about thy neck—a red ring of thy own blood, for to-night thou shalt die.”
Father Meilge began to intercede for Kark, but Olaf interrupted him with emphatic refusal.
“Nay! nay, my father! Thy word in the pulpit, and when thou shrivest me, is my law, but now the king must mete out justice. My kingdom shall not be poisoned by such treachery as this. Away with him!” He called to the attendants. “Bid the headsman despatch him at sunset.”
Olaf turned to Thore, who was standing in bewilderment at this new turn to his fortune. The steward’s dream of a peaceful, easy life with Earl Haakon at Hlade had been quickly dispelled. Again the unreasoning hate of Father Meilge came over him. How else could come so great a misfortune as the death of the earl, save from the anger of the gods at the presence and power of the Christian priests? Upon Thore’s moody reflections fell Olaf’s words: “Thou wilt stay with me in my household, Thore, and be one of my stewards, for I forget not thy wisdom in bringing me to my own kingdom.”
Father Meilge looked steadily at Thore, who glanced up uneasily.
“Come now, Thore,” added Olaf, kindly, “let us over our ale further speak of thy duties. Thou shalt drink from my own horn that I may swear upon thy fealty as upon thy wisdom.” Then they passed out of the dining-hall.
