Meanwhile the son of Lodbrok strode to and fro, declaiming wrathfully. "There
is not an honest bone in the imp's body," he wound up. "It is certainly my
belief that he was in league with the Englishman; and his freedom was the
reward he got for drawing me off."
"Certainly you are a very shrewd man," Canute murmured. But something in his
voice did not stand firm; his foster-brother darted him a keen glance. His
suspicions were well founded. Canute's face was crimson with suppressed
laughter; he was biting his lips frantically to hold back his mirth. The
temper of the son of Lodbrok left him in one inarticulate snarl. Turning on
his heel, with a whirlwind of flying cloak and a thunder of clashing weapons,
he would have stalked away if the King had not made him the most peremptory of
gestures.
"No, wait! Wait, good brother! I will show you whether I offend you
intentionally or not! It is--it is--the--the jest--" Again he became
unintelligible.
Rothgar stopped, but it was to glower over his folded arms. "Do you think I do
not know as well as you that I behaved like a fool? What I dislike is that you
cannot see as plainly that your ward is a troll. Because his womanish face has
caught your fancy, you will neither blame him yourself nor allow others to
make a fuss--"
"That is where you are wrong," the King interrupted, with as much gravity as
he could command.
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