The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Before many minutes, he forgot that he had been on the point of
quarrelling with Sigurd Haraldsson. Anything more deft or graceful than
the swiftness and ease with which the young noble handled his weapon he
had never imagined. Admiration crowded out every other feeling.
"I hope that he will win!" he muttered presently. "By St. George, I hope
that he will win!" and his soothing pats on the horse's neck became
frantic slaps in his excitement.
The archer was not a bad fighter, and just now he was a desperate
fighter. Round and round went the two. A dozen times they shifted their
ground; a dozen times they changed their modes of attack and defence. At
last, Sigurd's weapon itself began to change from one hand to the other.
Without abating a particle of his swiftness, in the hottest of the fray
he made a feint with his left. Before the other could recover from
parrying it, the weapon leaped back to his right, darted like a hissing
snake at the opening, and pierced the archer's shoulder.
He fell, snarling, and lay with Sigurd's point pricking his throat and
Sigurd's foot pressing his breast.
"I think you understand now that you will not stand over my scalp,"
young Haraldsson said sternly. "Now you have got what you deserved. You
managed to get me banished, and you shot three arrows at me to kill me;
and all because of what? Because in last fall's games I shot better than
you! It was in my mind that if ever I caught you I would drive a knife
through you."
He kicked him contemptuously as he took his foot away.
"Sneaking son of a wolf," he finished, "I despise myself that I cannot
find it in my heart to do it, now that you are at my mercy; but I have
not been wont to do such things, and you are not worth beginning on.
Crawl on your miserable way."
While the archer staggered off, clutching his shoulder, Sigurd came back
to his horse, wiping his sword composedly. "It was obliging of you to
stay and hold High-flyer," he said, as he mounted. "If he had been
frightened away, I should have been greatly hindered, for I have many
miles before me."
That brought them suddenly back to their first topic; but now Alwin
handled it with perfect courtesy.
"Let me urge you again to turn back with me. It is not easy for me to
answer your questions, for this morning is the first time I have seen
the maiden; but she is awaiting you at the cross-roads with the old man
she calls Tyrker, and--"
"Tyrker!" cried Sigurd Haraldsson. "Leif's foster-father had that name.
It is not possible that it is my little foster-sister from Greenland!"
"I have heard them mention Greenland, and also the name of Leif," Alwin
assured him.
Sigurd smote his knee a resounding thwack. "Strangest of wonders is the
time at which this news comes! Here have I just been asking for Leif in
the guardroom of the King's house; and because they told me he was away
on the King's business, I was minded to ride straight out of the city.
Catch hold of the strap on my saddle-girth, and we will hurry."
He wheeled Highflyer and spurred him forward. Alwin would not make use
of the strap, but kept his place at the horse's shoulder without much
difficulty. Only the pace did not leave him breath for questions, and he
wished to ask a number.
It was not long, however, before most of his questions were asked and
answered for him. Rounding a curve, they came face to face with the
riders, who had evidently tired of waiting at the cross-roads. Tyrker,
peering anxiously ahead, uttered an exclamation of relief at the sight
of Alwin, whom he had evidently given up as a runaway. Helga welcomed
Sigurd in a delighted cry.
The young Northman greeted her with frank affection, and saluted Tyrker
almost as fondly.
"This meeting gladdens me more than tongue can tell. I do not see how it
was that I did not recognize you as I passed. And yet those garments,
Helga! By St. Michael, you look well-fitted to be the Brynhild we used
to hear about!"
Helga's fair face flushed, and Alwin smiled inwardly. He was curious to
know what the young Viking would do if the young Amazon boxed his ears,
as he thought likely. But it seemed that Helga was only ungentle toward
those whom she considered beneath her friendliness. While she motioned
Alwin with an imperious gesture to hand her the rein she had dropped,
she responded good-naturedly to Sigurd: "Nay, now, my comrade, you will
not be mean enough to scold about my short kirtle, when it was you who
taught me to do the things that make a short kirtle necessary! Have you
forgotten how you used to steal me away from my embroidery to hunt with
you?"
"By no means," Sigurd laughed. "Nor how Thorhild scolded when we came
back! I would give a ring to know what she would say if she were here
now. It is my belief that you would get a slap, for all your warlike
array."
Helga's spur made her horse prance and rear defiantly. "Thorhild is not
here, nor do I expect that she will ever rule over me again. She struck
me once too often, and I ran away to Leif. For two years now I have
lived almost like the shield-maidens we were wont to talk of. Oh,
Sigurd, I have been so happy!" She threw back her head and lifted her
beautiful face up to the sunlit sky and the fresh wind. "So free and so
happy!"
