand well upon his legs until he has lived
twenty-five winters.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55