The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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From Kark's audience burst another volley of exclamations.
"It is because he is always lucky!"--"It cannot be done. Remember
Eric!"--"The Red One will slay him!"--"You forget Thorhild his mother!"
"Hail to the King!" --"It is a great honor!"
"Silence!" Valbrand commanded. Kark went on: "Leif said that he was
willing to do whatever the King wished; yet it would not be easy. He
spoke the name of Eric, and after that they lowered their voices so that
I could not hear. Then at last Olaf leaned back in his high-seat and
Leif stood up to go. Olaf stretched forth his hand and said, 'I know no
man fitter for the work than you. You shall carry good luck with you.'
Leif answered: 'That can only be if I carry yours with me.' Then he
grasped the King's hand and they drank to each other, looking deep into
each other's eyes."
There was a pause, to make sure the messenger had finished. Then there
broke out cheers and acclamations and exulting.
"Hail to Leif! Hail to the Lucky One!"--"Leif and the Cross!"--"Down
with the hammer sign!"--"Down with Thor!"--"Victory for Leif, Leif and
the Cross!"
Shields clashed and swords were waved. Kark was thrown bodily into the
air and tossed from hand to hand. A wave of mad enthusiasm swept over
the group. Only Helga stood like one stunned, her hands wound in her
long tresses, her face set and despairing.
The Black One was the first to notice her amid the confusion. He dropped
the cloak he was waving and stared at her wonderingly for a moment; then
he burst into a boisterous laugh.
"Look at the shield-maiden, comrades,--look at the shield-maiden! It has
come into her mind that she is going back to Thorhild!"
For a moment Alwin wondered who Thorhild might be. Then vaguely he
remembered hearing that it was to escape a strong-minded matron of that
name that Helga had fled from Greenland. That now she must go back to be
civilized, and made like other maidens, struck him also as an excellent
joke; and he joined in the laugh. One after another caught it up with
jests and mocking.
"Back to Thorhild the Iron-Handed!"--"No more short kirtles!"--"She has
speared her last boar!"--"After this she will embroider boar-hunts on
tapestry!"--"Embroider? Is it likely that she knows which end of the
needle to put the thread through?"--"It will be like yoking a wild
steer!"--"Taming a shield-maiden!"--"There will be dagger-holes in
Thorhild's back!"--They crowded around her, bandying the jest back and
forth, and roaring with laughter.
Always before, Helga had taken their chaff in good part; always before,
she had joined them in making merry at her expense. But now she did not
laugh. She rose slowly and stood looking at them, her breast heaving,
her eyes like glowing coals.
At last she said shrilly, "Oh, laugh! If you see a jest in it--laugh!
Because I am going to lose my freedom--my rides over the green
country,--never to stand in the bow and feel the deck bounding under
me,--is it such sport to you, you stupid clods? Would you think it a
jest if the Franks should carry me off, and shut me up in one of their
towers, and load me with fetters, and force me to toil day and night for
them? You would take that ill enough. How much better is it that I am to
be shut in a smothering women's-house and wound around with cloth till I
trip when I walk, and made to waste the daylight, baking to fill your
swinish stomachs, and sewing tapestries that your dull eyes may have
something to look at while you swallow your ale? Clods! I had rather the
Franks took me. At least they would not call themselves my friends while
they ill-used me. Heavy-witted churls, laugh if you want to! Laugh till
you burst!"
She whirled away from them into her booth, and the door-curtain fell
behind her.
All day long she sat there, neither eating nor speaking, Editha
crouching in a corner, afraid to approach her.
CHAPTER IX
BEFORE THE CHIEFTAIN
At home let a man be cheerful,
And toward a guest liberal;
Of wise conduct he should be,
Of good memory and ready speech.
Ha'vama'l
In the river, on the city-side, the "Sea-Deer" lay at anchor, stripped
to her hulk, as the custom was. Her oars and her rowing-benches, her
scarlet-and-white sail, her gilded vanes and carven dragon-head, were
all carefully stored in the booths at the camp. With the eagerness of
lovers, her crew rushed down to summon her from her loneliness and once
more hang her finery about her. All day long their brushes lapped her
sides caressingly, and their hammers rang upon her decking. All day long
the ship's boat plied to and fro, bringing her equipments across the
river. All day long Alwin was hurried back and forth with messages, and
tools, and coils of rope.
