The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Gradually whispers of praise circled around the board, whispers that
fell like sweetest music on the jealous ears of Leif's followers.
Thorhild leaned back from her food and watched him with open pride,--and
though Eric kept his face still turned away, he set his ear forward so
that he should hear everything.
Alwin was almost beside himself with nervousness. "If the crash does not
come soon, I shall go out of my wits," he whispered to Rolf.
The Wrestler turned upon him a face of such unusual excitement that he
was amazed. "Do you not see?" he whispered. "There will not be any
crash. I have just begun to understand. It was this he meant when he
spoke to you of gaining their friend-ship that they might hear him
willingly. Do you not see?"
Alwin's relief was so great that at first he dared not believe it. When
the truth of it dawned upon him, he was overcome with wonder and
admiration. In those days, nine men out of every ten could draw their
swords and rave and die for their principles; it was only the tenth man
that was strong enough to keep his hand off his weapon, or control his
tongue and live to serve his cause.
"Luck obeys his will as the helm his hand. I shall never worry over him
again," he said contentedly, as with the others he waited in the
courtyard for Leif to come out of the feasting-hall.
Sigurd laughed gayly. "Do you know what I just overheard in the crowd?
Some of Thorkel's men were praising Leif, and one of Eric's churls
thought it worth while to boast to them how he had known the Lucky One
when he was a child. Certainly the tide is beginning to turn."
"Leif Ericsson is an ingenious man," Rolf said, with unusual decision.
"I take shame upon me that ever I doubted his wisdom."
Egil uttered the kind of sullen grunt with which he always prefaced a
disagreeable remark. "Ugh! I do not agree with you. I think his behavior
was weak-kneed. Knowing their hatred against the word Christian, all the
more would I have dinged it into their ears; that they might not think
they had got the better of me. Now they believe he has become ashamed of
his faith and deserted it."
The three broke in upon him in an angry chorus. Alwin said sternly: "You
speak in a thoughtless way, Egil Olafsson. You forget that he still
wears the crucifix upon his breast. How can they believe that he has
forgotten his faith or given it up, when they cannot look at him without
seeing also the sign of his God?"
Egil turned away, silenced.
This feast of Thorkel Farserk was the first of a long line of such
events. With the approach of autumn, ships became a common sight in the
fiords-Those chieftains who had left Greenland in summer to spear whales
in the northern ocean, or make trading voyages to eastern countries, or
cruise over the high seas on pirates' missions, now came sailing home
again with increased wealth and news-bags bursting. For every traveller,
wife or kinsman made a feast of welcome--a bountiful entertainment that
sometimes lasted three days, with tables always spread, and horns always
filled, and games and horse-races, and gifts for everyone. At each of
these celebrations, Leif appeared in all his splendor; and his tactful
tongue held for him the place of honor. His popularity grew apace. The
only thing that could keep step with it was the exultation of his
followers.
CHAPTER XVII
THE WOOING OF HELGA
At love should no one
Ever wonder
In another;
A beauteous countenance
Oft captivates the wise,
Which captivates not the foolish.
A man must not
Blame another
For what is many men's weakness;
For mighty love
Changes the sons of men
From wise into fools.
Ha'vama'l
It happened, one day, that an accidental discovery caused Alwin to
regard these festivities in a new light.
It was a morning in November when he was in the hall, kneeling before
master to lace his high boots. Leif stood before the fire, wrapping
himself up for a ride across the Settlement. Some unknown cause had made
the atmosphere of the breakfast-table so particularly
ungenial,--Thorhild sitting with her back to her spouse, and Eric
manifesting a growing desire to hurl goblets at the heads of all who
looked at him,--that the courtier had judged it discreet to absent
himself from the next meal. He now stood arraying himself from a pile of
furs, and talking with Tyrker, who sat near him blinking in the
fire-glow. Save a couple of house-thralls scrubbing at the lower end of
the room, no one else was present, Eric having started on his morning
round of the stables, the smithies, and the cow-houses.
As he pulled on his fur gloves, Leif smiled satirically. "It is a good
thing that I was present last summer when King Olaf converted Kjartan
the Icelander. It was then I learned that those who cannot be dealt with
by force may often be led by the nose without their knowing it. Olaf
said to the fellow, 'The God I worship does not wish that any should be
brought to Him by force. As you are averse to the doctrines of
Christianity, you may depart in peace.' Whereupon Kjartan immediately
replied: 'In this manner I may be induced to be a Christian.' So,
because I have kept my promise to speak no more concerning Christianity,
men have become curious about it, and yesterday two chiefs came of their
own will and asked me questions concerning it."
