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Vandrad the Viking

J >> J. Storer Clouston >> Vandrad the Viking



Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team






VANDRAD THE VIKING

or

The Feud and the Spell

by

J. STORER CLOUSTON



WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUBERT PATON





CONTENTS.

I. THE WEST SEA SAILING

II. THE BAIRN-SLAYERS

III. THE HOLY ISLE

IV. THE ISLAND SPELL

V. ANDREAS THE HERMIT

VI. THE HALL OF LIOT

VII. THE VERDICT OF THE SWORD

VIII. IN THE CELL BY THE ROOST

IX. THE MESSAGE OF THE RUNES

X. KING BUE'S FEAST

XI. THE HOUSE IN THE FOREST

XII. THE MAGICIAN

XIII. ARROW AND SHIELD

XIV. THE MIDNIGHT GUEST

XV. THE LAST OF THE LAWMAN

XVI. KING ESTEIN

XVII. THE END OF THE STORY




CHAPTER I.

THE WEST SEA SAILING.


Long after King Estein had joined his fathers on the little holm
beyond Hernersfiord, and Helgi, Earl of Askland, had become but a
warlike memory, the skalds of Sogn still sang this tale of Vandrad
the Viking. It contained much wonderful magic, and some
astonishingly hard strokes, as they told it; but reading between
their lines, the magic bears a strong resemblance to many spells
cast even at this day, and as for the sword strokes, there was
need for them to be hard in Norway then. For that was the age of
the making of many kingdoms, and the North was beginning to do its
share.

One May morning, more than a thousand years ago, so the story
runs, an old man came slowly along a woodland track that uncoiled
itself from the mountain passes and snow-crowned inlands of
Norway. Presently the trees grew thinner, and grass and wild
flowers spread on either hand, and at last, just where the path
dipped down to the water-side at Hernersfiord, the traveller
stopped. For a while he remained there in the morning sunshine,
watching the scene below, and now and then speaking out his
thoughts absently in the rapt manner of a visionary.

Though his clothes were old and weather-stained, and bare of any
ornament, his face and bearing were such as strike the mind at
once and stay in the memory. He was tall and powerfully framed,
and bore his years and the white volume of his beard in an
altogether stately fashion; but his eyes were most indelible, pale
blue and singularly cold in repose, very bright and keen and
searching when his face was animated.

They saw much to stir them that morning. On the slope above
Hernersfiord stood the royal hall of Hakonstad, the seat of the
kings of Sogn; and all about the house, and right down to the
water's edge, there was a great bustle and movement of men. From
the upland valley at the fiord head, warriors trooped down to the
ships that lay by the long stone pier. The morning sun glanced on
their helmets and coats of mail, and in the still air the clash of
preparation rang far up the pine-clad hillside. He could see some
bringing weapons and provisions down to the shore, and others
busily lading the ships. Women mingled in the crowd, and every
here and there a gay cloak and gilded helm marked a leader of
rank.

"Ay, the season has come for Vikings to put to sea again," he
said. "Brave and gay are the warriors of Sogn, and lightly they
leave. When a man is young, all roads are pleasant, and all lead
home again. Many have I seen set sail these last sixty years, and
their sailing led them--where?"

And then again, as the stir increased, and he could see the men
beginning to troop on board the long ships,--

"This voyage shall be as the falling of snowflakes into the sea;
but what man can escape his fate?"

Meanwhile a party of men had just left the woods, and were coming
down the path to the fiord, ten or twelve in all, headed by an
exceedingly broad, black-bearded man, clad in a leather coat
closely covered all over with steel scales, and bearing on his
shoulder a ponderous halberd.

The path was very narrow at that point, and he of the black beard
called out gruffly,--

"Make way, old man! Give room to pass."

Roused abruptly from his reverie, the dreamer turned quietly, but
made no movement to the side. The party by this time were so close
that they had perforce to halt, with some clash of armour, and
again their captain cried,--

"Are you deaf? Make way!"

Yet there was something daunting in the other's pale eye, and
though the Viking moved the halberd uneasily on his shoulder, his
own glance shifted. With the slightest intonation of contempt, the
traveller asked,--

"Who bids me make way?"

The black-bearded man looked at him with an air of some
astonishment, and then answered shortly,--

"They call me Ketill; but what is that to you?"

Without heeding the other's gruffness, the old man asked,--

"Does King Hakon sail from Hernersfiord to-day?"

"King Hakon has not sailed for many a day. His son leads this
force."

"Ay, I had forgotten, we are both old men now. Then Estein sails
to-day?"