The last trip he made, Sigurd Haraldsson walked with him across the
bridge and along the city-bank of the river. The young Viking had spent
the day riding around the country with Tyrker, getting prices on a
ship-load of corn. Corn, it seemed, was worth its weight in gold in
Greenland.
"Leif shows a keen wit in taking Eric a present of corn," Sigurd
explained, as they dodged the loaded thralls running up and down the
gangways. "He will like it better than greater valuables. His pleasure
will come near to converting him."
Alwin shook his head doubtfully,--not at this last observation, but at
the prospect in general. "The more I think of going to Greenland," he
said, "the more excellent a place I find Norway."
He looked appreciatively at the river beside them, and ahead at the
great shining fiord. Scattered over its sunlit waters trim clipper-built
craft rode at anchor; between them, long-oared skiffs darted back and
forth like long-legged water-bugs. Along the shore a chain of ships
stretched as far as eye could reach,--graceful war cruisers,
heavily-laden provision ships, substantial trading vessels. On the flat
beach and along the wooded banks rose great storehouses and lines of
fine new ship-sheds. Rich merchandise was piled before them; rows of
covered carts stood in waiting. Everywhere were busy throngs of traders
and seamen and slaves. His eye kindled as it passed from point to point.
"It seems that Northmen are something more than pirates," he said,
thoughtfully.
"It seems that your speech is something more than free," said Sigurd, in
displeasure.
Alwin realized that it had been, and explained: "I but spoke of you as
southerners do who have not seen your country. I tell you truly that,
after England, I believe Norway to be the finest country in the world."
Sigurd swung along with recovered good-humor. "I will not quarrel with
you over that exception. And yonder is Valbrand just come ashore,--at
the fore-gangway. Go and do your errand with him, and then we will walk
over to that pier and see what it is that the crowd is gathered about,
to make them shout so."
The attraction proved to be a chattering brown ape that some sailor had
brought home from the East. Part of the spectators regarded it as a
strange pagan god; part believed it to be an unfortunate being deformed
by witchcraft; and the rest took it for a devil in his own proper
person,--so there was great shrieking and scattering, whichever way it
turned its ugly face. It happened that Sigurd was better informed,
having seen a similar specimen kept as a pet at the court of the Norman
Duke; so the terror of the others amused him and his companion mightily.
They stayed until the creature put an end to the show by breaking away
from its captor and taking refuge in the rigging.
It was a fascinating place altogether,--that beach,--and difficult to
get away from. Almost every ship brought back from its voyage some beast
or bird or fish so outlandish that it was impossible to pass it by.
Twilight had fallen before the pair turned in among the hills.
Between the trees shone the red glow of the camp-fires. Through the dusk
came the pleasant odors of frying fish and roasting pork, with now and
then a whiff of savory garlic. Alwin turned on his companion in sudden
excitement.
"It is likely that Leif is already here!"
Sigurd laughed. "Do you think it advisable for me to climb a tree?"
They stepped out of the shadow into the light of the leaping flames. On
the farther side of the long fire, men were busy with dripping
bear-steaks and half-plucked fowls; while others bent over the steaming
caldron or stirred the big mead-vat. On the near side, ringed around by
stalwart forms, showing black against the fire-glow, the chief sat at
his ease. The flickering light revealed his bronzed eagle face and the
richness of his gold-embroidered cloak. At his elbow Helga the Fair
waited with his drinking-horn. Tyrker hovered behind him, touching now
his hair and now his broad shoulders with an old man's tremulous
fondness. All were listening reverently to his quick, curt narrative.
Sigurd's laughing carelessness fell from him. He walked forward with the
gallant air that sat so well upon his handsome figure. "Health and
greeting, foster-father!" he said in his clear voice. "I have come back
to you, an outlaw seeking shelter."
Helga spilled the ale in her consternation. The old German began a
nervous plucking at his beard. The heads that had swung around toward
Sigurd, turned back expectantly.
More than one heart sank when it was seen that the chief neither held
out his hand nor moved from his seat. Silver-Tongued and sunny-hearted,
the Jarl's son was well-beloved. There was a long pause, in which there
was no sound but the crackling of flames and the loud sputtering of fat.
At last Leif said sternly, "You are my foster-son, and I love your
father more than anyone else, kinsman or not; yet I cannot offer you
hand or welcome until I know wherein you have broken the law."
Through the breathless hush, Sigurd answered with perfect composure:
"That was to be expected of Leif Ericsson. I would not have it
otherwise. All shall be without deceit on my side."
