The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
O >>
Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19
Alwin vented a short laugh. "It is most ingenious, comrade. The only
trouble with it is that I have no ambition to go either to Norway or to
England."
This time it was he who sealed her lips, as her amazement was about to
burst through them.
"Give me a hearing and you will understand. I do not wish to go to
England because I could do nothing there to improve my credit in any
way. My kin have disappeared like withered grass, and the Danes are
all-powerful. I do not wish to go to Norway because there I could never
be more than a runaway slave; and though I strove to my uttermost, it is
unlikely that I could ever acquire either wealth or influence,--and
without both how would it ever be possible to win you? See how the North
has conquered me! First it was only my body that was bound; and I was
sure that, if ever I got my freedom, I should enter the service of some
English lord and die fighting against the Danes. And now a Norse maiden
has conquered my heart, so that I would not take my liberty if it were
offered me! No, no, sweetheart; I have thought of it, night and day,
until at last I see the truth. The only chance I have is with Leif."
Helga wrung her hands violently. "You must be crazy if you think so! He
would strike you down the instant his eyes--"
"It is not my intention that he shall know me until he has had cause to
soften toward me. Do you not remember Skroppa's prophecy? has not Sigurd
told you of it?--that it is in this new untrodden country that my fate
is to be decided? I will disguise myself in some way, and go on this
exploring expedition among his following. I shall have many chances to
be of service to him."
"But suppose they should not come soon enough? Suppose your disguise
should be too shallow? His eyes are like arrows that pierce everything
they are aimed at. Suppose he should recognize you at once?"
The new grimness again squared Alwin's mouth. "Then one of two things
will happen. Either he will pardon me, for the sake of what I have
already endured; or else he will keep to his first intention, and kill
me. In neither case will we be worse off than we were four months ago."
Such logic admitted of no reply, and Helga gave way to it. But so much
anguish was betrayed in her face, that Alwin gave another short laugh
and asked her:
"Who is it now that love is making a coward of?"
She shook her head gravely. "I am no coward. It gladdens me to have you
face death in this way, and to know that you will not murmur even if
luck goes against you. But I do not wish you to throw your life away;
and you know no prudence. Let us speak of this disguise. What have you
fixed upon?"
"I acknowledge that I have accomplished very little. Solveig has told me
of a bark whose juice is such that with it I can turn my skin brown like
that of the Southerners. And I have decided to make believe that I am a
Frankish man. I know not a little of their tongue, which will help to
disguise my speech. But how I am to cover up my short hair, or account
for my appearance in Greenland--" He shrugged his shoulders, and dropped
his chin upon his fist.
Helga clasped her hands around her knee and stared at him thoughtfully.
"I have heard Sigurd tell of a strange wonder he saw in France,--I do
not know what you call it,--like a hood made of people's hair. A girl
who had lost her hair through sickness was wont to wear it; and Sigurd
did not even suspect that it was rootless, until one day she caught the
ends in her cloak, and pulled it off. If you could get one of those--"
"If!" Alwin murmured. But Helga did not hear him. Suddenly, in the dim
perspective of her mind, she had caught a glimpse of a plan. As she
darted at it, it eluded her; but she chased it to and fro, seeing it
more clearly at each turn. Finally she caught it. She leaped up and
opened her mouth to shout it forth, when an impulse of Editha's caution
touched her, and instead, she threw her arms around his neck and laughed
it into his ear.
He drew back and gazed at her with dawning appreciation. She nodded
excitedly.
"Is it not well fitted to succeed? You can escape to Norway as I
planned, and after that you can easily reach Normandy. All that you lack
is gold, and Leif and Gilli have covered me with that."
His face kindled as he mused on it. "It sounds possible. Sigurd's
friends would receive me well for his sake; and after I had got
everything for my disguise, I would have yet many good chances to return
to Nidaros and board the ship of Arnor Gunnarsson, who comes here each
summer on a trading voyage. Coming that way, who could suspect
me?--particularly when it is everyone's belief that I am dead."
"No one!" Helga cried joyously. "No one! It is perfect!"
In a sudden burst of gratitude, he caught her hands and kissed them.
"All is due to you, then. It is an unheard-of cleverness! You must be a
Valkyria! Only a great hero is worthy of a maid like you."
Laughing with pleasure, she hid her face on his breast. And it must be
that her plan possessed some of the advantages she claimed for it, for
it came to pass that, on the same day that Gilli and his daughter set
sail for Norway, a fair-skinned thrall with a shaven head disappeared
from Greenland so completely that even Kark's keen eyes would have found
it impossible to trace him.
