Then they bound us both and set us on the ground face to face.
"Now here be fine doings!" said a man, who seemed to be the leader of the six or seven who had ended the fight.
"Aye, 'tis murder," said another, looking from Beorn to me and then to Beorn again; "but which is murderer and which true man ?" Now all these men were strangers to me, but I knew one thing about them from their dress.

They were the men of mighty Earl Ulfkytel himself, and seemed to be foresters, and honest men enough by their faces.
"I am Wulfric, son of Elfric of Reedham," I said.

"The slain man is Lodbrok, the Danish jarl, and this man slew him." "He lies!" cried Beorn.

"It was he who slew him, and I would revenge myself on him, for this Lodbrok was my friend." Now I held my peace, keeping back my wrath as well as I might, for I began to see that Beorn had some deep plot on hand, thus to behave as if innocent.
"Why, so he cried out as we came," said one of the men when he heard Beorn's words.
"Maybe both had a hand in it," the leader said, and so they talked for a little.
Then came two of my own serfs, who had followed me to see the sport, I suppose, at a distance, as idle men will sometimes, when hunting is on hand, and with them came Lodbrok's dog, the same that had brought me.

And when the dog saw Beorn he flew at him and would have mauled him sorely, but that the earl's men beat him off with their staves; and one took the leash that hung from my saddle bow and tied him to a tree, where he sat growling and making as though he would again fly at the falconer.
"Whose dog is this ?" asked the leader.
"His," answered the serfs, pointing to Lodbrok.
"Dogs might tell strange tales could they talk," said the earl's man; "I misdoubt both these men.