Tyrker poked his head out to say "So?" then snuggled back into his wraps
again, to chuckle contentedly. He was so wound up in furs that he looked
like a sharp little needle in a fuzzy haystack.
Leif's smile gave way to a frown. "Another man came to me also, on a
different errand,--Ragner Thorkelsson,--it may be that you saw him? He
wished to make a bargain concerning Helga."
Alwin gave a great start, so that the leather thong snapped in his hand;
but his master went on unheeding.
"You know it is my wish that she shall marry as soon as she can make a
good match, since she is not happy while she sits at home with Thorhild,
and it is not likely that she will like her father much better. It has
been in my mind through every feast; but until now, none of the men who
have asked for her has seemed to me a good match."
Though his hands kept mechanically at their work, Alwin's brain seemed
to have come to a standstill. It must be a dream, a foolish dream. It
was not possible that such a thing could have been planned without his
even suspecting it. He listened numbly.
"The first man was too old. The second was not of good enough kin; and
the other two had not enough property. Ragner Thorkelsson lacks none of
these. He is young; his father's father was a lawman; and he owns
eighteen farms and many ships."
Though he did not in the least know why, Alwin felt a hot desire to seek
out Ragner Thorkelsson and kill him.
"So?" said Tyrker, peering forth inquiringly. "Yet never have I heard
that he any accomplishments had, or that in battle enemies he had
overcome."
"No," Leif assented.
He did not finish immediately, and there was a pause. From the courtyard
came a clashing and jingling of bells, as servants brought the reindeer
from the feeding-ground to harness them to the boat-like sledges that
stood waiting.
"It may be that I have acted unwisely," Leif said at last; "but because
I did not believe it would be according to Helga's wish, I told him that
I would not bargain with him."
Alwin buried a gulping laugh in the fur cloak he had picked up. He had
known that it would end in some such way. Of course; it had been idiotic
to expect anything else. He listened smilingly for what else Leif had to
say.
The guardsman drew the last strap through the last buckle on his double
fur jacket, and turned toward the door. "It may be that I was unwise,
but it may also be that it will not matter much. The most desirable men
come home latest; we have not seen them all. It is likely that the next
feast will decide it."
Long after the door had closed upon Leif, and he had entered the sledge
and been whirled through the gate in a flurry of snow and a clamor of
bells, Alwin stood there, motionless. Tyrker dozed in the comfort-able
warmth, and woke to find him still staring down into the fire.
"What hast thou, my son?" he questioned, kindly. Alwin came to himself
with a start and a stare, and catching up his cloak, hurried out of the
room without replying.
"I will find Helga and tell her that she must put a stop to it," he was
saying to himself as he went. "That is what I will do. I will tell her
that she must stop it."
Pulling his cap lower as the keen wind cut his face, he hurried across
the courtyard toward the women's-house, trying to frame some excuse that
should bring Helga to the door where he could speak to her.
Half-way across, he bumped into Rolf.
"Hail, comrade! Have you left your eyes behind you in your hurry?" the
Wrestler greeted him, catching him by the shoulders and spinning him
round and round as he attempted to pass. "You look as sour as last
night's beer. What will you give to hear good tidings?"
"Nothing. Let me go. I am in a hurry," Alwin fumed.
"You have not outrun your curiosity, have you? I have just learned why
it is that Thorhild no longer speaks to Eric, and why he is in a mood to
smash things."
"Why?" asked Alwin, impatiently; but he no longer struggled, for he knew
it was useless in Rolf's grip.
"Because last night Thorhild told Eric that she had become a Christian.
Her bowerwoman told Helga, and when I met Helga--"
"Met her? Where? Is she in the women's-house?"
Rolf shook him by the shoulders he still held. "Is that all you have to
say to news of such importance? Do you not see that now that Thorhild
has been converted, Eric's men will no longer dare oppose us; lest in
time to come, when she has brought Eric round--"
"I say, where did you meet Helga?" roared Alwin.
Rolf released him, and stood looking at him with an inscrutable smile.
"If I were not your sworn friend, I should enjoy wringing your neck," he
said. "I met Helga at the gate yonder. She was going over to Glum
Starkadsson's to get something for Thorhild, and also because she wished
a walk over the hard snow."
