paused a moment, and in the stillness, the hammering throbs of his heart could be heard. Then in a conciliatory tone: “Be faithful to me, Kark. Remember, my thrall, thou art my tooth-gift. We were born in the same night, and our deaths will not be far apart.”
Kark made no answer. The candle burned lower and began to splutter. Kark’s glassy eyes grew heavy with sleep, and for a few moments he slumbered. All was deathly still. The sound of King Olaf’s feasting was hushed. Slumber fell upon the household, upon field and forest, upon hind and thrall, upon every living creature at Rimul, save the beautiful, terrified woman at her bower-window, and the wretched partner of her life, in his dark, foul hiding-place.
Kark’s sleep was a nightmare, and his groans and tossings so frightened Earl Haakon that he waked him. “What awful vision hath visited thy slumber, my thrall?”
Kark replied angrily, impatient of the breaking of his sleep: “My Jarl, I dreamed we were both on board the same ship, and that I stood at the helm.”
Earl Haakon was relieved that the dream was no more unlucky. He answered gently: “That must mean that thou rulest over thine own life as well as over mine. Be thou faithful to me, Kark, as behooves thee, and I will greatly reward thee.”
“So will Olaf Tryggevesson greatly reward the one that finds thee. I need not look, for I have found
