The old warrior was silent, and, in spite of his stoicism, Anlaf thought a tear stood in his eye.

“So don’t tell me I could not give up an only son,” added Sidroc.

Anlaf made no reply, but only sighed—­a sign of weakness he strove to repress the moment he betrayed it.

They walked back together to the camp, and there they parted.  Anlaf repaired at once to his tent, and found Alfgar seated therein.

“The king wishes to know when you will be enrolled amongst his followers.”

The lad looked up sadly, yet firmly; the expression of his face, whereon filial awe contended with yet higher feelings of duty, was very touching.  Anlaf felt it, and in his heart respected his son, while sometimes he felt furious at his disobedience.

“Father, it is useless, you should not have brought me here, I shall live and die a Christian.”

“At all events, Alfgar, you should give more attention to all we have said to you, and more respect to the defenders of the old belief in which your ancestors were all content to die.  What do you suppose has become of them?”

If Alfgar had been a modern Christian, he might have said, conscientiously enough, that he believed they would be judged by their light, but no such compromise in belief was possible then.

“There is no salvation save in the Church,” he said, sorrowfully enough.

“Then where are they—­in hell?”

Alfgar was silent.

“What was good enough for them is good enough for me, and for that matter for you, too.  I should be more comfortable there with them than with your saints and monks; at all events, I will take my chance with my forefathers, cannot you do the same?”

“They did not know all I do.”

“All fudge and priestly pratings, begotten of idleness and dreams.  Valhalla and Niffelheim are much more reasonable; at all events they are parts of a creed which has made its followers the masters of the world.”

“This world.”

“The next may take its chance, if there is one, of which I by no means feel sure.  You are throwing away the certainty of pleasure and glory here for an utter uncertainty; those rewards you will gain by submission are at your feet to take up; those you will gain by a bloody death only exist in the imaginations of priests.”

“’Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, but He hath revealed them to us by His Spirit,’” said Alfgar in a low voice.

His father was silent; the words struck him like a strain of weird music; but he did not yield the point, save for the time, and after a pause changed the subject.

“You have other motives than heavenly ones.  You love a Christian maiden.”

“How do you know that?” said Alfgar, blushing to the temples.

“I have lain near you at night, and you talk in your dreams.  Now, I have yet another motive to put before you.  You think you have cause to love the Aescendune people, because they saved your life.  I think I have cause to hate them, because they made you a Christian.  Now, if you die in your superstition, when we invade Mercia they shall suffer for it.”