As the Greek left the room, Olaf turned to Sigvalde. “I own, my Thane, I am sorely troubled over this question. I am a true Norseman, and only a sea-king after all. I know but the way of my sword to carry my will.”
“Then why vex thy soul with the heathen,” argued Sigvalde, in a soothing tone. “Leave them to Sergius and the other Greek priests, and do thou, my Olaf, spread the wings of the ‘Alruna’ out on the high tides and let us go down and plague our cousins, the Angles, for a space.”
Thorgills drew nearer to Olaf. “Nay, my King, leave not thy poor heathen people to the Greeks. The Greeks have ever been too cunning for the blunt purpose of the Norsemen. I like not yon priest of Constantinople. Thou and he are not matched in council. Strong as thou art, his keen mind can pierce all the clear depths of thine; and he can change the current of thy designs to suit himself, and his Byzantine master. Thou dost remember, my King, I have told thee the Greek priests and patriarchs have not held faith with Bruno. For two hundred years the Byzantines have considered only their independence from Rome, and they have not hesitated to send one message to the Western Church, and at the same time to contradict it to the Eastern Church. I have seen too much of the manner of these Greeks, my King, not to beware of them, and now that they are counselling thee to harshly bring the heathen to
