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presently they were again and again filled with silent laughter at each other. Through many a clearing and burn and along the paths they played their game, sometimes Arntat leaping along a fallen tree as lightly as a squirrel, at least once Arnten dropping several leaves before being realized and looked up at.
    It lasted most of the morning and might have lasted much longer, but then Arnten, running noiselessly around a great lichen-studded boulder, ran full tilt into flesh which only in that first second he thought was his father’s. A swift blow and an angry word undeceived him before his eyes did — he who had for all morning dropped even the memory of blows and angry words — and, as he tried to scramble to his feet, tried to turn his head to see who it was, tried to run away any which way (all these at once), someone grabbed his arm and twisted it. Only then did he cry out.
    The man’s face had the look of one who kicks a dog not to be rid of it but for the pleasure of kicking it. Then the face changed and the arm released him, raised its spear; the mouth that cursed him gave a sick croak as something snapped which was not the spear. Arntat was there. Arntat was holding, embracing, Arntat was crushing. Ugly sounds of witless fright then, from this other’s mouth. Blood gushing from that mouth. And then other men, many other men, spears and clubs and then ropes, Arntat down on one knee. Arntat releasing limp and bleeding body, Arntat clawing out for a grip upon another. Arnten biting, beating. Arntat down. Arntat growling, roaring. Men cursing as much in fright as wrath. Arntat down. Arntat suddenly silent, save for his breathing in the sudden silence. Arntat bound. Arnten, too.
    And after some moments of gasping, recovering breath, slowing hearts, hissing of pain, someone said as though to a question none had heard, “I don’t know — I don’t know — Eh? Ah? Nains?
No!
Nor bears — ”
    Another voice. “We be the kingsmen. Let the king say
what
.” And others, others. “Aye! Ah! Let the king say what!”

Chapter
VI
    The red-sickness of all iron flamed into a plague. At first whispered, it was now said openly that the king himself had caught the evil and the ill. Indeed, it seemed to be so. Red blotches were seen about his face and hands and all his face and limbs and frame looked wasted and hollowed. His voice cracked and croaked. His hands shook. In the morning he groaned and staggered. In the late afternoons his eyes would roll up and his eyelids roll down and he folded his legs and lay where he happened to be, servants hastily bringing furs and fleeces and lifting him and settling him again. For the length of time it took for the shadow of the sun-staff to move over two stones the king lay as one dead. And in the late night hours he tended to enrage easily, to shout and strike out and to cast things.
    But in the early and middle afternoon and in the early and middle night times he was as well as ever in those days he was well. As to the first of these periods, it was assumed he was passing well, for his voice could be heard talking — talking, not groaning, not yelling — and as for the second of these periods, it was then that he held such gatherings as he held and saw such outsiders as he saw. In the red light of the hearth all men may look reddened and the dancing shadows may make all men look gaunted.
    But not all men hide themselves in daylight.
    Day by day the couriers trouped in. Night by night the king himself would see them and let himself be seen by them and from them receive the tidings which he had, of course, already received; for did he not sit upon his stool or lie upon his pallet behind the reed curtain while the courier made report upon the other side? Tirlag-usak, grown stout and gray in his service as a first captain of the kingsmen, generally stood forth as the couriers came in, each with the strip of white bark cloth bound about his head, which even toddle-babes knew signified
I