“King’s son or carle’s son,” answered he, “it stirreth the blood.”
She looked up at him, and her face was like red dawn on the high snowfields. “Thou hast outwearied them,” she said. “And yet seem’st thyself scarce breathed.”
“Wearied!” said he: “not a man of ’em. Not even Helgi.” He looked down, met her eyes, and laughed.
When they came to the hall nothing would please the Queen but that Styrbiorn should go with her into her bower, where her tire-women sat at broidering and her nurse with the Queen’s young son in her arms. The nurse brought her the child that opened his arms and laughed, but the Queen bade her keep it and bring ale for Styrbiorn. So that was brought in a horn gold-rimmed, and the Queen made Styrbiorn drink and sit down near her beside the fire. There, he looking much in the fire and she on him, they sat a-talking: the Queen saying most, calling to mind old times, asking him of his doings abroad these two years past, of Garth realm and Biarmaland and Wendland and Jomsburg. To all this Styrbiorn answered with but a short word here and there, for never was he a great talker: laughing at whiles, musing in a quiet content, lulled and caressed with the warm sweet accents of her speech that worked subtly in his blood like the luxurious influence of old wine, deep and calm; repose strangely pleasant after violent things: warmth after wind and snow.
Shorter and shorter grew the speech between them, and the silences longer. After one long silence the Queen, bending down to pick up a brand half-burnt that had tumbled from the fire, said suddenly, “Why art thou come hither again before the time?”
“I could not help it,” answered he.
“Why?” she said.
He frowned, then smiled: “I know not. I could not.”
“But why didst thou come?”
“I have told thee.”
“It was against the King’s command,” said she.
“He hath said naught against it.”
“There was that in Sweden could draw thee—even from Holmgarth?”
He said nothing.
“And yet there be pleasant folk in Holmgarth?”
“Like enough,” said he.
“I have heard tell of them. What drew thee hither, then?”
“I know not. Somewhat. This, that I could not help it. Nigh three years abroad: ’twas enough for the while.”
Albeit the sun was still some hours from his set, a dim light only it was that came from out of doors from the snow-eddying grey air and sky; but the firelight shot up from under. And the firelight gilded with ruddy gold the square proud features of Styrbiorn’s face and brow, the massive arms and throat of him, the great and masterful mouth and jaw, all warm in the firelight’s pulsing radiance and beautiful with splendid youth: the down yet soft on his cheek, and the hair of his head strong-curling, short, thick, and coloured like pale mountain-gold.
The Queen spake: “I have watched thee, kinsman Styrbiorn, at the ball-play. That were sport now, and a thing to pleasure me, if I might look upon thee harnessed and weaponed, as thou art wont to go whenas thou leadest out the war-gathering of the vikings of Jom. Let me see thee so.”
“I have not my weapons here,” said he.
“It is to please my fantasy,” said the Queen.
“It is a folly,” said Styrbiorn.
“Is it then too great a thing for thee to grant me?” she said. Then, her eye lighting on arms that hung on the big-timbered wall before them: “Why, these will serve.”
“What’s this?” said Styrbiorn. “The King’s mine uncle’s?” He stood up from his seat, a little uncertainly, as if this whim of hers carried the jest something beyond the bound of jesting. But she too had risen and would hear no word, crying on her women to lift down the rich-wrought byrny and great eagle-winged helm of Eric the King, and the rimmed shield and the greaves of polished bronze. These last she herself buckled on Styrbiorn’s legs, he laughing the while at the whole matter, somewhat shamefacedly, as at some mad prank scarce fit for him to play with, being no longer in his child’s age. Yet is it to be thought that he felt it was not wholly child’s play: the touch of the Queen’s hands gliding with a swift and caressing motion along the great muscle of his calf, as she made fast the fastenings of the greaves. He stepped back as a man might step who has blundered into another’s chamber. Not to lose countenance with her, he laughed yet the more boisterously, taking the King’s helm that a woman proffered to him and setting it on his head. So that there he stood in the firelight’s splendour, helmed and byrnied and with shield on arm, and girt with the King’s sword silver-studded. Erect and grand, as of an eagle alighting from his skyey eminence, the brown wings spread upward from the helm on either side. With lips parted, the Queen looked. She spake no word.
“The gear fitteth me?” said Styrbiorn.
The Queen met his laughing glance with no answering smile. Only under the silken bosom of her gown her breast lifted suddenly like the sudden filling of a sail at sea, and her dark eyes opened on him very wide and tense. She mastered herself on the instant, and was all cool and easy jollity. But to Styrbiorn, who was not yet so young but he had learned to know well enough by this time of day where the little coney loves to scout, that wide-eyed look spoke a language plump and plain.
“What of my young kinsman?” said he. “Wilt sail with me, lad, when thou’rt of age?” And he took the child from the nurse and held it high over his head, dancing it in
