The man, seeing that he was determined to enter the town, followed cautiously and at a distance, waiting to see what might happen.
It was evening as Sigurd entered Jockjen.

The little town, overshadowed by its grim fortress, was astir with unwonted bustle.

For the king's marriage on the morrow had brought together many of the country people, who, though they loved not Ulf, loved a pageant, and a holiday to see it in.

And besides them many soldiers were there who talked mysteriously at street corners, and seemed to have other business than merry-making on hand.
Sigurd passed unheeded through the streets, keeping his face hid in his cloak, and avoiding all points where the crowd seemed large or curious.
He was hastening thus stealthily down a by-street which led towards Niflheim, when he suddenly became aware of a small group of men before him, under the shadow of a high wall, in eager talk.
He halted, for, by their eager gestures and cautious looks, he judged them to be desperate men, whom it would be well for him to avoid rather then meet.

Withdrawing quickly into a deeper shade, he waited with impatience till their conference should be over.
As he waited he heard them speak.
"By this time," said one, "he should have learned what is in store." "Doubtless," said another.