"Ay, and I sail with him. My ship awaits me, so make way, old
man," replied Ketill.

"Whither do ye sail?"

"To the west seas. I have no time for talking more. Do you hear?"

"Go on then," replied the old man, stepping to one side;
"something tells me that Estein will have need of all his men
before this voyage is over."

Without stopping for further words, the black-bearded captain and
his men pushed past and continued their way to the fiord, while
the old man slowly followed them.

As he went down the hillside he talked again aloud to himself:--

"Ay, this then is the meaning of my warning dreams--danger in the
south lands, danger on the seas. Little heed will Estein Hakonson
pay to the words of an old man, yet I am fain to see the youth
again, and what the gods reveal to me I must speak."

Down below, near the foot of the path that led from the pier up to
the hall of Hakonstad, a cluster of chiefs stood talking. In the
midst of them, Hakon, King of Sogn, one of the independent
kinglings who reigned in the then chaotic Norway, watched the
departure of his son.

He was a venerable figure, conspicuous by his long, wintry locks
and embroidered cloak of blue, straight as a spear-shaft, but
grown too old for warfare. His hand rested on the shoulder of Earl
Sigvald of Askland, a bluff old warrior, long the king's most
faithful counsellor and companion in arms. Before them stood his
son Estein, a tall, auburn-haired, bright-eyed young man, gaily
dressed, after the fashion of the times, in red kirtle and cloak,
and armed as yet only with a gilded helmet, surmounted with a pair
of hawk's wings, and a sword girt to his side. His face, though
regular and handsome, would have been rather too grave and
reserved but for the keenness of his eyes, and a very pleasant
smile which at times lit up his features when he spoke.

After they had talked for a while, he glanced round him, and saw
that the bustle was subsiding, and most of the men had gone
aboard.

"All is ready now," he said.

"Ay," replied Thorkel Sigurdson, one of his ship captains, "they
wait but for us."

"Farewell then, Estein!" cried the earl. "Thor speed you, and send
you worthy foemen!"

"My son, I can ill spare you," said the king. "But it becomes a
king's son to see the world, and prove his valour in distant
lands. Warfare in the Baltic seas is but a pastime for common
Vikings. England and Valland, [Footnote: France] the countries of
the black man and the flat lands of the rivers, lie before you.
There Estein Hakonson must feed the wolves."

"And yet, Estein," he added in a lower tone, as he embraced him,
"I would that Yule were here again and you with it. I am growing
old, and my dreams last night were sorrow-laden."

"Farewell, son of Hakon!" shouted a loud-mouthed chieftain. "I
would that I too were sailing to the southern lands. Spare not,
Estein; fire and sword in England, sword and fire in Valland!"

The group had broken up, and Estein was about to go on board when
he heard himself hailed by name. He looked round, and saw the same
old man who had accosted Ketill coming down the pier after him.

"Hail, Estein Hakonson!" he cried; "I have come far to see thee."

"Hail, old man!" replied Estein courteously; "what errand brings
you here?"

"You know me not?" said the old man, looking at him keenly.

"Nay, I cannot call your face to mind."

"My name is Atli, and if my features are strange to thee, much
stranger must my name be."

He took Estein's hand, looked closely into his eyes for a minute,
and then said solemnly,--

"Estein Hakonson, this voyage will have an ending other than ye
deem. Troubles I see before ye--fishes feeding on warriors, and
winds that blow as they list, and not as ye."

"That is likely enough," replied Estein. "We are not sailing on a
trading voyage, and in the west seas the winds often blow high.
But what luck shall I have?"

"Strange luck, Estein, I see before thee. Thou shalt be warned and
heed not. More shall be left undone than shall be done. There
shall come a change in thee that I cannot fathom. Many that set
out shall not return, but thine own fate is dim to me."

A young man of barely twenty, very gaily dressed and martial-
looking, had come up to them while they were talking. He had a
reckless, merry look on his handsome face, and bore himself as
though he was aware of his personal attractions.

"And what is my fate, old man?" he asked, more as if he were in
jest than in earnest. "Shall I feed the fishes, or make this
strange change with Estein into a troll, [Footnote: A kind of
goblin] or werewolf, or whatsoever form he is to take?"

"Thy fate is naught to me, Helgi Sigvaldson," replied the seer;
"yet I think thou wilt never be far from Estein."

"That was easily answered," said Helgi with a laugh. "And I can
read my fate yet further. When I part from my foster-brother
Estein, then shall a man go to Valhalla. What say you to that?"

Atli's face darkened.

"Darest thou mock me?" he cried.