"Is it far from here? And in what direction?"
"For what purpose do you wish to know that?"
"I ask you in what direction it lies."
"The Troll take you!" Rolf gave it up with a laugh. "It lies to the
north of the fiord,--beyond a bridge that crosses a river that runs
through a valley. And it is not far. Have you not yet learned that in
Greenland people do not take long strolls in the winter-time?"
Alwin pulled a hood over his cap, strapped his cloak still tighter, drew
a pair of down-lined mittens from under his girdle and put them on over
his gloves, and, without another syllable, turned and made for the gate.
It was glorious weather, dry and clear, and so still that very little of
the cold penetrated his fur-lined garments. Snow covered everything,
fine and firm and dazzling. The smooth white expanse suggested a wish
that he had brought the skees he was learning to use; then the sight of
the line of boulders he would have had to steer around made him rejoice
that he had not. Far ahead of him rose the glittering wall of inland
ice,--that mysterious frozen sea that covers all of Greenland except its
very border, and never advances and never recedes. What made it stop
there, he wondered? And what lay beyond it? And could those tales be
true that the old women told, of terrible magical beings living on its
silent frozen peaks?
The sight of a dark speck moving over the white plain far ahead of him
banished every other thought. It might be that it was Helga. He crunched
on eagerly. Then he dipped into the valley and lost sight of the speck,
found it on the bridge, dipped again, and again it was lost to view.
It was not until the fence of Glum Starkadsson's farm was plainly in
sight, that he caught another glimpse of it. But this time it was coming
toward him, from the gateway.
Certainly that long crimson cloak and full crimson hood belonged to
Helga. In a moment, she waved her hand at him. Soon he could see her
face under the white fur border. Her scarlet lips were curving in a
smile. The snow-glare brought out the dazzling fairness of her pearly
skin, and her eyes were like two radiant blue stars. It seemed to Alwin
that he had never known before how beautiful she was. A strange shyness
came over him, that weighted his feet and left him without a word to say
when they met.
But Helga greeted him cheerily. "Did you ever breathe finer air? I wish
Thorhild would run out of gold thread every day in the week. Are you in
a hurry?"
"No," Alwin began hesitatingly, "I--"
She did not wait for the end. "Then turn back with me a little way, and
I will tell you something worth hearing."
He turned obediently and walked beside her, trying to think how to put
what he had come to say.
"You remember hearing of Egil's father Olaf, who was so ill-tempered
that Egil dared not go home and confess that he had become a Christian?
Gunnlaug Starkadsson returned this morning from visiting his wife, and
she says that last night the old man's horse threw him so that his head
hit against a stone, and it caused his death."
She made an impressive pause; but Alwin stalked along in silence,
grinding his heels deep into the snow.
"Do you not see what that means?" she asked, impatiently. "Egil will now
come into his inheritance, and become one of the richest men in the
Settlement."
The trouble was that, in the first flash, Alwin had seen it all too
plainly. He had seen that now Egil would become just such a man as Leif
was wishing to bargain with. The thought burnt him like a hot iron, and
he opened his lips to pour out his frenzy; but he could not find the
words.
After a moment he said, sullenly: "I should be thankful if he would
leave Leif's service, so that I could sometimes speak to you without
having him watch me like a dog at a rabbit-hole."
Helga turned toward him with frank interest. "I wonder at that also. He
does not act so when I speak to Sigurd or Rolf. But then, he has behaved
very strangely to me ever since he talked with Skroppa in Iceland, two
seasons ago."
"He spoke to me of Skroppa the first time I saw him," Alwin said,
absently. Then a flicker of curiosity awoke in him. "I wish that you
would tell me what 'Skroppa' stands for. I do not know whether it is man
or beast or demon."
Even out there in the open, Helga glanced about for listeners before she
answered. "Skroppa is a fore-knowing woman, who lives among the
unsettled places north of here, in a cabin down in a hollow. Though Leif
will not admit it, it was she who took the curse off Eric's sword."
It seemed to Alwin that here at last was an opening. He said harshly: "I
wonder if she would be wise enough to tell whom Leif will marry you to
before the feasting is over?"
Helga stood still and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"
He stopped in front of her, with a fierce gesture, and in one angry
burst told her all he had heard. He could not understand how she could
listen so calmly, kicking the snow with the toe of her shoe.
