The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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There were no bones broken; he was no more than shaken; he was up before
they could reach him; but his face was gray with disappointment, and his
frame had shrunk like a withered leaf.
"It is a warning from the gods that I am on the wrong road," he said
hoarsely. "It is a sign that it cannot be my fate to be the discoverer
of any other land than the one on which we now live. My luck go with
you, my son; but I cannot."
Before they could remonstrate, he had wheeled his horse and left them,
riding with the bent head and drooping shoulders of an old, old man.
A stern sign from Valbrand restrained Leif's men from venting the cheers
they were bursting with; but the looks they darted at their leader, and
then at each other, said as plainly as words: "It is his never-failing
luck. Why did we ever doubt him? We would follow him into the Sea of
Worms and believe that it would end favorably."
In this promising frame of mind they left their friendly haven and
sailed away into an unknown world.
CHAPTER XXIV
FOR DEAR LOVE'S SAKE
He alone knows,
Who wanders wide
And has much experienced,
By what disposition
Each man is ruled
Who common sense possesses.
Ha'vama'l
The first night out was a moonless night, that shut down on the world of
waters and blotted out even the clouds and the waves that been company
for the solitary vessel. The little ship became a speck of light in a
gulf of darkness, an atom of life floating in empty space. Under the
tent roofs, by the light of flaring torches, the crew drank and sang and
amused themselves with games; but beyond that circle, there was only
blackness and emptiness and silence.
Sigurd gazed out over the vessel's side, with a yawn and a shiver
combined. "It feels as though the air were full of ghosts, and we were
the only living beings in the whole world," he muttered.
A tow-headed giant known as Long Lodin overheard him, and laughed
noisily, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the deck where
Leif's eagle face showed high above their heads.
"_His_ luck could carry us safe through even the world of the dead," he
reassured him.
But Rolf paused in his chess game to throw his friend a keen glance.
"The Silver-Tongue has been one not apt to speak womanish words," he
said, gravely. "Something there is on your mind which disturbs you,
comrade."
Sigurd pulled himself together with an attempt at his usual careless
laugh. "Is it your opinion that I am the only person who is thinking of
ghosts to-night?" he parried. "Look yonder at Kark, how he fears to turn
his back on the shadows, lest the Evil One overtake him! It is my belief
that he would like it better to die than to venture into the dark of the
foreroom."
Following his glance, they beheld the bowerman, leaning against the mast
with a face as pale as a toadstool. When a sailor threw a piece of dried
fish at him, he jumped as though he had been struck by a stone. Rolf's
gentle smile expanded into a broad grin, and he let himself be turned
thus easily from his object.
"Now that is true; I had not observed him before. He appears as if the
goddess Ran already had hold of his feet to pull him down under the
water. Let us have a little fun with him. I will send him to the
foreroom on an errand."
Robert of Normandy set down his drinking-horn with a sharp motion, and
Sigurd leaned forward hastily; but the Wrestler's soft voice was already
speeding his command.
"Ho there, valiant Kark-with-the-white-cheeks! Get you into the foreroom
and bring my bag of chess-men from the brass-bound box."
Kark heard the order without a motion except an angry scowl, and Sigurd
drew back with something like a breath of relief. But Rolf made a sudden
move as though to rise to his feet, and the effect was magical.
"I am going as soon as is necessary," the thrall growled. "You said
nothing of being in haste." And he shuffled over to one of the torches
to light a splinter in its flame, and pushed his way forward with
dragging feet.
Sigurd and the Norman both sprang after him.
"I tell you, Rolf, I have something against this!" Sigurd stormed, as
the Wrestler's iron hand closed upon his cloak. "My--my--my valuables
are in the same chest. I will not have him pawing them over. Let me go,
I say!" He managed to slide out of his cloak and dodge under Rolf's arm.
A spark of something very like anger kindled the Wrestler's usually mild
eyes; he caught the Norman around the waist, as the latter tried to pass
him, and swung him bodily into the air. For an instant it seemed
possible that he might hurl him over the ship's side into the ocean. But
he finally threw him lightly upon a pile of skin sleeping-bags, and
turned and hastened after the jarl's son.
Guessing that some friendly squabble was in progress, the sailors made
way for him good-humoredly, and he reached the forecastle only a moment
behind Sigurd. Kark's taper was just disappearing among the shadows
beneath the deck.
Before the pursuers could speak, the bowerman leaped back upon them with
a shriek that cut the air.
