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The Ward of King Canute

O >> Ottilie A Liljencrantz >> The Ward of King Canute




"Has he got out of his wits?" the Scar-Cheek roared, fairly dancing with
impatience.

In Randalin's face a flash of memory was struggling with bewilderment. "Other
weapons than those which dwell in sheaths." Had he meant "the sword of
speech," his tongue?

With the deliberate grace which characterized his every motion, the Ironside
slid his sword back to its case, and they saw him take a slow step forward and
slowly extend his hand. Then they saw Canute spring to meet him, and their
palms touch in a long grasp.

From the English shore there went up a joyful shout of "Peace!" And a
deafening clamor rose in answer from the Danish bank. But what sentiment
predominated in that, it would be difficult to say. Blended with rejoicing
over their King's safety, were cries of bitter disappointment, the cries of
thirsty men who have seen wine dashed from their lips.

In their retreat, the two Northern jarls and the young monarch's foster-father
faced each other uncertainly. "Here is mystery!" Eric of Norway said at last.
"I should be thankful if you would tell me whether he thought it unwise to
kill the Englishman before the face of his army; or whether he is in truth
struck with love toward him, as the fools seem to believe?"

"Or whether he had reached the exact limit of his strength so that he was
obliged to save himself by some trick of words?" Ulf Jarl suggested.

The Tall One shook his head slowly. "Now, as always, it is he alone who can
altogether explain his actions. It might easily be that in his mad impatience
he overvalued his strength, so that he was obliged to stop short to keep
within bounds. But I think you will find that there is still some trick which
is not open to our sight. His man-wit is deepening very fast; I will not be so
bold as to say that I can always fathom it."

"Perhaps he thinks a short peace would be useful to the host," the Norwegian
said, and laughed. "Such a truce is as comfortable as a cloak when the weather
is stark, and as easy to get rid of when the sun comes out."

By their faces, the others appeared to agree with him; but before they could
express themselves, a swimmer rose like a dripping seal out of the water at
their feet.

"Peace and division again!" he cried breathlessly. "And it is the King's will
that you get into a boat and come to him at once."

The rush of the crowd to the water-side to question the messenger gave
Randalin her chance for freedom; and she was not slow in taking it. A moment
more, and she was in the very top of the willow-tree, clasping her hands and
wringing them in alternate thanksgiving and terror.

"Whatever it bring upon me, I will get back to my woman's clothes," she vowed
to herself over and over. "Though it become a hindrance to me, though it be
the cause of my death, I will be a woman always. Odin forgive me that I
thought I had courage enough to be a man!"




Chapter XVIII

What The Red Cloak Hid



At eve, the day is to be praised;
A woman, after she is dead.
Ha'vama'l.

In the vault overhead blue had deepened into purple, and all the silver star-
lamps been hung out, their flames trembling unceasingly in the playing winds.
By the soft light, the Jotun, who was striding across the camp, saw a graceful
boyish form leave the elrcle around the King's fire and join a group of
mounted men waiting on the river bank, some fifty yards away.

"Ho there, Fridtjof!" he roared wrathfully.

The figure turned, and he had a fleeting glimpse of a hand waved in mocking
farewell. Then the boy sprang into the saddle of a horse that one of the
warriors was holding, and the whole band moved forward at a swinging pace.

"If you had waited a little, you would be less light on your feet," the Jotun
growled as he strode on, striking his heels savagely upon the frosty ground.

"Where is the King?" he demanded, as soon as he had reached the ring of nobles
sipping mead around the royal fire. Between swallows, they were carrying on a
heated discussion of the day's events; but Eric of Norway stopped long enough
to nod toward the wattled hut beneath the silken banner.

"In there; and I will give you this chain off my neck if you can guess what he
is doing."

"It is likely that he is busy with messengers," Rothgar said with an accent of
vexation. "I had hoped to reach him before he finished drinking, but there was
a brawl among my men which--"

"He is playing chess," Eric said dryly.

"Chess!"

The Norwegian nodded as he swallowed. "Heard you ever anything to equal that?
He has the appearance of a boy who has been released from a lesson. I wish
that you had been here to see him at meal-time. So full of jests and banter
was he that I could scarcely eat for laughing. Yet when I took courage from
his good-nature to ask him concerning his plans for the future, he pretended
that he did not hear me, and put an end to questioning by bidding Ulf come and
play chess with him in the hut. Whether he is mad, or bewitched, or feigning
like Amleth, it is not easy to tell."