CHAPTER XXIII
A FAMILIAR BLADE IN A STRANGE SHEATH
"Now it is related that Bjarni Herjulfsson came
from Greenland to Eirek Jarl, who received him
well. Bjarni described his voyage and the lands
that he had seen. People thought he had shown a
lack of interest as he had nothing to tell about
them, and he was somewhat blamed for it. He became
the Jarl's hirdman and went to Greenland the
following summer, Now there was much talk about
land discoveries." --FLATEYJARBO'K.
The week after Gilli's departure for Norway, Leif returned from his
visit to Herjulf's Cape, and made public his intention to take Biorn's
barren beginning and carry it out to a definite finish. He brought with
him three of the men of Biorn's old crew, and also the same stanch
little trading-vessel in which Herjulfsson had made his journey. The
ship-sheds upon the shore became at once the scene of endless
overhauling and repairing. Thorhild's women laid aside their
embroidering for the task of sail-making. There began a ransacking of
every hut on the commons and every fishing-station along the coast, for
the latest improved hunting-gear and fishing-tackle; and day after day
Tyrker rode among the farms, purchasing stores of grain and smoked
meats.
As the old saga says: "Now there was much talk about land discoveries."
The Lucky One became the hero of the hour. With all its stubbornness,
Eric's pride could not but be gratified. He began to show signs of
relenting. Gradually he ceased to avert his face. One day, he even
worked himself up to making a gruff inquiry into their plans.
"If we return with great fame, it is likely his pleasure will reconcile
him entirely," Leif's men chuckled to each other.
The diplomatic guardsman was quick to understand the change, but as
usual, he went a step beyond their expectations. The day after his
father made this first advance, he invited him to inspect the exploring
ship and advise them concerning her equipment. While they stood upon the
shore, admiring the coat of scarlet paint that was being laid upon her
hull, he suddenly offered the Red One the leadership of the expedition.
Eric's eyes caught fire, and his wiry old frame straightened and swelled
with eagerness. Then, though his eyes still sparkled, his chest sank
like a pierced bladder.
"It is not possible for me to go. I am too old, and less able to bear
hardship than formerly."
Rolf and the steersman, who had overheard the offer, exchanged glances
of relief, and allowed themselves to breathe again. But to their
consternation, Leif did not take advantage of this loop-hole. He argued
and urged, until Eric drew in another long breath of excitement, until
his aged muscles tingled and twitched with a spasm of youthful ardor,
until at last, in a burst of almost hysterical enthusiasm, he accepted
the offer. In the warmth of his pleasure, he grasped his son's hand and
publicly received him back into his affections. But at the moment, this
was cold comfort for Leif's followers. They turned from their painting
and hammering and polishing, to stare at their lord in amazed
disapproval. The instant the two chiefs had gone up from the shore,
complaints broke out like explosions.
"That old heathen at the steering-oar! All the bad luck in the world may
be expected!"--" Nowhere lives a man more domineering than Eric the
Red." "What is to become of Leif's renown, if the glory is to go to that
old pagan?"--"Skroppa has turned a curse against the Lucky One. He has
been deprived of his mind."
"It is in my mind that part of that is true," Rolf said thoughtfully,
leaning on the spear-shaft he was sharpening. "I believe the Saxon
Saints' Book has bewitched his reason. From that, I have heard the
Englishman read of men who gave up honor lest it might make them vain. I
believe Leif Ericsson is humbling his pride, like some beaten monk."
He was interrupted by a chorus of disgust. "Yah! If he has become such a
woman as that !"--"A man who fears bad luck."--"A brave man bears the
result of his action, whatever it is."--" The Saints' Book is befitting
old men who have lost their teeth."--"Christianity is a religion for
women."
Sigurd struck in for the first time. Although he had been frowning with
vexation, some touch of compunction had held him silent. "I will not
allow you to say that, nor should you wish to speak so." He hesitated,
rubbing his chin perplexedly. "I acknowledge that I experience the same
disgust that you do; yet I am not altogether certain that we are right.
I remember hearing my father say that what these saints did was more
difficult than any achievement of Thor. And I have heard King Olaf
Trygvasson read out of the Holy Book that a man who controls his own
passions is more to be admired than a man who conquers a city."
