"There you broke faith with me," says Griffin, snarling. "I would have
taken her, and chanced that."

"My oath was in the way of that. You missed the chance on the road the
other day, which would have made things easy for us both. There was no
other for you."

Now Griffin curses Ragnar, and the Welsh tongue is good for that business.

"Who is the man, then?" he says, when he has done.

"The biggest and best-looking countryman of yours that I have ever set
eyes on," answers Alsi, looking askance at Griffin's angry face. "There
is a sort of consolation for you."

"His name," fairly shouts Griffin.

"Curan, the kitchen knave," says Alsi, chuckling.

"O fool, and doubly fool!" cries Griffin; "now have you outdone
yourself. Was it not plain to you that the man could be no thrall? Even
Ragnar looks mean beside him, and I hate Ragnar, so that I know well how
goodly he is."

Now Alsi grows uneasy, knowing that this had become plainer and plainer
to him as the wedding went on.

"Why, what do you know of this knave of mine?" he asks. "He was goodly
enough for the sake of my oath, and the Witan will have none of him.