He was not tall, but very square of shoulder and deep of chest, with mighty arms that were bare, save for their heavy gold bracelets, below the sleeves of his ring mail, and his hair and beard were golden red and very long. He wore a silvered helm, whereon was inlaid a golden cross above a narrow gold circlet that was round its rim, and his hand rested on the hilt of such a priceless sword as is told of in the old tales of the heroes. But I forgot all these things as I looked into his pleasant weatherbeaten face, and saw the kindly look in the gray eyes that I knew would flash most terribly in fight. He was twenty-five years old, as I thought; but therein I was wrong, for he was just my own age, though looking so much older. "I am Olaf Haraldsson--Olaf Digri, the Thick, as men call me," he said. "Some call me king, though I rule but over a few ships, as a sea king. Which of you thanes is Eadmund the Atheling?" Then Eadmund rose up from his place, and went towards the king. His seat had been in shadow, else there had been no need to ask which was he. "I have heard of you, King Olaf," he said, "for your deeds are sung in our land already. And you are most welcome. Have you news from England?" So those two grasped each other's hands, and I think there were no two other such men living at that time. It was good to see them together. "Aye," said the king, "I have been in England, and therefore I have come to find you. Swein is dead, and your chance has come. Let me help you to win your land again." That was plain speaking, and for the moment Eadmund held his breath, and could not speak for sheer surprise and gladness. But I could not forbear leaping up and shouting, tossing my helm in the air as I did so, so wondrous was all this to me, and so full of hope. At that Olaf laughed, and leaving Eadmund to his thoughts, turned to me. "Which of the athelings are you?" he asked. "I have heard of Eadmund's brothers," and he held out his strong hand to take mine. "I am but the atheling's comrade--his servant, rather," I said, growing red as I did so, for I had surely forgotten myself in my gladness. "Redwald is no servant, King Olaf," said Eadmund quickly. "He is my closest comrade here, and has fought well at my side. Thane of Bures in East Anglia he is--but now the Danes hold his place." "Why then," said Olaf, "Thoralf's grandson surely?" "Aye, king," I answered, wondering; "my grandfather was named Thoralf. He was one of Olaf Tryggvesson's chiefs." "Then have I found a cousin," laughed the king. "Give me your hand, kinsman," and he looked me over from head to foot, but very kindly. I took the king's hand gladly, but somewhat dazed in my mind at being thus owned. And Olaf saw that I was so, and told me more.