He folded his arms across his breast, and, standing easily before his
judge, told his story. "In the games last fall it happened that I shot
against Hjalmar Oddsson until he was obliged to acknowledge himself
beaten; and for that he wished me ill luck. When the Assembly was held
in my district this spring, he came there and three times tried to make
me angry, so that I should forget that the Assembly Plain is sacred
ground. The first time, he spoke lightly of my skill; but I thought that
a jest, since it had proved too much for him. The second time, he spoke
slightingly of my courage, saying that the reason I did not go in my
father's Viking ship this spring was because I was wont to be afraid in
battle. Now it had been seen by everybody that I wished to go. I had
spent the winter in Normandy, yet I returned by the first ship, that I
might make one of my father's crew. It was not my doing that my ship got
lost in the fog and did not fetch me here until after the Jarl had
sailed. It angered me that such slander should be spoken of me. Yet,
remembering that men are peace-holy on the Assembly Plain, I did manage
to turn it aside. A third time he threw himself in my way, and began
speaking evil of a friend of mine, a man with whom I have sworn
blood-brotherhood. I forgot where we stood, and what was the law, and I
drew my sword and leaped upon him; and it is likely the daylight would
have shone through him, but that he had friends hidden who ran out and
seized me and dragged me before the law-man. Seeing me with drawn sword,
he knew without question that I had broken the law; so, without caring
what I urged, he passed sentence upon me, banishing me from my district
for three seasons. My father and my kinsmen are away on Viking voyages;
I cannot take service with King Olaf, and I will not serve under a
lesser man. It was not easy to know where to go, until I thought of you,
Leif Ericsson. It was you who taught me that 'He who is cold in defence
of a friend, will be cold so long as Hel rules.' There is no fear in my
mind that you will send me away."
He finished as composedly as he had begun, and stood waiting. But not
for long. Leif rose from his seat, sweeping the circle with a keen
glance. "It is likely," he said grimly, "that someone has told you that
an unfavorable answer might be expected, because I feared to lose King
Olaf's favor. You have done well to trust my friendship, foster-son." He
stretched out his hand, a rare gleam of pleasure lighting his deep-set
eyes. "You have behaved well to your friend, Sigurd Haraldsson; there is
the greatest excuse for you in this affair. I bid you welcome, and I
offer you a share in everything I own. If it is your choice, you shall
go back to Brattahlid with me; and my home shall be your home for
whatever time you wish."
Sigurd thanked him with warmth and dignity. Then a twinkle of mischief
shone at the comers of his handsome mouth; after the fashion of the
French court, he bent over the brawny outstretched hand and kissed it.
A murmur of mingled amazement and amusement went up from the group. Leif
himself gave a short laugh as he jerked his hand away.
"This is the first time that ever my fist was mistaken for a maiden's
lips. It is to be hoped that this is not the most useful accomplishment
you have brought from France. Now go and try your fine manners on
Helga,--if you do not fear for your ears. I wish to speak with this
thrall."
But Helga had not now spirit enough to avenge the salute. She drooped
over the fire, staring absently into the embers; the heat toasting her
delicate face rose-red, the light touching her hair into a wonderful
golden web. She looked up at Sigurd with a faint frown; then dropped her
chin back into her hands and forgot him.
Alwin came and placed himself before the chief's seat, where the young
Viking had stood. He was not so picturesque a figure, with his shorn
head and his white slaves'-dress; but he stood straight and supple in
his young strength, his head haughtily erect, his eyes bright and
fearless as a young falcon's.
Leif put his questions. "What are you called?"
"I am called Alwin, Edmund Jarl's son."
"Jarl-born? Then it is likely that you can handle a sword?"
"Not a few of your own men can bear witness to that."
Rolf spoke up with his quiet smile. "The boy speaks the truth. One would
think that he had drunk nothing but dragon's blood since his birth."
"So?" said Leif dryly. "It may be that I should be thankful my men are
not torn to pieces. But these accomplishments count for naught; none
here but have them. You must accomplish something that I think of more
importance, or I shall sell you and buy a man-thrall who has been
trained to work. It seems that you can read runes: can you also write
them?"
In a flash of memory, Alwin saw again Brother Ambrose's cell, and his
rebellious self toiling at the desk; and he marvelled that in this
far-off place and time that toil was to be of use to him.
"To some small degree I can," he answered. "I learned in my boyhood; but
last summer, on tee dairy farm of Gilli of Trondhjem, I practised on
sheep-skins--"
"Gilli of Trondhjem?" Leif repeated. He sat suddenly erect, and shot a
glance at the unconscious Helga; and the old German, peering from the
shadows behind him, did the same.
