the gods curse us. Thou art a race of dogs, thou and thy hound of a Christian king. When my knife shall reach Olaf’s accursed throat—” but Ironbeard never finished that sentence, for at the first word of the threat Thorgills’ knife was plunged into his heart, and death struck the black earl with the blow.
“Our chieftain is dead! Our leader is slain!” cried the terrified peasants, and retreated in disorder.
With a wild shriek, Ingrid flung herself before Olaf. “Thou accursed king! Ten thousand curses light upon thee! Thy Christian hounds have slain my lord!”
“Is Jarl Ironbeard dead?” asked Olaf in amazement, not having seen the death of the Black Earl.
“Aye! truly, he is dead,” cried the excited witch, flinging up her hands. “Ten thousand curses light upon thee for his death, for thy vassals have slain him. I have neither son nor brother to avenge me! I have only the maiden Gudrun, and thou hast made her fatherless!”
“Art thou the mother of the maid Gudrun?”
“Aye, King Olaf, I am, and ten thousand curses light on thee!”
“Hush, woman!” commanded the king. “I did not slay thy husband, and if my vassals slew him, I will give thee and the maid full gold.” Olaf handed Ingrid his purse, but she dashed it to the ground.
“I want not thy gold, King Olaf. If thou dost