"Ran is in there! I saw her hair hanging over a barrel. It was long and
yellow. It is Ran herself! We shall drown--"
Sigurd Haraldsson dealt him a cuff that felled him like a log.
"The simpleton is not able to tell a piece of yellow fox-fur from a
woman's hair," he said, contemptuously. "Since you are here, Rolf, hold
the light for me, and I will get the chess-bag myself." He spoke loudly
enough so that the men on the benches heard, laughed, and turned back to
their amusements. Then he drew Rolf further into the room, laid a hand
over his mouth, and pointed to the farthest comer, where barrels and
piled-up bales made a screen half-way across the bow.
Hair long and yellow there was, as the simpleton had said; but it was
not the vengeful Ran who looked out from under it. Tumbled and
dishevelled, paling and flushing, short-kirtled and desperate-eyed,
Helga the Fair stood before them.
"Behold how a prudent shield-maiden helps matters that are already in a
snarl," the jarl's son said, dryly.
The Wrestler started back in consternation.
Helga dropped her eyes guiltily. "I cannot blame you for being angry,"
she murmured. "I have become a great hindrance to you."
"It is an unheard-of misfortune!" gasped Rolf. "In flying from Gilli you
have broken the Norwegian law; and by causing Leif to aid you in your
flight you have made him an accomplice. A bad result is certain."
Helga's head bent lower. Then suddenly she flung out her hands in
passionate entreaty.
"Yet I could not help it, comrades! As I live, I could not help it! How
could I have the heart to remain in safety, without knowing whether
Alwin lived or died? How could I spend my days decking myself in fine
clothes, while my best friend fought for his life? Was it to be expected
that I could help coming?" She spoke softly, half-crouching in her
hiding-place, but her heart was in every word.
Her judges could not stand against her. Rolf swore that she would have
been unworthy the name of shield-maiden had she acted otherwise. And
Sigurd pressed her hand with brotherly tenderness.
"You should know that I am not blaming you in earnest, my foster-sister,
because I grumble a little when I cannot see my way out of the tangle."
He bent over Kark to make sure that he was really as unconscious as he
seemed; then he lowered his voice nervously. "What makes it a great
mishap is that your presence doubles Alwin's risk, and because one can
never be altogether sure to what lengths Eric's son will go,--even with
one whom he loves as well as he loves you. If I could find some good way
in which to break the news to him before he sees you,--"
Helga sprang out of her niche, and stood, straight and rigid, before
them. "You shall not endanger yourself to shield me. You will feel it
enough for what you have already done. The first burst of his anger I
will bear myself, as is my right."
Before they had even guessed her intention, she slipped past them,
leaped lightly over Kark's motionless body, and delivered herself into
the light of the torches. In another instant, a roar of amazement and
delight had gone up from the benches; and the men were dropping their
games and knocking over their goblets to crowd around her.
"She has got out of her wits," Rolf said, wonderingly.
"He will kill her," Sigurd answered, between his teeth. "For half as
much cause, Olaf Trygvasson struck a queen in the face."
They followed her aft, like men walking in a dream; but between the
rings of broad shoulders they soon lost sight of her. All they could see
was the Norman's dark face, as he stepped upon a bench and silently
watched the approaching apparition.
"The Troll take him! If he cannot keep that look out of his eyes, why
does he not shut them?" Sigurd muttered, irritably.
Perhaps it was that look which Helga encountered, as she made the last
step that brought her face to face with the chief. At that moment, a
great change came over her. When the guardsman pushed back to the
extreme limits of his chair to regard her in a sort of incredulous
horror, she did not fall at his feet as everyone expected her to, and as
she herself had thought to do. Instead, she flung up her head with a
spirit that sent the long locks flying. Even when anger began to distort
his face,--anger headlong and terrible as Eric's,--her glance crossed
his like a sword-blade.
"You need not look at me like that, kinsman," she said, fiercely. "It is
your own fault for giving me into the power of a mean-minded brute,--you
who brought me up to be a free Norse shield-maiden!"
If the planks of the deck had risen against them, the men could not have
looked at each other more aghast. Her boldness seemed to paralyze even
Leif. Or was it the grain of truth in the reproach that stayed him? He
let moment after moment pass without replying. He sat plainly struggling
to hold back his fury, gripping his chair-arms until the knuckles on his
fists gleamed white.