"Not so," interposed Estein. "' Bare is back without brother
behind it,' and Helgi means that death only can part us. Farewell,
Atli! If your prophecy comes true, and I return alive, you may
choose what gift you please from among my spoils."

"Little spoil there will be, Estein!" answered the old man, as the
foster-brothers turned from him down the pier.

The last man sprang on board, the oars dipped in the still water,
and as the little fleet moved slowly down the fiord the crowd on
shore gradually dispersed.

Out at sea, beyond the high headlands that guarded Hernersfiord, a
fresh breeze was blowing briskly from the north-east, and past the
rocky islets of the coast white caps gleamed in the sunshine. As
the ships drew clear of the fiord, and the boom of the outer sea
breaking on the skerries rose louder and nearer, sails were spread
and oars shipped. Slowly at first, and then more quickly as they
caught the deep-sea wind, the vessels cut the open water. Past the
islands they heeled to the breeze, and over a wake of foam the men
watched the mountains of Norway sink slowly into the wilderness of
waters.

On the decked poop of an open boat, sailing over an ocean unknown
to him, towards countries of whose whereabouts he was only vaguely
informed, Estein Hakonson stood lost in stirring fancies. He was
the only surviving son of the King of Sogn. Three brothers had
fallen in battle, one had perished at sea, and another, the
eldest, had died beneath a burning roof-tree. His education had
been conducted according to the only standard known in
Scandinavia. At fourteen he had slain his first man in fair fight;
at seventeen he was a Viking captain on the Baltic; and now, at
two-and-twenty--old far beyond his years and hardened in varied
experience--he was setting forth on the Viking path that led to
the wonderful countries of the south.

The tide of Norse energy was not yet at the full, the fury and the
terror were waxing fast, and the fever of unrest was ever
spreading through the North. Men were always coming back with
tales of monasteries filled with untold wealth, and rich provinces
to be won by the sword. Skalds sang of the deeds done in the
south, and shiploads of spoil confirmed their lays. Little wonder
then that Estein should feel his heart beat high as he stood by
the great tiller.

That night, long after the sun was set, he still sat on deck
watching the stars. By-and-by his foster-brother Helgi came up to
him, wrapped in a long sea cloak, and humming softly to himself.

"The night is fair, Estein. If Thor is kind, and this wind speeds
us, we shall soon reach England."

"Ay, if the gods are with us," answered Estein. "I am trying to
read the stars. Methinks they are unfavourable."

Helgi laughed. "What know you of the stars?" he said, "and what
does Estein Hakonson want with white magic? Will it make his life
one day longer? Will it make mine, if I too read the stars?"

"Not one day, Helgi, not one instant of time. We are in the hands
of the gods. This serves but to while away a long night."

"Norsemen should not read the stars," said Helgi. "These things
are for Finns and Lapps, and the poor peoples who fear us."

"I wished to know what Odin thought of Helgi Sigvaldson," said
Estein with a smile.

Helgi laughed lightly as he answered,--

"I know what Odin thinks of you, Estein--a foolish man and fey."

Estein stepped forward a pace, and leaning over the side gazed for
a while into the darkness. Helgi too was silent, but his blue eyes
danced and his heart beat high as his thoughts flew ahead of the
ship to the clash of arms and the shout of victory.

"There remains but me," said Estein at length. "Hakon has no other
son."

"And you have five brothers to avenge; the sword should not rust
long in your scabbard, Estein."

"Twice I have made the Danes pay a dear atonement for Eric. I
cannot punish Thor because he suffered Harald to drown, but if
ever in my life it be my fate to meet Thord the Tall, Snaekol
Gunnarson, or Thorfin of Skapstead, there shall be but one man
left to tell of our meeting."

"The burners of Olaf have long gone out of Norway, have they not?"

"I was but a child when my brother was burned like a fox in his
hole at Laxafiord. The burners knew my father too well to bide at
home and welcome him; and since then no man has told aught of
them, save that Thord the Tall at one time raided much in England,
and boasted widely of the burning. He perchance forgot that Hakon
had other sons.

"But now, Helgi, we must sleep while we may; nights may come when
we shall want it."

For six days and six nights they sailed with a favouring wind over
an empty ocean. On the seventh day land was sighted on the
starboard bow.

"Can that be England?" asked old Ulf, Estein's forecastle man, a
hairy, hugely muscular Viking from the far northern fiords.

"The coast of Scotland more likely," said Helgi. "Shall we try our
luck, Estein?"

"I should like to spill a little Scottish blood, and mayhap carry
off a maid or two," said Thorolf Hauskoldson, a young giant from
the upland dales.

