A hum of voices arose around the room.  Men called out soothing words to the Red One and expostulations to Leif.  Others felt furtively for their weapons.  Some of the women turned pale and clung to each other.  Helga arose, her beautiful face shining like a star, and left their ranks and came over and seated herself on Leif’s foot-stool, though the voice of Thorhild rose high and shrill in scolding.  Leif’s men straightened themselves alertly, and fixed upon their master the eyes of expectant dogs.  Thorwald hurried to his brother, and laid hands on his shoulders, and endeavored to argue with him.

Leif put him aside, as he arose and faced his father.  Through the tumult his voice sounded quiet and strong, the quiet of perfect self-command, the strength of a fearless heart and an iron will.

“It is a great grief to me that you dislike what I have done; yet now I think it best to tell you the whole truth, that you cannot feel that I have acted underhanded in anything.”

Eric gave vent to a sound between a growl and a snarl, and flounced in his chair.  Thorhild made her son a gesture of entreaty.  But Lei/, looking back into the frowning faces, calmly continued: 

“Olaf Trygvasson converted me to Christianity two winters ago, and I tell you truly that I was never so well helped as I have been since then.  And not only am I a Christian, but every man who calls himself mine is also one, and will let blood-eagles be cut in his back rather than change his faith.”

No sound came from Eric; but his mouth was half open, as though his rage were choking him, and his face was purple and twitched with passion.  He had picked up the ugly little bronze battle-axe that leaned against his chair, and was hefting it and fingering it and shifting it from hand to hand.  Gradually the eyes of all the company centred upon the gleaming wedge, following it up and down and back and forth, expecting, dreading.

“If he does not wish to go so far as to slay his own son, he has yet an easy mark in me,” Alwin murmured, his eyes following the motions like snake-charmed birds.  “If he raises it again like that, I think I shall dodge.”  Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see many movements of uneasiness among Leif’s men.

Only Leif went on quietly:  “You have always known that your gods must die, so it should not surprise you to be told now that they are dead; and it should gladden your hearts to know that One has been found who is both ever-living and willing to help.  Therefore King Olaf has sent me to lay before you, that if you will accept this faith as the men of Trondhjem have done—­”

Helga sprang aside with a shriek of warning.  Eric’s arm had shot up and back.  With a bellow of rage, he leaped to his feet and hurled the axe at his son’s head.  Simultaneously came an oath from Valbrand and a roar from the crew; then a thundering blow, as the axe, missing the Lucky One by ever so small a space, buried itself deep in the wall behind him.