After peering at him curiously for awhile, as though trying to divine
his wishes, his shrewd old foster-father put aside the chess-board on
which they had been playing, and hobbled over and laid a soothing hand
on the girl's arm.
"Speak you of Gilli?" he inquired. "Tell to us how he has ill-treated
you."
It was only very slightly that the pause had cooled Helga's valor.
"He has treated me like a horse that traders deck out in costly things,
and parade up and down for men to see and offer money for," she answered
hotly.
Though they knew Gilli's conduct was entirely within the law, and there
was not a man there who might not have done the same thing, they all
grunted contemptuously. Tyrker stroked his beard, with an-other sidelong
glance at his foster-son, as he said, cautiously:
"So? _Aber_,--how have you managed it from him to escape?"
"Little was there to manage. As I told you, he loaded me with precious
things; after which he left me to sit at home with his weak-minded wife,
while he went on a trading voyage, as was his wont. A horse brought me
to Nidaros; gold bought me a passage with Arnor Gunnarsson, and his ship
brought me into Eric's Fiord."
Then, for the first time, Leif spoke. His words leaped out like wolves
eager for a victim.
"Do not stop there! Tell how you passed from his ship into mine. Tell
whom you found in Eric's Fiord who became a traitor for your gold."
She answered him bravely: "No one, kinsman. No one received so much as a
ring from me. May the Giant take me if I lie! I swam the distance
between the ships under the cover of darkness, and--"
His voice crashed through hers like a thunder-peal: "Who kept the watch
on board, last night?"
Half a dozen men started in sudden consternation; but they were spared
the peril of a reply, for Sigurd Haraldsson stepped out of the throng
and stood at Helga's side.
"I kept the watch last night, foster-father," he said, quietly. "Let
none of your men suffer in life or limb. It was I who received her on
board, while it was the others' turn to sleep; and I alone who hid her
in the foreroom."
Those who had hoped that Leif's love for his foster-son might outweigh
his anger, gauged but poorly the force of the resentment he had been
holding back. At this offer of a victim which it was free to accept, his
anger could no more be restrained than an unchained torrent. It burst
out in a stream of denunciation that bent Sigurd's handsome head and
lashed the blood into his cheeks. Coward and traitor were the mildest of
its reproaches; contempt and eternal displeasure were the least of its
dooms. Though Helga besought with eyes and hands, the torrent thundered
on with a fury that even the ire of Eric had never surpassed.
Only a lack of breath brought it finally to an end. The chief dashed
himself back into his chair, and leaned there, panting and darting fiery
glances from under his scowling brows,--now at Rolf and the Norman, now
at Helga, and again at the motionless figure of Sigurd Haraldsson,
silently awaiting his pleasure. When he spoke again, it was with the
suddenness of a blow.
"Nor do I altogether believe that it was to escape from Gilli that she
took this venture upon herself. By her own story, Gilli had gone away
for the season and left her free. It is my opinion that it took
something of more importance to steal the wits out of her."
Helga blanched. If he was going to pry into her motives, what might not
the next words bring out? Under the Norman's silken tunic, an English
heart leaped, and then stood still. There was a pause in which no one
seemed to breathe. But the next words were as unexpected as the last.
Of a sudden, Leif started up with a gesture of impatience. "Have I
nothing to think of besides your follies? Trouble me no longer with the
sight of you. Tyrker, take the girl below and see to it that she is
cared for." While the culprits stared at him, scarcely daring to credit
their ears, he still further signified that the incident was closed, by
turning his back upon them and inviting Robert Sans-Peur to take the
German's place at the chess-board.
In a daze of bewilderment, Sigurd let Rolf lead him away. "What can he
mean by such an ending?" he marvelled, as soon as it was safe to voice
his thoughts. "How comes it that he will stop before he has found out
her real motive? It cannot be that he will drop it thus. Did you not see
the black look he gave me as I left?" He raised his eyes to Rolf's face,
and drew back resentfully. "What are you smiling at?" he demanded.
"At your stupidity," Rolf laughed into his ear. "Do you not see that he
believes he has found out her real motive?" As Sigurd continued to
stare, the Wrestler shook him to arouse his slumbering faculties.
"Simpleton! He thinks it was for love of you that Helga fled from
Norway!"
"_Nom_du_diable_!" breathed Sigurd. Yet the longer he thought of it, the
more clearly he saw it. By and by, he drew a breath of relief that ended
in a laugh. "And he thinks to make me envious by putting my Norman
friend before me! Do you see? He in-tends it as a punishment. By Saint
Michael, it seems almost too amusing to be true!"
