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8 “Silence!” shouted the earl. The many potations of ale, mead, and the spicy Welsh bragget were setting his blood aflame. “Live not Jarl Haakon and I three years longer in Norway! Here by the Beard of Brage, I swear that if I die for it, Jarl Haakon shall fly from these shores. I drink the pledge to Brage!” He drained the deep horn to the last drop. Then he cried out even louder, “I swear it again, by the Spear of Odin and the Hammer of Thor, Jarl Haakon goes!” He stood still and waited. Then a hundred blond giants rose and swore after him, by the Beard of Brage, the Spear of Odin, and the Hammer of Thor, that Jarl Haakon should go.

A tall, straight figure rose before the earl.

“What is it, Vagn? Speak! Thy sword is ever first in combat and thy voice should be first in council.”

The gigantic follower of Sigvalde lifted his bronze drinking-horn to his lips. “When the day of com-bat comes, my Jarl, and our Jomsvikings turn out the tide of Jarl Haakon’s power, there is one for my sword to meet. By the Beard of Brage, I swear for the life of Thorkell Leira, my truest enemy.”

Hundreds of drinking-horns were raised. “A wassail to our brave Vagn; and speed the head of Thorkell Leira to his ax.”

Jarl Sigvalde rose again. “And who shall be overlord of Norway?”

A deep silence met the question. The Jarl filled