Let him drink." And therewith, head-downward, into the half-pot of mead he thrust me.

And might well have drowned in this drink of men--I who had never known a mother's breast in the briefness of time I had lived--had it not been for Lingaard.

But when he plucked me forth from the brew, Tostig Lodbrog struck him down in a rage.

We rolled on the deck, and the great bear hounds, captured in the fight with the North Danes just past, sprang upon us.
"Ho! ho!" roared Tostig Lodbrog, as the old man and I and the wolfskin were mauled and worried by the dogs.
But Lingaard gained his feet, saving me but losing the wolfskin to the hounds.
Tostig Lodbrog finished the mead and regarded me, while Lingaard knew better than to beg for mercy where was no mercy.
"Hop o' my thumb," quoth Tostig.

"By Odin, the women of the North Danes are a scurvy breed.