The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Remembering his encounter with Egil the evening before, Alwin's eyes
flared up hotly. But he would make no promises, as he arose to answer
the summons.
The little maid carried an anxious heart to her task of mending Helga's
torn kirtle.
No one seemed to notice the young thrall when he came among them and
began to refill the empty cups. The older men, sprawling on the
sun-flecked grass and over the rude benches, were still drowsy from too
deep soundings in too many mead horns. The four young people were
talking together. They sat a little apart in the shade of some birch
trees which served as rests for their backs,--Helga enthroned on a bit
of rock, Rolf and Sigurd lounging on either side of her, the black-maned
Egil stretched at her feet. Between them a pair of lean wolf-hounds
wandered in and out, begging with glistening eyes and poking noses for
each mouthful that was eaten,--except when a motion of Helga's hand
toward a convenient riding-switch made them forget hunger for the
moment.
"I wonder to hear that Leif was not at the feast last night," Sigurd was
saying, as he sipped his ale in the leisurely fashion which some of the
old sea-rovers in the distance condemned as French and foolish.
Swallowing enough of the smoked meat in her mouth to make speaking
practicable, Helga answered: "He will be away two days yet; did I not
tell you? He has gone south with a band of guardsmen to convert a chief
to Christianity."
"Then Leif himself has turned Christian?" Sigurd exclaimed in
astonishment. "The son of the pagan Eric a Christian! Now I understand
how it is that he has such favor with King Olaf, for all that he comes
of outlawed blood. In Wisby, men thought it a great wonder, and spoke of
him as 'Leif the Lucky,' because he had managed to get rid of the curse
of his race."
Rolf the Wrestler shook his head behind his uplifted goblet. He was an
odd-looking youth, with chest and shoulders like the forepart of an ox,
and a face as mild and gently serious as a lamb's. As he put down the
curious gilded vessel, he said in the soft voice that matched his face
so well and his body so ill: "If you have a boon to ask of your
foster-father, comrade, it is my advice that you forget all such pagan
errors as that story of the curse. Egil, here, came near being spitted
on Leif's sword for merely mentioning Skroppa's name."
Alwin recognized the name with a start. Egil scowled in answer to
Sigurd's curious glance.
"Odin's ravens are not more fond of telling news, than you," the Black
One growled. "At meal-time I have other uses for my jaws than babbling.
Thrall, bring me more fish."
Alwin waited long enough to possess himself of a sharp bronze knife that
lay among the dishes; then he advanced, alertly on his guard, and
shovelled more herrings upon the flat piece of hard bread that served as
a plate. Egil, however, noticed him no more than he did the flies
buzzing around his food. Whatever the cause of their enmity, it was
evidently a secret.
The English youth was retiring in surprise, when Rolf took it into his
head to accost him. The wrestler pointed to a couple of large flat
stones that he had placed, one on top of the other, beside him. "This is
very tough bread that you have given me, thrall," he said reproachfully.
Their likeness to bread was not great, and the jest struck Alwin as
silly. He retorted angrily: "Do you suppose that my wits were cut off
with my hair, so that I cannot tell stones from bread?"
Not a flicker stirred the seriousness of Rolf's blue eyes. "Stones?" he
said. "I do not know what you mean. Can they be stones that I am able to
treat like this?" His fist arose in the air, doubled itself into the
likeness of a sledge-hammer, and fell in a mighty blow. The upper stone
lay in fragments.
Whereupon Alwin realized that it had all been a flourish to impress him.
So, though unquestionably impressed, he refused to show it. A second
time he was turning his back on them, when Helga stopped him.
"You must bring something that I want, first. In the northeast corner of
the provision shed, was it not, Sigurd?"
Young Haraldsson was scrambling to his feet in futile grabs after one of
the hounds that was making off with his herring, but he nodded back over
his shoulder. Helga looked from one to the other of her companions with
an ecstatic smack of her lips. "Honey," she informed them. "Sigurd ran
across a jar of it last night. That pig of an Olver yonder hid it on the
highest shelf. Very likely the goldsmith's daughter gave it to him and
it was his intention to keep it all for himself. We will put a trick
upon him. Bring it quickly, thrall. Yet have a care that he does not see
it as you pass him. That is he with the bandaged head. If he looks
sharply at you, hide the jar with your arm and it is likely he will
think that you have been stealing some food for yourself, and be too
sleepy to care."
Lord Alwin of Northumbria lost sight of the lounging figures about him,
lost sight of Sigurd chasing the circling hound, lost sight of
everything save the imperious young person before him. He stared at her
as though he could not believe his ears. She waved him away; but he did
not move.
