"
He had no more than thought it, when the sound reached him of a door closing
somewhere along the next side of the square, followed by the clank of spurred
feet coming heavily toward him. As they drew nearer, the rattle of a sword
also became audible. Lifting his eyebrows dubiously, the Etheling grasped his
own weapon beneath his cloak.
When the feet had brought their owner around the corner into sight, he did not
feel that his motion had been a mistaken one, for the man who was advancing
was Rothgar Lodbroksson. It flashed through Sebert's mind that the old cniht's
forebodings had not been without cause, and that Ivarsdale was in danger of
changing masters by a process much quicker than a month's siege. He stared in
amazement when the Dane, instead of flashing out his blade, stopped short with
a burst of jeering laughter.
"Here is the Englishman arrived, and he looks small enough now!" he cried in
his thunderous voice. "Has it happened that I am to be the bower-thane who is
to fetch you in!"
Sebert's grasp tightened around his hilt. Apparently the son of Lodbrok was
expecting him! Yet even on a forlorn hope, he deemed it wise not to commit
himself. He said with what haughtiness he could muster, "What should a plain
traveller want with a bower-thane, Danishman? I stand in more need of the
cellarer who is to provide me with a meal.
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