Alwin thrilled with sudden sympathy. He understood then that it was not
boldness, nor mere waywardness, that made her what she was. It was the
Norse blood crying out for adventure and open air and freedom. It did
not seem strange to him, as he thought of it. It occurred to him, all at
once, as a stranger thing that all maidens did not feel so,--that there
were any who would be kept at spinning, like prisoners fettered in
trailing gowns.
Tyrker nodded in answer to Sigurd's look of amazement. "The truth it is
which the child speaks. Over winters, stays she at the King's house with
one of the Queen's women, who is a friend of Leif; and during the
summer, voyages she makes with me. But to me it appears that of her we
have spoken enough. Tell to us how it comes that you are in Norway,
and--whoa! Steady!--Wh--o--a!"
"And tell us also that you will ride on to the camp with us now," Helga
put in, as Tyrker was obliged to transfer his attention to his restless
horse. "Rolf Erlingsson and Egil Olafsson, whom you knew in Greenland,
are there, and all the crew of the 'Sea-Deer'."
"The 'Sea-Deer'!" ejaculated Sigurd. "Surely Leif has got rid of his
ship, now that he is in King Olaf's guard."
The backing and sidling and prancing of Tyrker's horse forced him to
leave this also to Helga.
"Certainly he has not got rid of his ship. When he does not follow King
Olaf to battle with her, Tyrker takes her on trading voyages, and she
lies over-winter in the King's ship-shed. There are forty of the crew,
counting me,--there is no need for you to smile, I can take the helm and
stand a watch as well as any. Can I not, Tyrker?"
The old man relaxed his vigilance long enough to nod assent; whereupon
his horse took instant advantage of the slackened rein to bolt off
homeward, despite all the swaying and sawing of the rider.
That set the whole party in motion once more.
"You will come with me to camp, Sigurd my comrade?" Helga urged. "It is
but a little way, on the bank across the river. Come, if only for a
short time."
Sigurd gathered up his rein with a smile and a sigh together. "I will
give you a favorable answer to that. It seems that you have not heard of
the mishap that has befallen me. The lawman has banished me from the
district."
It pleased Alwin to hear that he was likely to see more of the young
Norseman. Helga was filled with amazement. On the verge of starting, she
stopped her horse to stare at him.
"It must be that you are jesting," she said at last. "You, who are the
most amiable person in the world,--it is not possible that you can have
broken the law!"
Sigurd laughed ruefully. "In my district I am not spoken of as amiable,
just now. Yet there is little need to take it heavily, my foster-sister.
I have done nothing that is dishonorable,--should I dare to come before
Leif's face if I had? It will blow over in time to come."
Helga leaned from her saddle to press his hand in a friendly grasp. "You
have come to the right place, for nowhere in the world could you be more
welcome. Only wait and see how Rolf and Egil will receive you!"
She gave the thrall a curt shake of her head, as he stepped to her
bridle-rein; and they rode off.
As Helga had said, the camp was not far away. Once across the river,
they turned to the left and wound along the rolling woody banks toward
the fiord. Entering a thicket of hazel-bushes on the crest of the gentle
slope, they were met by faint sounds of shouting and laughter. Emerging
into a green little valley, the camp lay before them.
Half a dozen wooden booths tented over with gay striped linen and
adorned with streaming flags, a leaping fire, a pile of slain deer, a
string of grazing horses, and a throng of brawny men skinning the deer,
chasing the horses, scouring armor, drinking, wrestling, and
lounging,--these were Alwin's first confused impressions.
"There it is!" cried Helga. "Saw you ever a prettier spot? There is
Tyrker under that ash tree. And there,--do you remember that black mane?
Yonder, bending over that shield? That is Egil Olafsson. Now it comes to
my mind again! To-night we go to a feast at the King's house; that is
why he is so busy. And yonder! Yonder is Rolf wrestling. He is the
strongest man in Greenland; did you know that? Even Valbrand cannot
stand against him. Whistle now as you were wont to for the hawks, and
see if they will not remember."
They swept down the slope, the high sweet notes rising clear above the
clatter. One man glanced up in surprise, then another and another; then
suddenly every man dropped what he was doing, and leaped up with shouts
of greeting and welcome. Sigurd disappeared behind a hedge of yellow
heads and waving hands.
Alwin felt himself clutched eagerly. "Donnerwetter, but I have waited a
long time for you!" said the old German, short-breathed and panting.