When he had finished, she said quietly: "Yes, I know he has that
intention in his mind. It is for that reason that every time I go to a
feast he gives me costly ornaments, and makes me wear them. I have had
great kindness from his hands. But do not let us speak of it further."
Alwin caught her roughly by her wrists, and shook her a little as he
looked into her eyes. "You must not let him marry you to anyone. Do you
hear? You _must_ not, _I_ love you."
Helga's look of resentment changed to one of pleased surprise, and she
shook his hands heartily. "Do you truly, comrade? I am glad, for I like
you very much indeed,--as much as I like Sigurd."
"Then swear by your knife that you will not let him marry you to
anyone."
She pulled her hands away, a little impatiently. "Why do you ask that
which is useless?"
"But you have just said that you liked me."
"I do; but what does that matter, since I cannot marry you?"
So light had the yoke of servitude grown on Alwin's shoulders that he
had almost forgotten its existence. He opened his lips to ask, "Why?"
Then it came back to him that he was a slave, a worthless, helpless dog
of a slave. He closed his lips again and walked on without speaking,
staring ahead of him with fierce, despairing eyes.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE WITCH'S DEN
Moderately wise
Should each one be,
But never over-wise:
His destiny let know
No man beforehand;
His mind will be freest from care.
Ha'vama'l
Because it was Yule Eve, the long deserted temple on the plain was
filled with light and sound. Fires blazed upon the floor; the row of
gilded idols came out of the shadow and shone in all their splendor. The
altars were reddened with the blood of slaughtered cattle; the
tapestried walls had been spattered with it. The temple priest dipped a
bunch of twigs into the brimming copper bowl, and sprinkled the
sacrificial blood over the people who sat along the walls ... They
raised the consecrated horns and drank the sacred toasts. To Odin! For
victory and power. To Njord! To Frey! For peace and a good year ... Eric
of Brattahlid laid his hands upon the atonement boar and made a solemn
vow to render justice unto all men, whatsoever their transgressions. The
others followed him in this, as in everything.
Because this was happening in the temple, Brattahlid, the source of
light and good cheer, was dark and gloomy. In the great hall there was
no illumination save the flickering firelight. Black shadows blotted out
the corners and stretched across the ceiling. The long benches were
emptied of all save Leif's followers and Thorhild's band of women. The
men sat like a row of automatons, drinking steadily, in deep silence,
with furtive glances toward their leader. Leif leaned back in his
high-seat, neither speaking nor drinking, scowling down into the flames.
"He is angry because Eric keeps up the heathen sacrifice," the women
whispered in each other's ears. "He has all of Eric's temper when he is
angered. It would be as much as one's life were worth to go near him
now." Shivering with nervousness, they crouched on the bench beside
their mistress's seat.
Thorhild leaned on the arm of her chair, shading her brow with her hand
that she might gaze at Leif unseen. Sometimes her eyes dwelt on his
face, and sometimes they rested on the silver crucifix that shone on his
breast; and so great was her tenderness for the one, that she embraced
the other also in a look of yearning love.
When the house-thralls had cleared away the tables, they crept into a
corner and stayed there, fearing even to go forward and replenish the
sinking fire, though gusts of bitter cold came through the broken window
behind them.
Little as they guessed it, something besides cold was coming through the
hole in the window. Even while they shivered and nodded beneath it, a
pair of gray Saxon eyes were sending keen glances through it, searching
every corner.
As the eyes turned back to the outer darkness, Alwin's voice whispered
with a long breath of relief: "I am certain they have not noticed that
we have gone out."
From the darkness, Sigurd's voice interrupted softly: "Is Kark there?"
"I think he is still in his comer. The light is bad, and the flames are
leaping between, but it seems to me that I can make him out."
They emerged from the shadow into the moonlight, and it became evident
that Sigurd was shaking his head dubiously.
"It seems to me also that I heard the door creak after us, and saw a
shadow slip past as we turned this corner. He is always on the watch; it
might easily be that our going out aroused his suspicions so that he is
hiding somewhere to track us. More than anything else in the world, is
he desirous to catch you in some disobedience."
Alwin tramped on doggedly. To all appearances, the court was as deserted
as a graveyard at midnight. Not even the whinny of a horse broke the
stillness. They passed into the shadow of a storehouse, and Alwin dived
into, the recess under the steps and began to fumble for something
hidden there. When he drew out a pair of skees and proceeded to put them
on, Sigurd burst forth with increased vehemence.