"Let him think that _I_ am _stealing_!" he managed to gasp at last.
The grass around Helga's foot stirred ominously.
"I have told you that he is too sleepy to care. If he threatens to flog
you, I promise that I will interfere. Coward, what are you afraid of?"
She caught her breath at the blazing of his face. He said between his
clenched teeth: "I will not let him think that I would steal so much as
one dried herring,--were I starving!"
The fire shot out of Helga's beautiful eyes. Egil and the Wrestler
sprang up with angry exclamations; but words would not suffice Helga.
Leaping to her feet, she caught up the riding-whip from the grass beside
her and lashed it across the thrall's face with all her might. A bar of
livid red was kindled like a flame along his cheek.
"You are cracking the face of Leif's property," Rolf murmured in mild
remonstrance.
Egil laughed, a hateful gloating laugh, and settled himself against a
tree to see the finish. As Helga's arm was flung up the second time, the
thrall leaped upon her and tore the whip from her grasp and broke it in
pieces. He would that he might have broken her as well; he thirsted
to,--when he caught sight of the laughing Egil, and everything else was
blotted out of his vision. Without a sound, but with the animal passion
for killing upon his white face, he wheeled and leaped upon the Black
One, crushing him, pinioning him against the tree, strangling him with
the grip of his hands.
CHAPTER VI
THE SONG OF SMITING STEEL
To his friend
A man should be a friend,--
To him and to his friend;
But no man
Should be the friend
Of his foe's friend.
Ha'vama'l
In the madness of his rush, Alwin blundered. Springing upon Egil from
the left, he left his enemy's right arm free. Instantly this arm began
forcing and jamming its way downward across Egil's body. Should it find
what it sought--!
Alwin saw what was coming. He set his teeth and struggled desperately;
but he could not prevent it. Another moment, and the Black One's fingers
had closed upon his sword-hilt; the blade hissed into the air. Only an
instant wrenching away, and a lightning leap aside, saved the thrall
from being run through. His short bronze knife was no match for a sword.
He gave himself up for lost, and stiffened himself to die bravely,--as
became Earl Edmund's son. He had yet to learn that there are crueler
things than sword-thrusts.
As Egil advanced with a jeering laugh, Helga caught his sleeve; and Rolf
laid an iron hand upon his shoulder.
"Think what you do!" the Wrestler admonished. "This will make the third
of Leif's thralls that you have slain; and you have no blood-money to
pay him."
"Shame on you, Egil Olafsson!" cried Helga. "Would you stain your
honorable sword with a thing so foul as thrall-blood?"
Rolf's grip brought Egil to a standstill. The contempt in Helga's words
was reflected in his face. He sheathed his sword with a scornful
gesture.
"You speak truth. I do not know how it was that I thought to do a thing
so unworthy of me. I will leave Valbrand to draw the fellow's blood with
a stirrup leather."
He turned away, and the others followed. Those of the crew who had
raised their muddled heads to see what the trouble was, laid them down
again with grunts of disappointment. Alwin was left alone, untouched.
Yet truly his anguish would not have been greater had they cut him in
pieces. Without knowing what he did, he sprang after them, crying
hoarsely: "Cowards! Churls! What know you of my blood? Give me a weapon
and prove me. Or cast yours aside,--man to man." His voice broke with
his passion and the violence of his heart-beats.
But the mocking laughter that burst out died in a sudden hush. A moment
before, Sigurd had concluded his pursuit of the thieving hound and
rejoined the group,--in time to gather something of what had passed. The
instant Alwin ceased, he stepped out and placed himself at the young
thrall's side. He was no longer either the courteous Sigurd
Silver-Tongue or Sigurd the merry comrade; his handsome head was thrown
up with an air of authority which reminded all present that Sigurd, the
son of the famous Jarl Harald, was the highest-born in the camp.
He said sternly: "It seems to me that you act like fools in this matter.
Can you not see that he is no more thrall-born than you are? Or do you
think that ill luck can change a jarl's son into a dog? He shall have a
chance to prove his skill. I myself will strive against him, to any
length he chooses. And what I have thought it worth while to do, let no
one else dare scorn!"
He unbuckled his own gold-mounted weapon and forced it into Alwin's
hands, then turned authoritatively to the Wrestler: "Rolf, if you count
yourself my friend, lend me your sword."
It was yielded him silently; and they stepped out face to face, the
young noble and the young thrall. But before their steel had more than
clashed, Egil came between and knocked up their blades with his own.