For perhaps two or three minutes there was a lull in the grumbling. But
it was not to be expected, in that brutal age, that moral strength
should find a keen appreciation. Indeed, Sigurd's words were far from
ringing with his own conviction. Little by little, the discontent broke
out again. At last it grew so near to mutiny, that the steersman felt
called upon to exercise his authority.
"All this is foolishly spoken, concerning something you know nothing of.
Undoubtedly Leif has an excellent reason for what he does. It may be
that he considers it of the greatest importance to secure Eric's
friendship. Or it may be that he intends to lead him into some
uninhabited place, that he may kill him and get rid of his ill-temper.
It is certain that he has some good reason. Go back to your work, and
make your minds easy that now, as always, some good will result from his
actions."
The men still growled as they obeyed him; but however right or wrong he
was regarding Leif's motives, he was proved correct in his prophecy. Out
of that moment on shore, came the good of a complete reconciliation with
Eric. No more were there cold shoulders, and half-veiled gibes, and long
evenings of gloomy restraint. No longer were Leif's followers obliged to
sit with teeth on their tongues and hands on their swords. The warmth of
gratification that had melted the ice of Eric's displeasure seemed to
have set free torrents of generosity and good-will. His ruddy face
beamed above the board like a harvest moon; if Leif would have accepted
it, he would have presented him with the entire contents of Brattahlid.
Following their chief's example, his retainers locked arms with their
former enemies and swore them eternal brotherhood. Night after night
they drank out of the same horns, and strengthened their bonds in
lauding their chiefs. Never had the great hall seen a time of such
radiant good cheer.
By the last week of Leif's preparations, interest and enthusiasm had
spread into every corner of inhabited Greenland. Strings of people began
to make pilgrimages to stare at the exploring vessel that had once been
within sight of the "wonder-shores" and now seemed destined actually to
touch them. Men came from ail parts of the country in the hope of
joining her crew, and were furious with disappointment when told that
her equipment was limited to thirty-five, and that that number had
already been made up from among Leif's own followers. Warriors thronged
to visit the Lucky One, until the hall benches were filled, and the
courtyard was so crowded with attendants that there was barely room for
the servants to run between the horses with the ale horns. Outside the
fence there was nearly always a mob of children and paupers and thralls
lying in wait, like a wolf-pack, to tear information out of any member
of the household who should venture beyond the gates.
Usually it was only vague rumor and meagre report that fell to the share
of these outsiders; but the day before Leif's departure it happened that
they got a bit of excitement first-hand.
Late that afternoon word went around that the trading-ship of Arnor
Gunnarsson was coming up Eric's Fiord. The arrival of that merchant was
one of the events of the year. Not only did it occasion great feasting
among the rich, which meant additional alms among the poor, but besides
a chance to feast one's stomach, it meant an opportunity to feast one's
eyes on beautiful garments and wonderful weapons; and in addition to all
else, it meant such a budget of news and gossip and thrilling yarns as
should supply local conversation with a year's stock of topics,--a stock
always run low and rather shopworn towards the end of the long winters.
At the first hint of the "Eastman's" approach, a crowd of idlers was
gathered out of nowhere as quickly as buzzards are drawn out of empty
space.
As the heavy dun-colored merchantman came slowly to its berth and the
anchor fell with a rattle and a splash, the motley crowd cheered
shrilly. When the ruddy gold-bearded trader appeared at the side, ready
to clamber into the boat his men were lowering, they cheered again. And
they regarded it as an appropriate tribute to the importance of the
occasion when one of their number came running over the sand to announce
breathlessly that Leif Ericsson himself was riding down to greet the
arrivals, accompanied by no less a person than his high-born foster-son.
"Although it is no great wonder that the Lucky One feels interest," they
told each other. "The last time that Eric the Red came to meet traders,
they returned his greeting with a sweep of their arms toward their
ships, and an invitation to take whatever of its contents best pleased
him."
"The strange wonder to me," mumbled one old man, "is that it is always
to those who have sufficient wealth to purchase them that presents are
given. It may be that Odin knows why gifts are seldom given to the poor:
certainly I think one needs to be all-wise to understand it."
His companions clapped their hands over his mouth, and pointed at the
approaching boat.
"Look!"--"Look there!"--"It is a king's son!" they cried. And then it
was that their hungry teeth closed upon their morsel of excitement.
In the bow of the boat, shining like a jewel against the dark background
of the trader's dun mantle, stood a most splendidly arrayed young
warrior. The fading sunbeams that played on his gilded helm revealed
shining armor and a golden cross embossed upon a gold-rimmed shield.