"Alwin, I implore you to heed my advice. My mind tells me that nothing
but evil can come of meddling with Skroppa. There will be no limit to
Leif's anger if he--"
"I tell you he will not find out," Alwin answered over his shoulder.
"His mind is so full of Eric's ill-doings, that he will not notice my
absence before I am back again. And to-night is the only night when I am
not in danger of being spied upon by Eric's men. It is my only chance."
"Yet Kark--"
"Kark may go into the hands of the Trolls!"
"It is not unlikely that you will accompany him. You are doing a great
sin. Harald Fairhair burned his son alive for meddling with witchcraft."
Although his toes were thrust into the straps of the runner-like skees,
Alwin stamped with exasperation. "You need not tell me that again. I
know as well as you that it is a sin. But will not penance make it
right?"
"You will dishonor Leif's holy mission."
"I shall not cause any quarrel, nor offend anyone. What harm can I do?"
Sigurd laid his hands on his friend's shoulders and tried to see his
face in the dark. "Give it up, comrade; I beseech you to give it up. If
you should be discovered, I tell you that though a priest might win you
a pardon from Heaven, no power on earth could make your peace with Leif
Ericsson."
Alwin said slowly: "If he discovers what I have done, I will endure any
punishment he chooses, because I owe him some obedience while I eat his
bread and wear his clothes. But I am not his born thrall, so I will have
my own way first. Urge me no more, brother; my mind is fixed."
Sigurd released him instantly. "I will say nothing further,--except that
it is my intention to try my luck with you." Stooping into the recess,
he drew out an-other pair of skees and began to fasten them on.
At the prospect of companionship, Alwin felt a rush of relief,--then a
twinge of compunction.
"Sigurd, you must not do this thing. There is no reason why you should
run this risk."
"There would be no reason why you should call me your friend if I did
otherwise," Sigurd cut him short. "Do you think me a craven, to let you
go alone where you might be tricked or murdered? Have you a weapon?"
"Leif will not allow me so much as a dagger, so to-night I borrowed from
his table the old brass-hilted knife that Eric gave him in his boyhood.
It is unlikely that he will miss that. I have it here." Throwing back
his cloak, he showed it thrust through his girdle.
"Come, then," said Sigurd curtly. "And have a care for your skees. You
are not over-skilful yet."
He caught up the long staff that acts something like a balance-pole in
skeeing, and darted away. Alwin followed, with an occasional prod of his
staff into a shadow that seemed thicker than it should be. By a
side-gate, they left the courtyard and struck out across the fields,
where the snow was packed as hard as a road-bed. Noiseless as birds, and
almost as swift, they skimmed along over the snow-clad plains and
half-frozen marshes.
As was to have been expected, the young Viking was an expert. To see him
shoot down a hillside at lightning speed, his skees as firmly parallel
as though they were of one piece, his graceful body bending, balancing,
steering, was to see the next best thing to flying. Alwin's runners
threw him more than once, lapping one over the other as he was
zigzagging up a slope, so that he tripped and rolled until a snow-bank
stopped him.
As he regained his feet after one of these interruptions, he made some
angry remark; but beyond this there was little said. It was a dreary
night to be on an uncanny errand, with a chill in the air that seemed to
freeze the heart. A fitful, spiteful wind drove the clouds like
frightened sheep, and strove to blow out the pale patient moon.
Sometimes it seemed almost to succeed; suddenly, when they most needed
light to guide their six-foot runners between the great boulders, the
light would go out like a torch in the water. The gusts lay in wait for
them at the corners, to leap out and lash their faces with a shriek that
chattered their teeth. The lulls between the gusts were even worse; it
seemed as though the whole world were holding its breath in dread. They
held theirs, darting uneasy glances at the glacier wall glittering far
ahead of them.
When a long, low wail smote their ears, their hearts leaped into their
throats. They were travelling along the edge of a black ravine. Halting,
they stood with suspended breath, staring down into the darkness.
The cry came again, yet more piercing; then suddenly it split into a
hissing sound like a kettle boiling over. Alwin broke into a nervous
laugh. "Cats!" he said.
But Sigurd stiffened as quickly as he had relaxed. "One of Skroppa's!
She swarms with them. See! Is not that a light down there?"
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