Her pulses began to pound in a furious dance as the same flash of intuition
showed her the rock upon which the Gainer's audacious steering was going to
wreck him.
For no skulking guilt was in the face of the new King of England as he met the
startled glances, but instead a kind of savage joy that widened his nostrils
and drew his lips away from his teeth in a terrible smile.
"Now much do I thank whatever god has moved you to open speech," he said, "for
with every fibre of my body have I long wanted to requite you for that
faithfulness. Knowing that you were coming to-night to ask it, I have the
reward ready. Never was recompense given with a better will." Leaping to his
feet, he hurled the goblet in his hand against the opposite wall so that it
was shattered on the stone behind the embroidered hangings. At the signal the
tapestry was lifted, and in the light stood Eric of Norway, leaning on a
mighty battle-axe. To him the King cried in a loud voice, all the irony gone
from it, leaving it awful as the voice of Thor at Ragnarok. "Do your work
where all can see you, Eric Jarl, that no man shall accuse me of being afraid
to bear my deeds. And let Norman Leofwinesson die with his lord for the
slaying of Frode of Avalcomb."
A roar of hideous sound--a confusion of overturned lights, of screeching
servants, of writhing struggling bodies--above it all, the vision of that
glittering axe poised in the air--then flashing downward,--Randalin's
recollections blurred, ran together, and faded out in broken snatches.
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