‘The warriors are free men, my darling, and know what is proper. And what can the life of such a brute be to you?’
Before he could stop her, Pelagia had sprung from her cushions, and thrown herself into the midst of the laughing ring of wild beasts.
‘Spare him! spare him for my sake!’ shrieked she.
‘Oh, my pretty lady! you mustn’t interrupt warriors’ sport!’
In an instant she had torn off her shawl, and thrown it over Philammon; and as she stood, with all the outlines of her beautiful limbs revealed through the thin robe of spangled gauze--
‘Let the man who dares, touch him beneath that shawl!--though it be a saffron one!’
The Goths drew back. For Pelagia herself they had as little respect as the rest of the world had. But for a moment she was not the Messalina of Alexandria, but a woman; and true to the old woman-worshipping instinct, they looked one and all at her flashing eyes, full of noble pity and indignation, as well as of mere woman’s terror--and drew back, and whispered together.
Whether the good spirit or the evil one would conquer, seemed for a moment doubtful, when Pelagia felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and turning, saw Wulf the son of Ovida.
‘Go back, pretty woman! Men, I claim the boy. Smid, give him to me. He is your man. You could have killed him if you had chosen, and did not; and no one else shall.’
‘Give him us, Prince Wulf! We have not seen blood for many a day!’
‘You might have seen rivers of it, if you had had the hearts to go onward. The boy is mine, and a brave boy. He has upset a warrior fairly this day, and spared him; and we will make a warrior of him in return.’
‘You are my man now. Do you like fighting?’
Philammon, not understanding the language in which he was addressed, could only shake his head--though if he had known what its import was, he could hardly in honesty have said, No.
‘He shakes his head! He does not like it! He is craven! Let us have him!’
‘I had killed kings when you were shooting frogs,’ cried Smid. ‘Listen to me, my sons! A coward grips sharply at first, and loosens his hand after a while, because his blood is soon hot and soon cold. A brave man’s grip grows the firmer the longer he holds, because the spirit of Odin comes upon him. I watched the boy’s hands on my threat; and he will make a man; and I will make him one. However, we may as well make him useful at once; so give him an oar.’