"That beast was like the insides of me to have out-shaken. Bring to me a
horn of ale; but first give me your shoulder to yonder booth."
CHAPTER IV
IN A VIKING LAIR
Leaving in the field his arms,
Let no man go
A fool's length forward:
For it is hard to know
When, on his way,
A man may need his weapon.
Ha'vama'l
The camp lay red in the sunset light, and the twilight hush had fallen
upon it so that one could hear the sleepy bird-calls in the woods
around, and the drowsy murmur of the river. Sigurd lay on his back under
a tree, staring up into the rustling greenery. From the booth set apart
for her, Helga came out dressed for the feast. She had replaced her
scarlet kirtle and hose by garments of azure-blue silk, and changed her
silver helmet for a golden diadem such as high-born maidens wore on
state occasions; but that was her only ornament, and her skirt was no
longer than before. Sigurd looked at her critically.
"It does not appear to me that you are very well dressed for a feast,"
said he. "Where are the bracelets and gold laces suitable to your rank?
It looks ill for Leif's generosity, if that is the finest kirtle you
own."
"That is unfairly spoken," Helga answered quickly. "He would dress me in
gold if I wished it; it is I who will not have it so. Have you forgotten
my hatred against clothes so fine that one must be careful of them? But
this was to be expected," she added, flushing with displeasure; "since
the Jarl's son has lived in Normandy, a maiden from a Greenland farm
must needs look mean to him."
She was turning away, but he leaped up and caught her by her shoulders
and shook her good-naturedly. "Now are you as womanish as your bondmaid.
You know that all the gold on all the women in Normandy is not so
beautiful as one lock of this hair of yours."
At least Helga was womanish enough to smile at this. "Now I understand
why it is that men call you Sigurd Silver-Tongue," she laughed. Suddenly
she was all earnestness again. "Nay, but, Sigurd, tell me this,--I do
not care how you scold about my dress,--tell me that you do not despise
me for it, or for being unlike other maidens."
Sigurd's grasp slipped from her shoulders down to her hands, and shook
them warmly. "Despise you, Helga my sister? Despise you for being the
bravest comrade and the truest friend a man ever had?"
She grew rosy red with pleasure. "If that is your feeling, I am well
content."
She took a step toward the place where her horse was tethered, and
looked back regretfully. "It seems inhospitable to leave you like this.
Will you not come with us, after all?"
Sigurd threw himself down again with an emphatic gesture of refusal. "I
like better to be left so than to be left in a mound with my head cut
off, which is what would happen were an outlaw to visit the King
uninvited."
"I shall not deny that that would be disagreeable," Helga assented. "But
do not let your mishap stand in the way of your joy. Leif has great
favor with King Olaf; there is no doubt in my mind that he will be able
to plead successfully for you."
"I hope so, with all my heart," Sigurd murmured. "When all brave men are
fighting abroad or serving the King at home, it is great shame for me to
be idling here." And he sighed heavily as Helga passed out of hearing.
As she went by the largest of the booths, which was the sleeping-house
of the steersman Valbrand and more than half the crew, Alwin came out of
the door and stood looking listlessly about. He had spent the afternoon
scouring helmets amid a babble of directions and fault-finding, accented
by blows. Helga did not see him; but he gazed after her, wondering idly
what sort of a mistress she was to the young bond-girl who was running
after her with the cloak she had forgotten,--wondering also what there
was in the girl's brown braids that reminded him of his mother's little
Saxon waiting-maid Editha.
The sound of a deep-drawn breath made him turn, to find himself face to
face with a young mail-clad Viking, in whose shaggy black locks he
recognized the Egil Olafsson whom Helga had that morning 'pointed out.
But it was not the surprise of the meeting that made Alwin leap suddenly
backward into the shelter of the doorway; it was the look that he caught
in the other's dark face,--a look so full of hate and menace that,
instead of being strangers meeting for the first time, one would have
supposed them lifelong enemies.
Still eying him, Egil said slowly in a voice that trembled with passion:
"So you are the English thrall,--and looking after her already! It seems
that Skroppa spoke some truth--" He broke off abruptly, and stood
glaring, his hand moving upward to his belt.
For once Alwin was fairly dazed. "Either this fellow has gotten out of
his wits," he muttered, crossing himself, "or else he has mistaken me
for some--"
He had not time to finish his sentence. Young Olafsson's fingers had
closed upon the haft of his knife; he drew it with a fierce cry: "But I
will make the rest of it a lie!" Throwing himself upon Alwin, he bore
him over backwards across the threshold.