"It is enough," he said gruffly. "What Sigurd Haraldsson will do, I will
not disdain. I will meet you honorably, thrall. But you need not sue for
mercy." A gleam of that strange groundless hatred played over his savage
face.
It did not daunt Alwin; it only helped to warm his blood. "This steel
shall melt sooner than I ask for quarter!" he cried defiantly, springing
at his enemy.
_Whish-clash_! The song of smiting steel rang through the little valley.
The spectators drew back out of the way. Again the half-drunken loungers
rose upon their elbows.
They were well matched, the two. If Alwin lacked any of the Black One's
strength, he made it up in skill and quickness. The bright steel began
to fly fast and faster, until its swish was like the venomous hiss of
serpents. The color came and went in Helga's cheek; her mouth worked
nervously. Sigurd's eyes were fixed upon the two like glowing lamps, as
to and fro they went with vengeful fury. In all the valley there was no
sound but the fierce clash and clatter of the swords. The very trees
seemed to hold their breath to listen.
Egil uttered a panting gasp of triumph; his, blade had bitten flesh. A
widening circle of red stained the shoulder of Alwin's white tunic. The
thrall's lips set in a harder line; his blows became more furious, as if
pain and despair gave him an added strength. Heaving his sword high in
the air, he brought it down with mighty force on Egil's blade. The next
instant the Black One held a useless weapon, broken within a finger of
the hilt.
A murmur rose from the three watchers. Helga's hand moved toward her
knife.
Rolf shook his head gently. "Fair play," he reminded her; and she fell
back.
Tossing away his broken blade, Egil folded his arms across his breast
and waited in scornful silence; but in a moment Alwin also was
empty-handed.
"I do no murder," he panted. "Man to man we will finish it."
With lowered heads and watchful eyes, like beasts crouching for a
spring, they moved slowly around the circle. Then, like angry bears,
they grappled; each grasping the other below the shoulder, and striving
by sheer strength of arm to throw his enemy.
Only the blood that mounted to their faces, the veins that swelled out
on their bare arms, told of the strain and struggle. So evenly were they
matched, that from a little distance it looked as if they were braced
motionless. Their heels ground deep into the soft sod. Their breath
began to come in labored gasps. It could not last much longer; already
the great drops stood on Alwin's forehead. Only a spurt of fury could
save him.
Suddenly, in changing his hold, Egil grasped the other's wounded
shoulder. The grip was torture,--a spur to a fainting horse. The blood
surged into Alwin's eyes; his muscles stiffened into iron. Egil swayed,
staggered, and fell headlong, crashing.
Mad with pain, Alwin knelt on his heaving breast. "If I had a sword," he
gasped; "if I had a sword!"
Shaken and stunned, Egil still laughed scornfully. "What prevents you
from getting your sword? I shall not run away. Do you think it matters
to me how soon my death-day comes?"
Alwin was still crazy with pain. He snatched the bronze knife from his
belt and laid it against Egil's throat. Sigurd's brow darkened, but no
one spoke or moved,--least of all, Egil; his black eyes looked back
unshrinkingly.
It was their calmness that brought Alwin to himself. As he felt their
clear gaze, it came back to him what it meant to take a human life,--to
change a living breathing body like his own into a heap of still, dead
clay. His hand wavered and fell away. The passion died out of his heart,
and he arose.
"Sigurd Haraldsson," he said, "for what you have done for me, I give you
your friend's life."
Sigurd's fine face cleared.
"Only," Alwin added, "I think it right that he should explain the cause
of his enmity toward me, and--"
Egil leaped to his feet; his proud indifference flamed into sudden fury.
"That I will never do, though you tear out my tongue-roots!" he shouted.
Even his comrades regarded him in amazement.
Alwin tried a sneer. "It is my belief that you fear to speak of
Skroppa."
"Skroppa?" a chorus of. astonishment repeated. But only two scarlet
spots on Egil's cheeks showed that he heard them. He gave Alwin a long,
lowering look. "You should know by this time that I fear nothing."
Helga made an unfortunate attempt. "I think it is no more than
honorable, Egil, to tell him why you are his enemy."
Unconsciously she spoke of the thrall now as of an equal. He noticed it;
Egil also saw it. It seemed to enrage him beyond bearing.
"If you speak in his favor," he thundered, seizing her wrist, "I will
sheathe my knife in you!" But even before she had freed herself, and
Rolf and Sigurd had turned upon him, he realized that he had gone too
far. Leaving them abruptly, he went and stood a little way off with his
back toward them, his head bowed, his hands clenched, struggling with
himself.