Alwin regarded them wonderingly. "Yes, Gilli the trader, whom men call
the Wealthy. It was he who first had me in my captivity."
For a long time the chief sat tugging thoughtfully at his yellow
mustache. Tyrker bent over and whispered in his ear; and he nodded
slowly, with another glance at Helga.
"But for this I should never have thought of him,--yet, it is certainly
one way out of the matter."
Suddenly he made a motion with his hand, so that the circle fell back
out of hearing. He turned and fixed his piercing eyes on the thrall as
though he would probe his brain.
"I ask you to tell me what manner of man this Gilli is?"
It happened that Alwin asked nothing better than a chance to free his
mind. He answered instantly: "Gilli of Trondhjem is a low-minded man who
has gained great wealth, and is so greedy for property that he would
give the nails off his hands and the tongue out of his head to get it.
He is an overbearing churl."
Leif's eyes challenged him, but he did not recant.
"So!" said the chief abruptly; then he added: "I am told for certain
that his wife is a well-disposed woman."
"I say nothing against that," Alwin assented. "She is from England,
where women are taught to bear themselves gently."
His eulogy was cut short by an exclamation from the old German.
"Donnerwetter! That is true! An English captive she was. Perhaps she
their runes also understands?"
Finding this a question addressed to him, Alwin answered that he knew
her to understand them, having heard her read from a book of Saxon
prayers.
Tyrker rolled up his eyes devoutly. "Heaven itself it is that so has
ordered it for the shield-maiden! You see, my son? This youth here can
make runes,-she can read them; so can you speak with her without that
the father shall know."
"Bring torches into the sleeping-house," Leif called, rising hastily.
"Valbrand, take your horse and lay saddle on it. You of England, get
bark and an arrow-point, or whatever will serve for rune writing, and
follow me."
What took place behind the log walls, no one knew. When it was over, and
Valbrand had ridden away in the darkness, Rolf sought out the scribe and
gently gave him to understand that he was curious in the matter. But
Alwin only cast a doubtful glance across the fire at Helga, and begged
him to talk of something else.
Late the next afternoon, Valbrand returned, his horse muddy and spent,
and was closeted for a long time with Leif and the old German. But none
heard what passed between them.
CHAPTER X
THE ROYAL BLOOD OF ALFRED
Brand burns from brand,
Until it is burnt out;
Fire is from fire quickened.
Man to man
Becomes known by speech,
But a fool by his bashful silence.
Ha'vama'l
Brave with fluttering pennant and embroidered linen and sparkling
gilding, amid cheers and prayers and shouts of farewell, on the third
day the "Sea-Deer" set sail for Greenland.
Newly clad from head to foot in a scarlet suit of King Olaf's giving,
Leif stood aft by the great steering oar. The wind blew out his long
hair in a golden banner. The sun splintered its lances upon his gilded
helm. Upon his breast shone the silver crucifix that had been Olaf's
parting gift. His hand was still warm from the clasp of his King's; no
chill at his heart warned him that those hands had met for the last
time, no thought was in him that he had looked his last upon the noble
face he loved. Gazing out over the tumbling blue waves, he thought
exultantly of the time when he should come sailing back, with task
fulfilled, to receive the thanks of his King.
Bravely and merrily the little ship parted from the land and set forth
upon her journey. Every man sat in his place upon the rowing-benches;
every back bent stoutly to the oar. Dripping crystals and flashing in
the sun, the polished blades rose and fell, as the "Sea-Deer" bounded
forward. To those upon her decks, the mass of scarlet cloaks upon the
pier merged into a patch of flame, and then became a fiery dot. The
sunny plain of the city and the green slope of the camp dwindled and
faded; towering cliffs closed about and hid them from the rowers' view.
Leaving the broad elbow of the fiord, they soon entered the narrow arm
that ran in from the sea, like a silver lane between giant walls.
Passing out with the tide, they reached the ocean. The salt wind smote
their faces; the snowy sail drew in a long glad breath and swelled out
with a throb of exultation, and the world of waters closed around their
little craft.
