Shouting their welcome, some
hurried to heap fresh fuel on the fire, and some ran after more ale-skins;
while others rushed forward to meet the messenger and run beside his horse,
riddling him with questions.
Folding his arms, the chief awaited him in grim silence. If glances could have
burned, he would have writhed under the look that a pair of iris-blue eyes was
dealing him over a bread crust. But it may be that his skin was particularly
thick, for he betrayed no uneasiness whatever.
When the man finally stood before him, Rothgar said sternly, "It is time you
were here! Ten days have gone over your head since I sent you out. You must do
one of two things,--either tell great tidings or submit to sharp words."
The Brass One laughed as he saluted. "I should have been liable to sharp steel
had I come sooner, chief. Would you have taken it well if I had left without
knowing how it went with the battle?"
"Battle!" three-score mouths cried as with one voice. "Who were victorious?"
The man laughed again. "Should I come to you with a noisy voice and my chin
held high, if other than one thing had happened? Honor to the Thunderer, the
Raven possessed the field!"
Such a clamor arose as though the wolf-pack had tasted blood. Three times,
through the trumpet of his hands, Rothgar bawled a command for silence. "One
horn you may have, then all this must be told before you eat," he gave orders.
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