It is likely that that moment would have seen the end of Alwin, if it
had not happened that Valbrand the steersman was in the booth, arraying
himself for the feast. He was a gigantic warrior, with a face seamed
with scars and as hard as the battle-axe at his side. He caught Egil's
uplifted arm and wrested the blade from his grasp.
"It is not likely that I will allow Leif's property to be damaged, Egil
the Black. Would you choke him? Loose him, or I will send you to the
Troll, body and bones!"
Egil rose reluctantly. Alwin leaped up like a spring released from a
weight.
"What has he done," demanded Valbrand, "that you should so far forget
the law as to attack another man's thrall?"
Instead of bursting into the tirade Alwin expected, Egil flushed and
looked away. "It is enough that I am not pleased with his looks," he
said sullenly.
Valbrand tossed him his knife with a scornful grunt. "Go and get sense!
Is he yours, that you may slay him because you dislike the tilt of his
nose? Go dress yourself. And you," he added, with a nod over his
shoulder at Alwin, "do you take yourself out of his sight somewhere. It
is unwisdom to tempt a hungry dog with meat that one would keep."
"If I had so much as a hunting-knife," Alwin cried furiously, "I swear
by all the saints of England, I would not stir--"
Valbrand wasted no time in argument. He seized Alwin and threw him out
of the door, with energy enough to roll him far down the slope.
The force with which he struck inclined Alwin to stay where he was for a
while; and gradually the coolness and the quietness about him soothed
him into a more reasonable temper. Egil Olafsson was mad; there could be
no question of that. Undoubtedly it was best to follow Valbrand's advice
and keep out of his way,--at least until he could secure a weapon with
which to defend himself. He stretched himself comfortably in the soft,
dewy grass and waited until the revellers, splendid in shining mail and
gay-hued mantles, clanked out to their horses and rode away. When the
last of them shouted his farewell to Sigurd and disappeared amid the
shadows of the wood-path, Alwin arose and walked slowly back to the
deserted camp.
Even the sunset light had left it now; a soft grayness shut it in, away
from the world. The air was full of night-noises; and high in the pines
a breeze was whispering softly. Very softly and sweetly, from somewhere
among the booths, the voice of the bond-girl arose in a plaintive
English ballad.
Alwin recognized the melody with a throb that was half of pleasure, half
of pain. In the old days, Editha had sung that song. Poor little
gentle-hearted Editha! The last time he had seen her, she had been borne
past him, white and unconscious, in the arms of one of the marauding
Danes. He shook himself fiercely to drive off the memory. Turning the
corner of Helga's booth, he came suddenly upon the singer, a slender
white-robed figure leaning in the shadow of the doorway. Sigurd still
lounged under the trees, half dozing, half listening.
As the thrall stepped out of the shadow into the moonlight, the singer
sprang to her feet, and the song merged into a great cry.
"My lord Alwin!"
It was Editha herself. Running to meet him, she dropped on her knees
before him and began to kiss his hands and cry over them. "Oh, my dear
lord," she sobbed, "you are so changed! And your hair--your beautiful
hair! Oh, it is well that Earl Edmund and your lady mother are dead,--it
would break their hearts, as it does mine!" Forgetting her own plight,
she wept bitterly over his, though he tried with every gentle word to
soothe her.
It was a sad meeting; it could not be otherwise. The memory of their
last terrible parting, the bondage in which they found each other, the
shameful, hopeless future that stretched before them,--it was all full
of bitterness. When Editha went in at last, her poor little throat was
bursting with sobs. Alwin sank down on the trunk of a fallen tree and
buried his head in his hands, and the first groan that his troubles had
wrung from him was forced now from his brave lips.
He had forgotten Sigurd's presence. In their preoccupation, neither of
them had noticed the young Viking watching them curiously. Now Alwin
started like a colt when a hand fell lightly on his shoulder. "It
appears to me," came in Sigurd's voice, "that a man should be merry when
he has just found a friend."
Alwin looked up at him with eyes full of savage despair.
"Merry! Would you be merry, had you found Helga the drudge of an English
camp?" He shook off the other's hand with a fierce motion.
But Sigurd answering instantly, "No, I would look even blacker than you,
if that were possible," the thrall was half appeased.
The young Viking dropped down beside him, and for a while they sat in
silence, staring away where the moonlit river showed between the trees.
At last Sigurd said dreamily: "It came to my mind, while you two were
talking, how unevenly the Fates deal things. It appears, from what the
maiden said, that you are the son of an English jarl who has often
fought the Northmen. Now I am the son of a Norwegian jarl who has not a
few times met the English in battle. It would have been no more unlikely
than what has happened had I been the captive and you the victor."
