"Good," said the warrior. "Let us have them; for with so many mouths to
fill all food is welcome."
Slowly Aasta took out the fish and laid them on the grass. Yet no man
spoke. She touched the nearest man on the elbow.
"Lend me your knife, my master, that I may gut the fish," said she boldly.
The man took out his knife, and as he handed it to her she saw his face
and recognized Earl Sweyn of Colonsay.
One by one she took up the fish and slowly trimmed them on a flat stone,
waiting in the hope of hearing the warriors speak.
"When holds King Hakon his council?" one presently asked of another.
"Tonight -- on Rudri's return," was the reply.
"And where?"
"Why, here on the heath, after sundown," said another. "'Tis no time for
delay. Bute and Arran have yet to be conquered ere we assail the
mainland of Scotland."
"Ay," said the first speaker, "methinks there will be few Scots left in
Bute for the next moon to smile upon. Bairns, women, and men, they all
are doomed!"
Aasta now began to work quicker -- so quickly that in a very few minutes
the fish were all ready for cooking. Then taking her four bread cakes
she slung the basket over her head and sauntered away.
Suddenly she was conscious that someone was following her. Raising her
wicker basket higher she half turned her head. Through the crevices of
the basket she saw a youth with long flaxen hair.
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