From another direction a warrior on horseback appeared and crashed in
among the Norsemen, felling them with mighty strokes of his heavy
battle-axe. Then followed such a slaughter of the Norsemen that in a few
minutes not one was left alive.
The warrior on horseback threw his battle-axe upon the ground, and
drawing rein, sat upon his saddle with folded arms, and Kenric saw by
his armour that he too was one of the enemy, and he marvelled much.
The men of Bute were now eager to make an end of that stranger, for they
thought that he was the leader of the men who had thus attempted to
surprise the guard and make inroads upon the abbey. But, seeing the man
sitting so calm upon his horse and unarmed, they lowered their weapons.
This stranger horseman was Thorolf the captain, who had followed his
rebel guards with intent to intercept them.
"Young man," said he to Kenric, "I know not who you are, but by the
circle of dead men now lying about you, and by the prowess whereby you
have saved the lives of these three children, I judge that you can be
none other than the young king of Bute."
"That, sir, is so," said Kenric, wiping his sword upon a mossy stone and
sheathing it. "And who are you, my master?"
"The captain of these rebel scoundrels -- Thorolf Sigurdson of
Benbecula," said the warrior, uncovering his head of ruddy curls.
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