“Where is the King?” he demanded, as soon as he had reached the ring of nobles sipping mead around the royal fire. Between swallows, they were carrying on a heated discussion of the day’s events; but Eric of Norway stopped long enough to nod toward the wattled hut beneath the silken banner.
“In there; and I will give you this chain off my neck if you can guess what he is doing.”
“It is likely that he is busy with messengers,” Rothgar said with an accent of vexation. “I had hoped to reach him before he finished drinking, but there was a brawl among my men which—”
The Norwegian nodded as he swallowed. “Heard you ever anything to equal that? He has the appearance of a boy who has been released from a lesson. I wish that you had been here to see him at meal-time. So full of jests and banter was he that I could scarcely eat for laughing. Yet when I took courage from his good-nature to ask him concerning his plans for the future, he pretended that he did not hear me, and put an end to questioning by bidding Ulf come and play chess with him in the hut. Whether he is mad, or bewitched, or feigning like Amleth, it is not easy to tell.”
“I do not think it is any of these,” Rothgar said slowly. “I think it is because he likes it so well that he has got peace in which to amuse himself. Sooner would he hunt than fight, any day; and I have often seen him express pleasure in this manner. I remember how his wife Elfgiva once said of him that it was well his crown was no more than a ring of gold, for then, when his mood changed, he could use it for such a gold hoop as kings’ children are wont to play with.”
“Said Elfgiva of Northampton that?” Eric asked in surprise. “Never would I have believed her so wise in words. That she is the most beautiful of women, all the world knows; but I have always supposed that her wit stopped with her temper, which is suspected to be shorter than her hair.”
Rothgar grunted scornfully. “It is easy for a fool to speak some wisdom if she keeps her tongue moving all the time.”
Laughing, the Norwegian plunged again into the general discussion; and the son of Lodbrok stood listening discontentedly, while he kept a sharp watch of the low-browed entrance.
Presently his patience was rewarded. Within the hut there arose all at once a duet of voices, half angrily accusing, half laughingly protesting. Then the chess-board came flying through the doorway, followed by a handful of chessmen and the person of the big good-natured Jarl, still uttering his laughing protests. And finally Canute himself stood under the lintel, storming through his laughter.