Still nearer, and it could be seen that his cloak was of crimson velvet
lined with sables, and that gold-embroideries and jewelled clasps
flashed with every motion.
Buzzing with curiosity, they crowded down to the water's edge to meet
him. The keel bit the sand; he stepped ashore into their very midst, and
even that close scrutiny did not lessen his attractions. His
olive-tinted face was haughtily handsome; his fine black hair fell upon
his shoulders in long silken curls; he was tall and straight and supple,
and his bearing was bold and proud as an eagle's.
"He is well fitted to be a king's son," they repeated one to another.
And those in front respectfully gave way before him, while those behind
fell over one another to get near in case he should speak,--and Leif
himself paused in his greeting of Arnor Gunnarsson to look at the
stranger curiously.
The youth stood running his eyes over the faces of those around him,
until his gaze fell upon Sigurd Haraldsson. He uttered a loud
exclamation, and sprang forward with outstretched hand.
Sigurd's cheeks, which had been looking rather pale, suddenly became
very red; and he leaped from his horse and started forward. Then he
wavered, stopped, and hesitated, staring.
"_Mon_ami_!" said the stranger, in some odd heathen tongue very
different from good plain Norse. "_Mon_ami_!" He took another step
forward, and this time their palms met.
The spectators who were watching Sigurd Haraidsson, whispered that the
young warrior must be the last man on earth that he expected to see in
Greenland, and also the man that he loved the best of all his sworn
brothers. The fair-haired jarl's son and he of the raven locks stood
grasping each other's hands and looking into each other's eyes as though
they had forgotten there was anyone else in the world.
"He looks to be a man to be bold in the presence of chiefs, does he
not?" the trader observed to Leif Ericsson, regarding the pair
benevolently as he stood twisting his long yellow mustache. "He said to
me that the jarl's son was his friend; it is great luck that he should
find him so soon. He is somewhat haughty-minded, as is the wont of
Normans, but he is free with his gold." And the thrifty merchant patted
his money-bag absently.
The crowd circulated the news in excited whispers. "He is a friend of
Sigurd Haraldsson."--"He is a Norman."--"That accounts for the
swarthiness of his skin."--"Is it in the Norman tongue that they are
speaking?"--" Normandy? Is that the land Rolf the Ganger laid under his
sword?"--"Hush! Sigurd is leading him to the chief."--"Now we shall
learn what his errand is."
And the boldest of them pushed almost within whip-range of the pair.
But there was no difficulty about hearing, for Sigurd spoke out in a
loud clear voice: "Foster-father, I wish to make known to you my friend
and comrade who has just now arrived on the Eastman's vessel. He is
called Robert Sans-Peur, because his courage is such as is seldom found.
I got great kindness from his kin when I was in Normandy."
The Norman said nothing, but he did what the bystanders considered
rather surprising in a knee-crooking Frenchman. Neither bending his body
nor doffing his helmet, he folded his arms across his breast and looked
straight into the Lucky One's eyes.
"As though," one fellow muttered, "as though he would read in the
chief's very face whether or not it was his intention to be friendly!"
"Hush!" his neighbor interrupted him. "Leif is drawing off his glove. It
may be that he is going to honor him for his boldness."
And so indeed it proved. In another moment, the chief had extended his
bare hand to the haughty Southerner.
"I have an honorable greeting for all brave men, even though they be
friendless," he said, with lofty courtesy. "How much warmer then is the
state of my feelings toward one who is also a friend of Sigurd
Haraldsson? Be welcome, Robert Sans-Peur. The best that Brattahlid has
to offer shall not be thought too good for you."
Whether or not he could speak it, it was evident that the Fearless One
understood the Northern tongue. His haughtiness passed from him like a
shadow. Uncovering his raven locks, he bowed low,--and would have set
his lips to the extended hand if the chief, foreseeing his danger, had
not saved himself by dexterously withdrawing it.
Sigurd, still flushed and nervous, spoke again: "You have taken this so
well, foster-father, that it is in my mind to ask of you a boon which I
should be thankful if you would grant. As far off as Normandy, my friend
has heard tidings of this exploring-journey of yours; and he has come
all this way in the hope of being allowed to join your following. He has
the matter much at heart. If my wishes are at all powerful with you, you
will not deny him."
A murmur of delight ran through the crowd. That this splendid personage
should have come to do homage to their hero, was the final dramatic
touch which their imaginations craved. It was with difficulty that they
repressed a cheer.
