Again an approving murmur rose from Danish throats; and Rothgar was opening his lips to voice a grateful answer, when a gesture of the royal hand checked him. “Recollect, however, that just now I am not only a war-chief, but also a law-man. I think it right, therefore, to hear what the Englishman has to say for his side. Sebert Oswaldsson, speak in your defence.” Not even a draft appeared to stir the human tapestry about them. Sebert started like a man awakened from sleep, when he realized that every eye was hanging upon him. Swiftly, his glance passed around the circle, from the averted faces of his countrymen to the foreign master on the throne, then bitterly he bent his head to his fate. “I have nothing to say. Your justice may most rightly be meted out.” “Nothing to say?” The King’s measured voice sounded sharply through the hush. For the first time, he lowered his hand and bent forward where the fire-glow could touch him. As she caught sight of his face Elfgiva shrank and clutched at her women. “Ah, Saints, I am thankful now that it is dark!” she murmured. Sebert sustained the look with proud steadiness. “Nothing that would be of use to me,” he said; “and I do not choose to pleasure you by setting up a weak plea for you to knock down again. The right which gave Britain to the Saxons has given England to the Danes, and it is not by words that such a right can be disputed. If your messengers had not taken me by surprise—” He paused, with an odd curl to his lips that could hardly be called a smile; but Canute gave him grim command to finish, and he obeyed with rising color. “If your messengers had not come upon me as I was riding on the Watling Street and brought me here, a prisoner, I would have argued the matter with arrows, and you would needs have battered down the defence of stone walls to convince me.” Mutters of mingled admiration and censure buzzed around; and one English noble, more daring and also more friendly than the others, drew near and spoke a word of friendly warning in Sebert’s ear. Through it all, Canute sat motionless, studying the Etheling with his bright colorless eyes. At last he said unexpectedly, “If you would not obey my summons until my men had dealt with you by force, it cannot be said that you have much respect for my authority. Do you not then acknowledge me as King of the English?” Rothgar betrayed impatience at this branching aside. Sebert himself showed surprise. He said hesitatingly, “I—I cannot deny that. You have the same right that Cerdic had over the Britons. Nay, you have more, for you are the formal choice of the Witan. I cannot rightly deny that you are King of the Angles.” “If you acknowledge me to be that,” Canute said, “I do not see why you have not an argument for your defence.” While all stared at him, he rose slowly and stood before them, a dazzling figure as the light caught the steel of his ring-mail and turned his polished helm to a fiery dome.