"Lord," quoth he in sobbing breaths, "a good day for thee--this--lord Duke--a good day for Pentavalon--a joyous day--blessed day for me-- You'll mind they slew mother and father and sister, lord--brother and wife and child? Empty-hearted was I and desolate therefore, but--to-day, ha, to-day I die also, methinks. So, an ye will, lord Duke--keep thou mine axe in memory--of Walkyn--'tis a goodly axe--hath served me well today--behold!"
Now as he spake he loosed a corner of the war-cloak, and from its grimed and ghastly folds there rolled forth into the red light of the cleanly sun a thing that trundled softly across the pavement and stopping, shewed a pallid face crowned with red hair, 'neath which upon the brow, betwixt the staring eyes, was a jagged scar like to a cross.
Now while all men stared upon this direful thing, holding their breaths, Walkyn laughed loud and high, and breaking from Ulf's clasp, staggered to where it lay and pointed thereto with shaking finger.
"Behold!" he cried, "behold the head of Bloody Pertolepe!" Therewith he laughed, and strove to kick it with feeble foot--but staggered instead, and, loosing his axe, stretched wide his long arms and fell, face downward.
"Bloody Pertolepe--is dead!" he cried, and choked; and choking--died.