Sir Otto kept his eyes for a long time fixed on the ground, for he was lost in deep thought. The song which Astrid and Hugur had sung at her death (for this too the armourer had repeated) had agitated his inmost heart. As he began to raise himself from this melancholy trance, and was about to ask how Sir Arinbiorn came to be related to the mysterious knight with the vulture’s wings, he heard in the castle-court the stamping of many horses, and his own name called out loudly and impatiently. “They have not found you in your own chamber,” said the armourer; “and know not whither you have gone. There, take your sword, and let us go forth.” The weapon shone bright and spotless in the hands of Sir Otto; and his own eyes too gleamed with joy as he came forth with the black-visaged armourer into the court, which was already bright with the ruddy gleams of the morning. The sea-monarch came cheerfully to meet him, and wished him joy, that he had now a weapon from the hand of the skilful and far-famed Asmandur. Otto thankfully gave him back his battle-axe; whereupon Sir Arinbiorn commanded the black and silver mail to be brought, and busied himself in buckling on his young friend’s armour. “Mark you that troop of horsemen?” said he, pointing to the opposite side of the court, where a band of Norman soldiers were mounted on light-brown chargers, which stamped and foamed with impatience to go forth. “If my will is here to be followed, you shall lead these men into Sweden, to make war against the Pagans in Finland, while I shall again betake myself with my ships to the sea, and keep watch on our enemies’ coast, till I have found means of landing advantageously, and attacking them by surprise. Are you content with this proposal?” “Wherefore should I not be so?” answered Sir Otto; “Shall we not set out this very morning?” “Immediately,” answered the sea-monarch; “but there is yet one question to be answered. The soldiers whom you are to command would willingly see one proof more of that valour and activity for which you are so esteemed; for, to say the truth, they have doubts whether your war-steed may be worthy of his master. Therefore may it please you to try a race with that soldier there, whose light-brown horse seems to be about a match for yours in height, colour, and symmetry.” “Most willingly,” replied Sir Otto; “I could not wish for any better amusement!” So being now fully armed, he started away to the neighbouring stables, saddled and bridled his own favourite steed, who was now quite recovered from the effects of the sea-voyage, and made his appearance at the lofty portal leading into the court. The light-brown neighed and snorted, as if in joyful salutation of his friends and brethren, who were thus drawn up in battle-array; while at this approach of their leader all the band of horsemen joined in a loud cry of exultation. With a lowly and courteous bow, one of them came forward, and begged to know whether it was the