as a pause while they digested the truth of this; until Rolf
relieved the tension by saying quietly: "Speak for yourself, companion.
My kinsman is no such fool. He has been on too many trading voyages
among the Christians. Already he is baptized in both faiths; so that
when Thor does not help him, he is wont to pray to the god of the
Christians. Thus is he safe either way; and not a few Greenland chiefs
are of his opinion."

Sigurd's merry laugh rang out. "Now that is having a cloak to wear on
both sides, according to the weather! If only Eric were so minded--"

"Is Eric the ruler in Greenland?" Alwin interrupted. All this while he
had been looking from one to the other, listening attentively.

The two sons of Greenland chiefs answered "No!" in one breath. Sigurd
raised quizzical eyebrows.

"I admit that he is not the ruler in name, Greenland being a republic,
but in fact--?"

They let him go on without contradiction.

"Thus it stands, Alwin. Eric the Red was the first to settle in
Greenland, therefore he owns the most land. Besides Brattahlid, he owns
many fishing stations; and he also has stations on several islands where
men gather eggs for him and get what drift-wood there is. And not only
is he the richest man, but he is also the highest-born, for his father's
father was a jarl of Jaederan; and so--"

It is to be feared that Alwin lost some of this. He broke in suddenly:
"Now I know where it is that I have heard the name of Eric the Red! It
has haunted me for days. In the trader's booth in Norway a minstrel sang
a ballad of 'Eric the Red and his Dwarf-Cursed Sword.' Know you of it?"

He was answered by the involuntary glances that the others cast toward
the chief.

Rolf said with a shrug: "It is bondmaids' gabble. There is little need
to say that a dwarf cursed Eric's sword, to explain how it comes that he
has been three times exiled for manslaughter, and driven from Norway to
Iceland and from Iceland to Greenland. He quarrelled and slew wherever
he settled, because he has a temper like that of the dragon Fafnir."

A faint red tinged Egil's dark cheeks. "Nevertheless, Skroppa's prophecy
has come true," he muttered, "that after the blade was once sheathed in
the new soil of Greenland, it would bring no more ill-luck."

"Skroppa!" cried Alwin. But he got no further, for Sigurd's hand was
clapped over his mouth.

"Lower your voice when you speak that name, comrade," the Silver-Tongued
warned him.

"Do