At sunrise, though, he got up calmly, if not merrily. At the time set, he walked forth to the meadow where folk met and sat down on the squared-off stone there. Warriors, yeomen, fishermen, craftsmen stood in a ring that he closed, under a sky where tall clouds had risen, sunlit on top but graying underneath. Crows flew about, low overhead. Their caws went harsh through a wind that blew cool and smelled of oncoming rain.

When the lawman had spoken those laws of old that bore on this day’s gathering, two guards brought Glum onto the open ground and forward to the king. He shambled along amidst the eyes until he halted and stood hunched. Hadding’s words unrolled the tale of what had happened.

“I say that this man has broken faith,” he ended. “He swore he would ward the treasures. For that he was well housed, well clad, well fed, and well honored. But he lay sodden and unheeding. Thus we have suffered great loss—not only I, but the Skjoldung house and the whole kingdom. The rings that are gone were merely rings. The rest, though, was hallowed to my forebears, Dane-kings and Dane-queens. Power was in them, and luck. Now we have lost them.

“Glum Styrsson, you shall die. First have you aught to say for yourself?”

The hoardkeeper stiffened his back and met the king’s look. Suddenly his voice came steady. “Yes. I was less watchful than I might have been, but Lam old and maybe you should have had a younger man there. Leave me what honor is mine. Otherwise do as you will.”

Hadding nodded. “It’s true, once you fought beside my father. You shall die quickly on the gallows.”

Glum ran tongue over lips. “That is well,” he said; for by his bearing this day would men remember him.

The folk murmured agreement. A man-offering to Odin should help against the bad luck that was in the loss. And who knew but what the god would take the hanged man home to himself? No one wept except the small grandson he had been raising after the boy’s parents died, nor gave any thought to that.

The housecarles led Glum off. Hadding stood up. “Hearken,” he said aloud. “Among us are belike the thieves themselves. I speak to them. Think well. What gain is yours? Do you truly want to slink forth again, huddle in the woods at a Charcoal fire, make wreck of keepsakes that belonged to great men and famous deeds? Surely no good can come to you from it. In fear and trembling must you trade off what you bring to market. you will not dare ask for the full worth, nor openly enjoy what you buy. Or else you must carry the plunder away and drag out your lives among strangers, forever sick with longing for your motherland. Who will tend your graves, who will recall your names? What have you gained?