Back in the shadow, each yeoman laid one hand upon his weapon, and with the other, thrust an exulting thumb into his neighbor’s ribs. But they did not turn to look at each other; every eye was fastened upon the two by the fire. Freeman and his leader, or feudal lord and his dependant? For the moment they stood forth as representatives of a mighty conflict, and every breath hung upon their motions. After a time the King made a slight movement with his shoulders. “I should have remembered,” he said, “that your father was ruined by rebellion.” In a flash the rebel’s son had forgotten boyish embarrassment. “Whoso told you that, royal lord, told you lies. My father stood upon his right. Steel to turn against the Danes, Ethelred had a right to require; and steel my father was ready to pay. But Ethelred demanded gold, and the Lord of Ivarsdale would not stoop to bribe. Nor has it been proven that his policy was wrong,” he added under his breath. Then there was no longer any doubt concerning the position of Ethelred’s son. He said with deliberate emphasis, “The only policy which concerns those of your station is obedience.” If there was enough of the old free blood left in the King’s thanes to redden their cheeks, that was all there was. But while they stood in silence, a mutter ran like a growl through the ranks of yeomen; the gaze they bent upon their leader had in it almost the force of a command. He was young, their chief, too young for impassivity. Despite himself, his hands trembled with excitement. But there was no tremor in his words. “We of Ivarsdale do not profess such obedience, King Edmund. That is for thanes and for the unfree, who owe their all to your generosity. Our land we hold as our fathers held it—from God’s bounty and the might of our swords. When we have paid the three taxes of fort-building and bridge-building and field-service, we have paid all that we owe to the State.” At last they stood defined, the first of the feudal lords and the last of the odal-born men. Even through the King’s loftiness it was suddenly borne in that, behind the insignificance of the revolt, loomed a mighty principle, mighty enough to merit force. For the first time he stooped to a threat, though still it was tinged with scorn. “I observe that the men of your race have not been of great importance in the land. It appears that Ethelred was able to do without the rebel Lord of Ivarsdale.” “I admit that he was able to lose his crown without him,” the rebel’s son retorted swiftly. The King’s wounded dignity bled in his cheeks; he was stung into a movement that brought him to his feet.