For now it was plain that Canute’s attention was given neither to the nobles nor to the fluttering women. He was bending toward the messenger, holding him with his glance. “Tell more news, messenger,” he was saying sternly. “Tell about the cause of my royal brother’s death.” The messenger seemed to lose what little breath his ride on the shoulders of the crowd had left him. “My errand extends no further,” he panted. “It is likely that the Earl will send you more news—I am but the first—” His breath gave out in an inarticulate gasp, and he began to back away. But the King moved after him. “Stop—” he commanded,—“or it may be that I will cause you to remain quiet for the rest of time. You must know what separated his life from his body. Tell it.” Stammering with terror, the man fell upon his knees. “Dispenser of treasures, how should I know? The babblings of the ignorant durst not be repeated. Many say that the Ironside was worn sick with fighting.” “You lie!” Canute roared down upon him. “You know they say that Edric murdered him.” At that, the poor fool seemed to cast to the winds his last shred of sense. “They do say that the Earl poisoned him,” he blubbered. “But none say that you bade him to do it. No one dares to say that.” “How could they say that?” Randalin cried in amazement, while the King drew back as though the grovelling figure at his feet were a dog that had bitten him. “I bid him do it?” he repeated. All at once his face was so terrible that the man began to crawl backward, screaming, even before Canute’s hand had reached his hilt. Before the blade could be drawn, Rothgar had stepped in front of his royal foster-brother with a savage sweep of his handless arm. “Do not waste your point on the churl, King,” he said in his bull’s voice. “If you want to play this game further, deal with me, for I also believe that you bade the Gainer murder Edmund.” As though paralyzed by his amazement, Canute’s arm dropped by his side. “You also believe it?” Little Dearwyn hid her face on the Danish girl’s breast. “Oh, Randalin, would he do such a deed?” she gasped. “The while that he seemed so kind and gentle with us! Would he do such horrid wickedness?” “No!” Randalin cried passionately. “No!” But even as she cried it, Thorkel the Tall dared to lean forward and give the royal shoulder a rallying slap. “Amleth himself never played a game better,” he said; “but is it worth while to continue at it when no Englishmen are watching?” And his words seemed to open a door against which the others were crowding. “King Canute, I willingly admit myself the block-head you called me.” Ulf Jarl hastened to declare in his good-natured roar. “When I saw you take your point away from Edmund’s breast, that day, my heart got afraid that you were obliged to do it to save yourself. Even after I heard how you had made a bargain to inherit after each other, I never suspected what kind of a plan was in your mind.”