CHAPTER XXV
"WHERE NEVER MAN STOOD BEFORE"
Wit is needful
To him who travels far:
At home all is easy.
Ha'vama'l
Four days of threading fog-thickets and ploughing over watery wastes,
and the stanch little vessel pushed her way into sight of the first of
the unknown lands. It towered up ahead like a storm-cloud, bleak and
barren-looking as Greenland itself. From its inhospitable heights and
glaciers gleaming coldly in the sunshine, they knew it at once for the
last-seen land of Biorn's narrative.
"It looks to me like a good omen that we are to begin where Biorn left
off," Rolf observed to one of the men engaged in lowering the ship's
boat.
The fellow was a stalwart Icelander who had every current superstition
at his tongue's end, and was even accredited with the gift of second
sight. He hunched his shoulders sceptically, as he bent over the ropes.
"It is my opinion that good omens have little to do with this land," he
returned. "It bears every resemblance to the Giant Country which Thor
visited."
"I believe it is Helheim itself," quavered Kark.
The Wrestler glanced at the thrall's blanching cheeks and laughed a long
soft laugh. Such a display was one of the few things that moved him to
mirth. Suddenly he caught up the bowerman as one picks up a kitten, and,
leaning out over the side, dropped him sprawling into the long-boat.
"Here, then, is your chance to enter the world of the dead in good
company," he laughed. He stood guard over the gunwale until Leif and the
other ten men of the boat's crew were ready to go down; pounding the
poor wretch's fingers when he attempted to climb back, while a row of
grinning faces mocked him over the side.
The unpromising aspect of the shore did not lessen as the explorers
approached it. If they had not made an easy landing, on a gravelly strip
between two rocky points, they would have felt that their labor had been
wasted. From the sea to the ice-tipped mountains there stretched a plain
of nothing but broad flat stones. They looked in vain for any signs of
life. Not a tree nor a shrub, nor even so much as a grass-blade,
relieved the dead emptiness. When they caught sight of a fox, whisking
from one rocky den to another, it startled them into crossing
themselves.
"It is over such wastes as this that the dead like to call to each
other," Valbrand muttered in his heard.
And his neighbor mumbled uneasily, "I think it likely that this is one
of the plains on which the Women who Ride at Night hold their meetings.
If it were not for the Lucky One's luck, I would prefer swallowing hot
irons to coming here."
Then both became silent, for Leif had faced about and was awaiting their
full attention before announcing the next move. "I dislike to see brave
men disgrace their beards with bondmaids' gabble," he said sternly. "Fix
in your minds the shame that was spoken of Biorn Herjulfsson because of
his lack of enterprise. The same shall not be said of us. Rolf
Erlingsson and Ottar the Red and three others shall follow me; and we
will walk inland until the light has entirely faded from the highest
mountain peak yonder, and the next point below is yellow as a golden
fir-cone. The others of you shall follow Valbrand for the same length of
time, but walk southward along the shore, since it may be that something
of interest is hidden behind these points--"
A howl from Kark interrupted him. "I will not go! By Thor, I will not
go! Spirits are hidden behind those points. Who knows what would jump
out at us? I will not stir away from the Lucky One. I will not! I will
not!" Gibbering with terror, he clutched Leif's cloak and clung there
like a cat.
For a moment the chief hesitated, looking down at him with disgust
unutterable. Then he quietly loosened the golden clasp on his shoulder,
flung the mantle off with a sweep that sent the thrall staggering
backward, and marched away at the head of his men.
Valbrand had handled rebellious slaves before.
Shaking the fellow until he no longer had any breath to howl with, the
steersman said briefly, "It is very unlikely that we shall see any
ghosts, but it is altogether certain that your hide will feel my belt if
you do not end this fuss."
Kark made his choice with admirable swiftness. He got what comfort he
could, poor wretch, out of a carefully selected position. As between two
shields, he crept between the mystic Icelander and the dauntless Norman
warrior. Valbrand led the way, his flint face set to withstand the Devil
and all his angels; and three strapping Swedes brought up the rear, with
drawn swords and thumping hearts.
If only the way could have lain straight and open before them, even
though it bristled with beasts and foes! But for the whole distance it
screwed itself into a succession of crescent-shaped beaches, each one
lying between rocky spurs of the beetling crags.
