“It were better,” said Feargus, “that we three should fly together, to my own Alban, and come forth again with an army and slay this serpent who bendeth the old man to his will.” “Nay,” said Torfrida, “greater need hath he than ever of his daughter to comfort and his son to deliver him.” So they bade Edwy farewell, and departed. And the spy, though he had seen all, had no power to understand their words, for they spoke in the Gaelic tongue. CHAPTER XV OF THE VILLAINY OF OSBERT So the spy returned to his master, and Osbert was mortally angered and perplexed at the news he brought him. Anon he went to the king, and said he: “Lo, king Sigmund, thy daughter hath taken up with a mad beggarman.” “What may thy meaning be, friend Osbert? ’Tis a strange way to speak of my daughter, for like to her there is not another in all the land.” “Neither more nor less than I have said is the truth, king. The same beggarman that hath been so long about thy court to-day rode with her into the forest, and when they were out of sight and hearing they held sweet converse together, and the man cast his arm about her and kissed her and she him. So they rode until they met a second man in the wood, and they three talked together in the Pictish tongue and then parted, and the two entered thy hall not an hour since. And now the mad Pict or devil, or whatever he be, lieth outside her door and is like to kill any person that enters.” Then king Sigmund was an angry man and swore a great oath. “Had any other but thee told me this thing,” said he, “I should have said he lied. Now will I summon Torfrida, and her mad squire shall die.” So the king’s messenger sought Torfrida; lightly she stepped out and followed him. Feargus started also to his feet with his bow in his hand, and when they reached the gate of the king’s chamber the warriors forbade him to enter, for Sigmund had asked for Torfrida alone. Without word spoken, Feargus drew forth his sword, and they deemed him still a madman and feared his wrath, so let him enter. When king Sigmund looked up he beheld his daughter, but beside her stood a stranger whom he knew not, great of stature and mighty of limb and exceeding mild, but withal fearless of countenance; and his cheeks were like red apples and as smooth from good health and sober living—unlike the puffed and bloated thanes of Sigmund’s court, and his pale blue eyes glittered and shone as clear as precious stones. On his breast was the byrny of a king worked with the rich ornaments and bright colours of the Picts, and a king’s helm sat on his brow, while at his back hung a sword of giant length. And so noble and comely he looked withal that the king stared upon him, until recalled by the impatient Osbert. “And who art thou, sir warrior, king or king’s son, or whatsoever thou be?”