But the guardsman looked puzzled to the point of incredulity.
"Heard the tidings as far as Normandy?" he repeated. "A matter of so
little importance to anyone? How is that likely?" Straightening in his
saddle, he looked at the Norman for a moment with eyes that were more
keen than courteous.
"He would be liable to disaster who should try to put a trick upon Leif
Ericsson," the thrall-born whispered.
Robert Sans-Peur was in no wise disconcerted. Meeting the keen eyes, he
answered in plain if halting Norse: "The renowned chief has forgotten
that early this season a trading-ship went from here to Trondhjem. Not a
few of her shipmates went further than Nidaros. One of them, who was
called Gudbrand-wi'-the-Scar, travelled even so far as Rouen, where it
was my good fortune to encounter him."
"It is true that I had forgotten that," the chief said, slowly. He
lowered his gaze to his horse's ears and sat for a while lost in
thought. Then once more he extended his hand to the Southerner.
"It appears to me that you are a man of energy and resource," he said,
with a return of his former cordiality. "Since wind and wave have not
hindered you from your desire, it would be unheard-of churlishness for
me to refuse you. Get now into my saddle and allow your friend to
conduct you to the hall. It is necessary that I oversee the storing of
these wares, but after the night-meal we will speak further of the
matter." To forestall any further attempts at hand-kissing, he sprang
from his horse and strode over to the trader.
With an air of grave ceremony that was swallowed open-mouthed by the
onlookers, Sigurd held his friend's stirrup; then, quickly remounting
his own steed, the pair rode off.
This time the mob would not be restrained, but burst into a roar of
delight.
"Here at last is a great happening that we have seen with our own eyes!"
they told each other, as they settled down at a safe distance to watch
Leif and the merchant turning over the bales of goods which the sailors
were engaged in bringing to shore. "This will be something to relate in
time to come,--a great event concerning which we understand everything."
"'Concerning which we understand everything!'" Sigurd, overhearing them,
repeated laughingly to his friend as they galloped up the lane.
Robert the Fearless laughed too, with a vibration of uneasiness in the
peal.
"Few there are who are capable of making that boast," he answered. "Even
you, comrade, are unequal to it. Here now is something that is worth a
hearing." Leaning from his saddle, he poured into Sigurd's ear a stream
of low-toned words that caused the Silver-Tongued to stop short and
stare at him incredulously, and then look back at the anchored ship and
pound his knee in a fury of exasperation.
The cloud rested on Sigurd's sunny face for the rest of the evening.
Thorhild, enchanted at the tribute to her idolized son, plied the
stranger with every attention; and Kark himself, for all his foxy eyes,
removed the gilded helm from the smooth black locks without a thought to
try whether or no they were indigenous to the scalp from which they
sprang,--but Sigurd's brow did not lighten.
As they put a final polish upon their shields and hung them for the last
time upon the wall behind their seats, Rolf said to him with a searching
glance: "It is bidden from me why you look so black, comrade. If it were
not for the drawback of old Eric at the steering-oar, certainly every
circumstance would be as favorable as could be expected."
Sigurd arose and pulled his cloak down from its peg with a vicious jerk.
"There are other witless people besides Eric the Red who thrust
themselves where they are not wanted," he retorted grimly. Then, turning
abruptly, he strode out into the darkness; and none of the household saw
him again until morning.
The sun rose upon a perfect day, warm and bright, with the wind in the
right quarter, steady and strong. And as if to make sure that not even
one thing should mar so auspicious a beginning, Leif's luck swept away
the only drawback that Rolf had been able to name.
Down in the lane, midway between the foot where it opened upon the shore
and the head where it ended at the fence, there lay a bit of a rock. A
small stone or a big pebble was all it was, but in the hands of Leif's
luck it took on the importance of a boulder.
When the moment of departure arrived, and the cavalcade poured out of
the courtyard gates, with a clanking of armor and a flapping of gorgeous
new mantles, warmed by the horns of parting ale that had steamed down
their throats, singing and boasting and laughing, and cheered by the
rabble that ran alongside, their way down to the shore lay directly over
the head of this insignificant pebble. Who would have thought of
avoiding it? Yet, though a score of children's feet danced over it
unharmed, and sixty pairs of horses' hoofs pranced over it unhindered,
when Eric reached it his good bay mare stumbled against it and fell, so
that her rider was thrown from his saddle and rolled in the dust.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19