During this time, Buliwyf, the noble who would next be king or chieftain, found a rival whose name was Thorkel. Him I did not know, but he was ugly and foul, a dark man among this ruddy fair race. He plotted to be chieftain himself. All this I learned from the translator, for there was no outward sign in the funeral preparations that anything was not according to custom.

Buliwyf himself did not direct the preparations, for he was not of the family of Wyglif, and it is the rule that the family prepares for the funeral. Buliwyf joined the general merriment and celebration, and acted no part of kingly conduct, except during the banquets of the night, when he sat in the high seat that was reserved to the king.

This was the manner of his sitting: when a Northman is truly king, he sits at the head of the table in a large stone chair with stone arms. Such was the chair of Wyglif, but Buliwyf did not sit in it as a normal man would sit. Instead he sat upon one arm, a position from which he fell when he drank overmuch, or laughed with great excess. It was the custom that he could not sit in the chair until Wyglif was buried.

All this time, Thorkel plotted and conferred among the other earls. I came to know that I was suspected as some sorcerer or witch, which distressed me much. The translator, who did not believe these tales, told me that Thorkel said I had caused Wyglif to die, and had caused Buliwyf to be the next chief, yet verily I had no part in any of this.

After some days, I sought to leave with my party of ibn-Bastu and Takin and Bars, and yet the Northmen would not permit us to leave, saying that we must stay to the funeral, and threatening us with their daggers, which they always carried. Thus we stayed.