"That is true," said Alwin slowly. He did not say more, but in some odd
way the idea comforted and softened him. Neither of the young men turned
his eyes from the river toward the other, yet in some way something
friendly crept into their silence.
After a while Sigurd said, still without looking around, "It seems to me
that the right-minded thing for me in this matter is to do what I should
desire you to do if you were in my place; therefore I offer you my
friendship."
Something blurred the bright river for an instant from Alwin's sight. "I
give you thanks," he said huskily. "Save Editha, I have not a friend in
the world."
He hesitated a while; then slowly, bit by bit, he set forth the story
that he had never expected to unfold to Northern ears. "The Danes set
fire to my father's castle, and he was burned with many of my kinsmen.
The robbers came in the night, and a Danish churl opened the gates to
them,--though he had been my father's man for four seasons. It was from
him that I learned to speak the Northern tongue. They took me while I
slept, bound me, and carried me out to their boats. They carried out
also the young maidens who attended my mother,--Editha among them,--and
not a few of the youth of the household, all that they chose for
captives. They took out all the valuables that they wanted. After that,
they threw great bales of hay into the hall, and set fire to them,
and--"
"The bloody wolves!" Sigurd burst out. "Did they not offer your mother
to go out in safety?"
"Nay, they had the most hatred against her." The bearing of his head
grew more haughty. "My mother was a princess of the blood of Alfred."
It happened that Sigurd had heard of that great monarch. His face
kindled with enthusiasm.
"Alfred! He who got the victory over the Danes? Small wonder they did
not love his kin after they had known his cunning! I know a fine song
about him,--how he went alone into the Danish camp, though they were
hunting him to kill him; and while they thought him a simple--minded
minstrel, he learned all their secrets. By my troth, that is good blood
to have in one's veins! Were I English, I would rather be his kinsman
than Ethelred's."
He stared at Alwin with glowing eyes; they were facing each other now.
Suddenly he stretched out his hand.
"It is naught but a piece of bad luck that you are Leif's thrall. It
might just as easily have happened that I were in your place. Now I will
make a bargain with you that hereafter I will remember this, and never
hold your thraldom against you."
Such a concession as that, few of the proud Viking race were generous
enough to make. Alwin could not but be moved by it. He took the
outstretched hand in a hard grip.
"Will you do that?" he said; and it seemed for a time as though he could
not find words to answer. At last he spoke: "If you will do that, I
promise on my side that I will forgive your Northern blood and your
lordship over me, and love you as my own brother."
CHAPTER V
THE IRE OF A SHIELD-MAIDEN
With insult or derision
Treat thou never
A guest or wayfarer;
They often little know,
Who sit within,
Of what race they are who come.
Ha'vama'l
Alwin was sitting on the ground in front of the provision-shed, grinding
meal on a small stone hand-mill, when Editha came to seek him.
"If it please you, my lord--"
He broke into a bitter laugh. "By Saint George, that fits me well! 'If
it please you,' and 'my lord,' to a short-haired, callous-handed hound
of a slave!"
Tears filled her eyes, but her gentle mouth was as obstinate as gentle
mouths can often be. "Have they drawn Earl Edmund's blood out of you?
Until they have done that, you will be my lord. Your lady mother in
heaven would curse me for a traitor if I denied your nobility."
Alwin ground out a resigned sigh with his last handful of meal. "Go on
then, if you must. We spoke enough of the matter last night. Only see to
it that no one hears you. I warn you that I shall kill the first who
laughs,--and who could help laughing?"
She was too wise to answer that. Instead, she motioned over her shoulder
toward the group of late-risen revellers who were lounging under the
trees, breaking their fast with an early meal. "Tyrker bids you come and
serve the food."
"If it please me?"
"My dear lord, I pray you give over all bitterness. I pray you be
prudent toward them. I have not been a shield-maiden's thrall for nearly
a year without learning something."
"Poor little dove in a hawk's nest! Certainly I think you have learned
to weep!"
"You need not pity me thus, Lord Alwin. It is likely that my mistress
even loves me in her own way. She has given me more ornaments than she
keeps for herself. She would slay anyone who spoke harshly to me. What
is it if now and then she herself strikes me? I have had many a blow
from your mother's nurse. I do not find that I am much worse than
before. No, no; my trouble is all for you. My dearest lord, I implore
you not to waken their anger. They have tempers so quick,--and hands
even quicker."
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