The little army came to a halt, and a poor-looking man, clad in a
skin coat, and trembling violently as they dragged him along, was
brought before Estein.

"Spare my life, noble captain!" he pleaded, casting himself on his
knees. "I am but a poor man, I beseech you."

"Silence, rascal!" thundered Ketill, "or we will have your
coward's tongue out by the root."

"Tell me, if you value your life, what means this solitude?"
Estein demanded sternly. "Nay, shake not like an old man with
palsy, but speak the truth--if by chance a Jemtlander knows what
truth is. Where are the people?"

"Noble earl, they have heard of your coming, and fled. No man will
await you; you will see none in the country."

"Do none mean to fight?" asked Helgi.

"Great prince," replied the fellow, "the Jemtlanders were never a
warlike race. Even the king, I hear, is prepared to fly."

A contemptuous murmur rose from the Norsemen.

"Let us begin by hanging this man," said Ketill, "and then fire,
fire through the country!"

"I shall see first whether he has spoken the truth," answered
Estein. "Bind him, and bring him on."