For a long time no one spoke. Sigurd questioned with his eyes, and Rolf
answered by a shrug. Once, as Helga offered to approach the Black One,
Sigurd made a warning gesture. They waited in dead silence. While the
voices of the other men came to them faintly, and the insects chirped
about their feet, and the birds called in the trees above them.
At last Egil came slowly back, sullen-eyed and grim-mouthed. He held a
branch in his hands and was bending and breaking it fiercely. "It is
shame enough," he began after a while, "that any man should have had it
in his power to spare me. I wonder that I do not die of the disgrace!
But it would be a still fouler shame if, after he had spared my life, I
let myself keep a wolf's mind toward him." His eyes suddenly blazed out
at Alwin, but he controlled himself and went on. "The reason for my
enmity I will not tell; wild steers should not tear it out of me.
But,--" He stopped and drew a hard breath, and set his teeth afresh;
"but I will forego that enmity. It is more than my life is worth. It is
worth a dozen lives to him,--" his voice broke with rage,--"yet because
it is honorable, I will do it. If you, Sigurd Haraldsson, and you, Rolf,
will pledge your friendship to this man, I will swear him mine." It was
well that he had reached the end, for he could not have spoken another
syllable.
Bewilderment tied Alwin's tongue. Sigurd was the first to speak.
"That seems to me a fair offer; and half the condition is already
fulfilled. I clasped his hand last night."
Rolf answered with less promptness. "I say nothing against the
Englishman's courage or his skill; yet--I will not conceal it--even in
payment for a comrade's life, I do not like to give my friendship to one
of thrall-birth."
That loosened Alwin's tongue. "In my own country," he said haughtily,
"you would be done honor by a look from me. Editha will tell you that my
father was Earl of Northumbria, and my mother a princess of the royal
blood of Alfred."
Helga uttered an exclamation of surprise and interest; but he would not
deign to look at her. For a while longer Rolf hesitated, looking long
and strangely at Egil, and long and keenly at Sigurd. But at last he put
forth his huge paw.
"Alwin of England," he said slowly, "though you little know how much it
means, I offer you my hand and my friendship."
Alwin took it a little coldly. "I will not give you thanks for a forced
gift; yet I pledge you my faith in return."
Though his face still worked with passion, Egil's hand was next
extended. "However much I hate you, I swear that I will always act as
your friend."
In his secret heart Alwin murmured, "The Fiend take me if ever I turn my
back on your knife!" But aloud he merely repeated his former compact.
When it was finished, Sigurd laid an affectionate hand upon his
shoulder. "We cannot bind our friend-ship closer, but it is my advice
that you do not leave Helga out of the bargain. Truer friend man never
had."
The bar across Alwin's cheek grew fiery with his redder flush. He stood
before her, rigid and speechless. Helga too blushed deeply; but there
was nothing of a girl's shyness about her. Her beautiful eyes looked
frankly back into his.
"I will not offer you my friendship," she said simply, "because I read
in your face that you have not forgiven the foul wrong I put upon
you,--not knowing that you were brave, high-born and accomplished. I can
understand your anger. Were I a man, and a woman should do such a thing
to me, it is likely that I should kill her on the spot. But it may be
that, in time to come, the memory will fade out of your mind, even as
the scar will fade from your face. Then, if you have seen that my
friendship is worth having, do you come and ask me for it, and I will
give it to you."
Before Alwin had time to think of an answer that would say neither more
nor less than he meant, she had walked away with Sigurd. He looked after
her with a scowl,--because he saw Egil watching him. But it surprised
him that, search as he would, he could nowhere find that great
soul-stirring rage which he had first felt against her.
CHAPTER VII
THE KING'S GUARDSMAN
Something great
Is not always to be given.
Praise is often for a trifle bought.
Ha'vama'l
It was the day after this brawl, when the guardsman Leif returned to
Nidaros. Alwin was brought to the notice of his new master in a most
unexpected fashion.
For one reason or another, the camp had been deserted early. At
day-break, Egil slung his bow across his back, provided himself with a
store of arrows and a bag of food, and set out for the mountains,--to
hunt, he told Tyrker, sullenly, as he passed. Two hours later, Valbrand
called for horses and hawks, and he and young Haraldsson, with Helga and
her Saxon waiting-maid, rode south for a day's sport in the pine woods.
Helga was the best comrade in the camp, whether one wished to go
hawking, or wanted a hand at fencing, or only asked for a quiet game of
chess by the leaping firelight. Her ringing laugh, her frank glance, and
her beautiful glowing face made all other maidens seem dull and
lifeless. Alwin dimly felt that hating her was going to be no easy task,
and he dared not raise his eyes as she rode past him. Instead he forced
himself to stare at the reflection of his scarred face in the silver
horn he was wiping; and he blew and blew upon the sparks of his anger.