Each point they rounded disclosed nothing more alarming than lichened
boulders and pebbly shore, with here a dead fish, and there a heap of
shining snaky kelp, and yonder a flock of startled gulls,--but who could
tell what the next projection might be hiding? They walked with their
fists gripped hard around their weapons, their eyes shifting, their ears
strained, while the waves hissed around their feet and the gulls
screamed over their heads.
Slowly the light faded from the mountain top and lay upon the next peak,
a golden cone against the blue. At last, even Valbrand's sense of duty
was satisfied. "We will turn back now," he announced, halting them. "But
first I will climb up the cliff, here where it is lowest, and try to see
a little way ahead, that we may have as much news as possible to report
to the chief."
As he spoke, he gave a great spring upward on to a shelving ledge, and
pulled himself up to the next projection; a rattling shower of sand and
pebbles continued to mark his ascent. Robert the Fearless walked on to
look around the rock they had almost reached; but the rest remained
where they were, following their leader's movements with anxious eyes.
They were so intent that they jumped like startled horses at an
exclamation from the Icelander. He was pointing to the strip of beach
which lay between Kark and the Norman.
"Look there!" he cried. "Look there!"
Their alarm was in no way diminished when they had looked and seen that
the space was empty. The cold drops came out on their bodies, and the
hair rose on their heads.
Robert of Normandy, who had caught the cry but not the words, came
walking back, inquiring the cause of the excitement; and at that the
Icelander cried out louder than before:
"Have a care where you go! Do you not see it? You will get blood upon
your fine cloak. It is at your feet."
In blank amazement, the Norman stared first at the ground and then at
the seer.
"Have the wits been stolen out of you? There is not even so much as a
devil-fish where you are pointing."
The Icelander took off his cap, and commenced wiping the great beads
from his forehead. "You begin to listen after the song is sung," he
answered, peevishly. "The thing ran away as soon as you approached. It
was a fox that was bloody all over."
A yell of terror distended Kark's throat.
"A fox!" he screeched. "My guardian spirit follows me in that shape; a
foreknowing woman told me so. It is my death-omen! I am death-fated!"
His knees gave way under him so that he sank to the ground and cowered
there, wringing his hands.
The Icelander shot a look of triumph at the sceptical stranger. "They
have no call to hold their chins high who hear of strange wonders for
the first time," he said, severely. "It is as certain that men have
guardian spirits as that they have bodies. Yours, Robert of Normandy,
goes doubtless in the shape of a wolf because of your warrior nature;
and I advise you now, that when you see a bloody wolf before you it will
be time for you to draw on your Hel-shoes. The animal ran nearest the
thrall--"
Kark's lamentations merged into a shriek of hope. "That is untrue! It
lay at the Norman's feet; you told him so!"
While the seer turned to look rather resentfully at him, he climbed up
this slender life-line, like a man whom sharks are pursuing.
"It was not a fox that you saw, at all; it was a wolf! So excited were
you that your eyes were deceitful. It was a wolf, and it was nearest the
Norman. A blind man could see what that means."
The Icelander pulled off his cap again, but this time it was to scratch
his head doubtfully. "It was when the stranger approached it, that it
was nearest to him," he persisted. "While this may signify that he will
seek death, I am unable to say that it proves that he will overtake it.
Yet I will not swear that it was not a wolf. The sun was in my eyes--"
Robert the Fearless burst into a scornful laugh. "Oh, call it a wolf,
and let us end this talk!" he said, contemptuously. "I shall not die
until my death-day comes, though you see a pack of them. Call it a wolf,
craven serf, if that will stay your tongue."
There was no chance for more, for at that moment Valbrand joined them.
"There is naught to be seen which is different from what we have already
experienced," he said shortly; and they began the return march.
They reached the landing-place first; but it was not long before the
heads of their companions appeared above a rocky ridge. This party, it
was evident, had had better sport. Several men carried hats filled with
sea-birds' eggs. Another explorer had under his arm a fat little bear
cub that he had picked up somewhere. Rolf's deftness at stone-throwing
had secured him a bushy yellow fox-tail for a trophy.
The party had gone inland far enough to discover that creeping bushes
grew on the hills, and rushes on the bogs; that it was an island, as
Biorn had stated, and that forests equal in size to those of Greenland
grew in sheltered places. But they had seen nothing to alter their
unflattering first opinion. Vikings though they were, warriors who would
have been flayed alive without flinching, relief was manifest on every
face when the leader finally gave the word to embark.
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