It was a beautiful world, full of the shifting charms of color and of
motion, of the joy of sun and wind; but Alwin found it a wearily busy
world for him. Since he was not needed at the oars, they gave him the
odds and ends of drudgery about the ship. He cleared the decks, and
plied the bailing-scoop, and stood long tedious watches. He helped to
tent over the vessel's decks at night, and to stow away the huge canvas
in the morning. He ground grain for the hungry crew, and kept the great
mead-vat filled that stood before the mast for the shipmates to drink
from. He prepared the food and carried it around and cleared the
remnants away again. He was at the beck and call of forty rough voices;
he was the one shuttlecock among eighty brawny battledores.
It was a peaceful world, stirred by no greater excitement than a glimpse
of a distant sail or the mystery of a half-seen shore; yet things could
happen in it, Alwin found. The second day out, the earl-born captive for
the first time came in direct contact with the thrall-born Kark.
Kark was not deferential, even toward his superiors; there was barely
enough discretion in his roughness to save him from offending. Among
those of his own station, he dispensed even with discretion. And he had
looked upon Alwin with unfriendly eyes ever since Leif's first
manifestation of interest in his English property.
It often happens that the whole of earth's dry land proves too small to
hold two uncongenial spirits peaceably. One can imagine, then, how it
fared when two such opposites were limited to some hundred-odd feet of
timber in mid-ocean.
"Ho there, you cook-boy!" Kark's rough voice came down to the foreroom
where Alwin was working. "Get you quickly forward and wipe up the beer
Valbrand has spilled over his bench."
For a moment, Alwin's eyes opened wide in amazement; then they drew
together into two menacing slits, and his very clothing bristled with
haughtiness. He deigned no answer whatsoever.
A pause, and Kark followed his voice. "What now, you cub of a lazy
mastiff! I told you, quickly; the beer will get on his clothes."
With immovable calmness, Alwin went on with his grinding. Only after the
fourth round he said coldly: "It would save time if you would do your
work yourself."
Kark gasped with amazement. This to him, the slave-born son of Eric's
free steward, who held the whip-hand over all the thralls at Brattahlid!
His china-blue eyes snapped spitefully.
"It does not become the bowerman of Leif Ericsson to do the dirty work
of a foreign whelp. If you have the ambition to be more than--"
He was interrupted by the sound of approaching thunder. Valbrand
descended upon them, his new tunic drenched, the scars on his battered
old face showing livid red.
"Is it likely that I will wait all day while two thralls quarrel over
precedence?" he roared. "The Troll take me if I do not throw one of you
to Ran before the journey is over! Go instantly--"
"I am sharpening Leif's blade," Kark struck in; he had indeed drawn a
knife and sharpening-stone from his girdle. "It is not becoming for me
to leave the chief's work for another task."
The argument was unassailable. To the unlucky man-of-all-work the
steersman's anger naturally reverted.
"Then you, idle dog that you are! What is it that keeps you? Would you
have him attend on Leif and do your work as well? You may choose one of
two conditions: go instantly or have your back cut into ribbons."
If he had not added that, it is possible that Alwin would have obeyed;
but to yield in the face of a threat, that was too low for his
stiff-necked pride to stoop. The earl-born answered haughtily, "Have
your will,--and I will have mine."
If he had had any idea that they would not go so far, it was quickly
dashed out of him. One moment of struggle and confusion, and he found
himself stripped to the waist, his hands bound to the mast, a man
standing over him with a knotted thong of walrus hide. All Sigurd's
furious eloquence could not restrain the storm of sickening blows.
On the other hand, if they had had the notion that their victim's
obstinacy would run from him with his blood, they also were mistaken.
The red drops came, but no sign of weakening. At last, with the
subsiding of his anger, Valbrand ordered him to be set free.
"The same shall overtake you if you are disobedient to me again," was
all he said.
Stripped and bloody, dizzy with pain and blind with rage, Alwin
staggered forward, caught at Sigurd to save himself from falling, and
looked unsteadily about him. When he found what he sought, his wits were
cleared as a foggy night by lightning. With a hoarse cry, he caught up a
fragment of broken oar and struck Kark over the head so that he fell
stunned upon the deck, blood reddening his colorless face.
"In the Troll's name!" Valbrand swore, after a moment of utter
stupefaction.
Alwin laughed between his teeth at Sigurd's despairing glance, and
waited to feel the steersman's knife between his ribs. Instead, he was
dragged aft to where the chief sat on the deck beside the steering-oar.
Leif was deep in consultation with his shrewd old foster-father. Without
pausing in his argument, he sent an impatient glance over his shoulder;
when it fell upon the gory young madman, he turned sharply and faced the
group.
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