Noticing it, Helga frowned regretfully. "I cannot blame him if he will
not speak to me," she said to Sigurd Haraldsson. "The nature of a
high-born man is such that a blow is like poison in his blood. It must
rankle and fester and break out before he can be healed. I do not think
he could have been more lordlike in his father's castle than he was
yesterday. Hereafter I shall treat him as honorably as I treat you, or
any other jarl-born man."
"In this you show yourself as high-minded as I have always thought you,"
answered Sigurd, turning toward her a face aglow with pleasure.
By the middle of the forenoon, everyone had gone, this way or that, to
hunt, or fish, or swim, or loiter about the city. There were left only a
man with a broken leg and a man with a sprained shoulder, throwing dice
on a bench in the sun; Alwin, whistling absently as he swept out the
sleeping-house; and Rolf the Wrestler sitting cross-legged under a tree,
sharpening his sword and humming snatches of his favorite song:
"Hew'd we with the Hanger!
Hard upon the time 't was
When in Gothlandia going
To give death to the serpent."
Rolf had declined to go hunting, on the plea of his horse's lameness.
Now, as he sat working and humming, he was presumably thinking up some
other diversion,--and the frequent glances he sent toward the thrall
seemed to indicate that the latter was to be concerned in it.
Finally Rolf called to Alwin: "Ho there, Englishman! Come hither and
tell me what you think of this for a weapon."
It needed no urging to make Alwin exchange a broom for a sword. He came
and lifted the great blade, and made passes in the air, and examined the
hilt of brass-studded wood.
"Saw I never a finer weapon," he admitted. "The hilt fits to one's hand
better than those gold things on Sigurd Haraldsson's sword. What is it
called?" For in those days a good blade bore a name as certainly as a
horse or a ship.
Rolf answered, in his soft voice: "It is called 'The Biter.' And it has
bitten not a few,--but it is fitting that others should speak of that.
Since the handle fits your grasp so well, will you not hold it a little
longer, while I borrow Long Lodin's weapon here, and we try each other's
skill?" He made a motion to rise, then checked himself and hesitated:
"Or it may be," he added gently, "that you do not care to strive against
one as strong as I?"
"Now, by St. Dunstan, you need not spare me thus!" Alwin cried hotly.
"Never have I turned my back on a challenge; and never will I, while the
red blood runs in my veins. Get your weapon quickly." He shook the big
blade in the air, and threw himself into a posture of defence.
But the Wrestler made no move to imitate him. He remained sitting and
slowly shaking his head.
"Those are fine words, and I say nothing against your sincerity; but my
appetite has changed. I will tell you what we will do instead. When your
work is done, we will betake ourselves across the river to Thorgrim
Svensson's camp and see the horse-fight he is going to have. He has a
black stallion of Keingala's breed, named Flesh-tearer, that it is not
necessary to prod with a stick. When he stands on his hind legs and
bites, you would swear he had as many feet as Odin's gray Sleipnir. Do
you not think that would be good entertainment?"
For a moment Alwin did not know what to think. He did not believe that
Rolf was afraid of him; and if the challenge was withdrawn, surely that
ended the matter. A horse fight? He had enjoyed no such spectacle as
that since the Michaelmas Day when his father had the great bear-baiting
in the pit at his English castle. And a ramble through the sun and the
wind, a taste of liberty--!
"It seems to me that it would be very enjoyable," he agreed. He started
eagerly to finish his work, when a thought caught him like a lariat and
whirled him back. "I am forgetting the yoke upon my neck, for the first
time in a twelvemonth! Is it allowed a dog of a slave to seek
entertainment?"
Mild displeasure stiffened Rolf's big frame. He said gravely: "It is
plain your thoughts do not do me much honor, since you think I have so
little authority. I tell you now that you will always be free to do
whatever I ask of you. If there is anything wrong in the doing, it is I
who must answer for it, not you. That is the law, while you are bound
and I am free."
A fresh sense of the shame of his thraldom broke over Alwin like a
burning wave. It benumbed him for a second; then he laughed with jeering
bitterness.
"It is true that I have become a dog. I can follow any man's whistle,
and it is the man who is responsible. I ask you to forget that for a
moment I thought myself a man." In sudden frenzy, he whirled the great
sword around his head and lunged at the pine tree behind Rolf, so that
the blade was left quivering in the trunk.
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