"It may be but a waste of time," Estein replied. "We had best make
for England while this wind holds."

"I like not the look of the sky," said Ulf, gazing round him with
a frowning brow.

The wind had been dropping off for some time, and along the
eastern horizon the settled sky was giving place to heavy clouds.
For a short time Estein hesitated, but as the outlook grew more
threatening and the wind beat in flaws and gusts, now from one
quarter, now from another, the Vikings changed their course and
ran under oars and sails for the shelter of the land. Little
shelter it promised as they drew nearer: a dark, inhospitable line
of precipices stretched north and south as far as the eye could
reach, and even from a long distance they could see white flashes
breaking at the cliff foot. Again they changed their course; and
then, with a dull hum of approaching rain, a south-easterly storm
broke over them, and there was nothing for it but to turn and run
before the gale.

"I read the stars too well," said Estein grimly between his teeth,
clinging to the straining tiller, and watching the rollers rising
higher. "And the first part of Atli's prophecy has come true."

"Winds, war, and women make a Viking's luck," replied Helgi; "this
is but the first part of the rede."

At night the gale increased, the fleet was scattered over the
North Sea, and next morning from Estein's ship only two other
black hulls could be seen running before the tempest. Another wild
day passed, and it was not till the evening that the weather
moderated. Little by little the great seas began to calm, and the
drifts of stinging rain ceased. In their wake the stars struggled
through the cloud wrack, and towards morning the wind sank
altogether.




CHAPTER II.

THE BAIRN-SLAYERS.


At earliest dawn eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of
something that might tell them where they were. None of the men on
Estein's ship had been in those seas more than two or three times
at most, and the vaguest conjectures were rife when, as the light
was slowly gaining, Ulf raised a cry of land ahead.

"Land to the right!" cried Helgi, a moment later.

"Land to the left!" exclaimed Estein; "and we are close on it,
methinks."

When the morning fully broke they found themselves lying off a
wide-mouthed sound, that bent and narrowed among low, lonely-
looking islands. Only on the more distant land to the right were
heather hills of any height to be seen, and those, so far as they
could judge, were uninhabited. A heavy swell was running in from
the open sea, and a canopy of grey clouds hung over all.

"I like not this country," said Ulf. "What think you is it?"

"The Hjaltland islands, I should think, from what men tell of
them," Estein suggested.

"The Orkneys more likely," said Thorolf, who had sailed in those
seas before.

Far astern one other vessel was making towards them.

"Which ship is that, Ulf?" asked Estein. "One of our fleet, think
you?"

"Ay, it is Thorkel Sigurdson's," replied the shaggy forecastle
man, after a long, frowning look.

"By the hammer of Thor, she seems in haste," said Helgi. "They
must have broached the ale over-night."

"Perchance Thorkel feels cold," suggested Thorolf with a laugh.

"They have taken the shields from the sides," Estein exclaimed as
the ship drew nearer. "Can there be an enemy, think you?"

Again Ulf's hairy face gathered into a heavy frown. "No man can say
I fear a foeman," he said, "but I should like ill to fight after
two sleepless nights."

"Bah! Thorkel is drunk as usual, and thinks we are chapmen,"
[Footnote: Merchants.] said Helgi. "They are doubtless making
ready to board us."

The ship drew so near that they could plainly see the men on
board, and conspicuous among them the tall form of Thorkel
appeared in the bow.

"He waves to us; there is something behind this," said Estein.

"Drunk," muttered Helgi. "I wager my gold-handled sword he is
drunk. They have ale enough on board to float the ship."

"A sail!" Estein exclaimed, pointing to a promontory to seaward
round which the low black hull and coloured sail of a warship were
just appearing.

"Ay, and another!" said Ulf.

"Three-four-seven-eight!" Helgi cried.

"There come nine, and ten!" added Estein. "How many more?"

They watched the strange fleet in silence as one by one they
turned and bore down upon them, ten ships in all, their oars
rhythmically churning the sea, the strange monsters on the prows
creeping gradually nearer.

"Orkney Vikings," muttered Ulf. "If I know one long ship from
another, they are Orkney Vikings."

Meantime Thorkel's ship had drawn close alongside, and its captain
hailed Estein.

"There is little time for talking now, son of Hakon!" he shouted.
"What think you we should do?--run into the islands, or go to Odin
where we are? These men, methinks, will show us little mercy."

"I seek mercy from no man," answered Estein. "We will bide where
we are. We could not escape them if we would, and I would not if I
could. Have you seen aught of the other ships?"

"We parted from Ketill yesterday, and I fear me he has gone to
feed the fishes. I have seen nothing of Asgrim and the rest. I
think with you, Estein, that the bottom here will make as soft a
resting-place for us as elsewhere. Fill the beakers and serve the
men! It is ill that a man should die thirsty."

The stout sea-rover turned with a gleam of grim humour in his eyes
to the enjoyment of what he fully expected would be his last drink
on earth, and on both ships men buckled on their armour and
bestirred themselves for fight.

Vikings in those days preyed on one another as freely as on men of
alien blood. They came out to fight, and better sport could
generally be had from a crew of seasoned warriors like themselves
than from the softer peoples of the south. Particularly were the
Orkney and Shetland islands the stations for the freest of free
lances, men so hostile to all semblance of law and order that the
son of a Norwegian king would seem in their eyes a most desirable
quarry. Many a load of hard-won spoil changed hands on its way
home; and the shores of Norway itself were so harried by these
island Vikings that some time later King Harald Harfagri descended
and made a clean sweep of them in the interests of what he
probably considered society.

The two vessels floated close together, the oars were shipped, and
there, in the grey prosaic early morning light, they heaved gently
on the North Sea swell, and awaited the approach of the ten. A few
sea-birds circled and screamed above them; a faint pillar of smoke
rose from some homestead on a distant shore; elsewhere there was
no sign of life save in the ships to seaward.

Thorkel, leaning over the side of his vessel, told a tale of
buffetings by night and day such as Estein and his crew had
undergone. That morning he said they had descried Estein's ship
just as the day broke, and almost immediately afterwards ten long
ships were spied lying at anchor in an island bay. For a time they
hoped to slip by them unseen. The fates, however, were against
them. They were observed, and the strange Vikings awoke and gave
chase like a swarm of bees incautiously aroused.

Apparently the strangers considered themselves hardly yet prepared
for battle; for they slackened speed as they advanced, and those
on Estein's ships could see that a hasty bustle of preparation was
going on.

"What think you--friends or foes?" asked Helgi.

"To the Orkney Vikings all men are foes," replied Estein.

"Ay," said Thorkel with a laugh, "particularly when they are but
two to ten."

By this time the strangers were within hailing distance, and in
the leading ship a man in a red cloak came from the poop and stood
before the others in the bow. In a loud tone he bade his men cease
rowing, and then, clapping his hand to his mouth, asked in a voice
that had a ring of scornful command what name the captain bore.

"Estein, the son of Hakon, King of Sogn; and who are you who ask
my name?" came the reply across the water.

"Liot, the son of Skuli," answered the man in the red cloak. "With
me sails Osmund Hooknose, the son of Hallward. We have here ten
warships, as you see. Yield to us, Estein Hakonson, or we will
take by force what you will not give us."

The man threw his left hand on his hip, drew himself up, and said
something to his crew, accompanying the words by gestures with a
spear. They answered with a loud shout, and then struck up a wild
and monotonous chorus, the words of which were a refrain
descriptive of the usual fate of those who ventured to stand in
Liot Skulison's way. At the same time their oars churned the
water, and their vessel was brought into line with the others.

"It is easily seen that our friend Liot is a valiant man," said
Helgi with a short laugh. "He and his ill-looking crew make a
mighty noise. Has any man heard of Liot Skulison or Osmund
Hooknose before?"

"Ay," answered Ulf. "They call them the bairn-slayers, because
they show no mercy even to children."

"They will meet with other than bairns to-day," said Helgi.

Estein and Thorkel had been employed in binding the two vessels
together with grapnels. Then Estein turned to his men and said,--

"We are of one mind, are we not? We fight while we may, and then
let Odin do with us what he wills."

Without waiting for the shout of approval that followed his words,
he sprang to the bow, and raising his voice, cried,--

"We are ready for you, Liot and Osmund. When you get on board you
can take what you find here."

From another ship a man shouted,--

"Then you will fight, little Estein? Remember that we are called
the bairn-slayers."

Instantly Thorkel took up the challenge. Three beakers of ale had
made him in his happiest and most warlike mood, and his eyes
gleamed almost merrily as he answered,--

"I know you, Osmund the ugly, by that nose whereon men say you
hang the bairns you catch. Little need have you to do aught save
look at them. Here is a gift for you," and with that he hurled a
spear with so true an aim that, if Osmund had not stooped like a
flash, his share in the fight would have come to an end there and
then. As it was, the missile struck another man between the
shoulders and laid him on the deck.

"Forward! forward!" cried Liot. "Forward, Vikings! forward, the
men of Liot and Osmund!"

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