"I do not think it is any of these," Rothgar said slowly. "I think it is
because he likes it so well that he has got peace in which to amuse himself.
Sooner would he hunt than fight, any day; and I have often seen him express
pleasure in this manner. I remember how his wife Elfgiva once said of him that
it was well his crown was no more than a ring of gold, for then, when his mood
changed, he could use it for such a gold hoop as kings' children are wont to
play with."

"Said Elfgiva of Northampton that?" Eric asked in surprise. "Never would I
have believed her so wise in words. That she is the most beautiful of women,
all the world knows; but I have always supposed that her wit stopped with her
temper, which is suspected to be shorter than her hair."

Rothgar grunted scornfully. "It is easy for a fool to speak some wisdom if she
keeps her tongue moving all the time."

Laughing, the Norwegian plunged again into the general discussion; and the son
of Lodbrok stood listening discontentedly, while he kept a sharp watch of the
low-browed entrance.

Presently his patience was rewarded. Within the hut there arose all at once a
duet of voices, half angrily accusing, half laughingly protesting. Then the
chess-board came flying through the doorway, followed by a handful of chessmen
and the person of the big good-natured Jarl, still uttering his laughing
protests. And finally Canute himself stood under the lintel, storming through
his laughter.

"Blockhead, that you cannot keep your thoughts on what you are doing! One
might expect as good a game from the tumbler's dog. Is it the drink that you
have got into your head, or the war matters that you cannot get out? You
deserve--"

"To lose the honor of playing with the King," the Jotun broke in, making a
long step forward. "Be so good as to allow me to take his place, lord. I have
some words for your ear which are worth a hearing."

"Rothgar!" the King exclaimed with great cordiality, and stepped from the
doorway to meet him. "Willingly do I make the change, for I have been wishing
to speak with you this last hour. I have thought of a fine plan for
to-morrow's sport." Laying his arm boy-fashion across his foster-brother's
shoulders, he swung him around toward the river. "But we will not go in there
to do our talking. We will walk along the shore. To-night I feel as though I
could walk to the rainbow-bridge." He shook back his headful of long hair and
drew a deep breath, like a man from whom a burden has been lifted.

As they strolled beside the moonlit water, the son of Lodbrok listened in
secret amazement to the string of plans that unfolded itself,--hunts and
horse-races, swimming matches and fishing trips.

"But where will you get the fishing tackle, lord? And the hawks and the hounds
for all this?" he ventured presently. They were some little distance up the
bank now, where trees screened them from the camp-fires. Suddenly the young
King made a leaping grab at a bough overhead and hung by it, looking down at
his companion with the face of a mischievous boy.

"How joyfully you will take my answer! I have sent to Northampton for them.
And I have bidden Elfgiva accompany them, with all her following of maids and
lap-dogs and beardless boys. Before the end of the week, I expect that the
Abbey guest-house will have the appearance of a woman's bower; and the monks
will have taken to the woods."

As his foster-brother stood gazing at him in speechless dismay, he laughed
maliciously. "Where are your manners, partner, that you do not praise my
foresight? Here am I eager to go to her to celebrate my victory; and yet
because I think it unadvisable for me to leave the camp, I remain like a rock
at my post. Where is your praise?"

"King," Rothgar said gravely, "is the truce going to last long enough to make
it worth while to fetch those trinkets here?"

His laughter vanishing, the King came to earth in both senses of the phrase.
"Now I do not know what you mean by that," he said. "You were with me on the
island. You heard what was said. You heard that we made peace together to last
the whole of our lives, in truth, longer; since he who outlives is to inherit
peacefully after him who dies. Did you not hear that?"

Rothgar kicked a stone out of his way with impatient emphasis. "Oh, yes, I
heard it. I heard also how you said that you would rather have the
Englishman's friendship than his kingdom."

The eyebrows Canute had drawn down into a frown rose ironically. "There is
room in your breast for more sense, Rothgar, my brother, if you think, because
I am forced into one lie, that I never speak the truth," he said. "We will not
talk of it further. I should like to remain good-humored to-night, if it were
possible. What are the words you have waiting for my ears?"

The Jotun's sudden frown quite eclipsed his eyes. "It is not likely that I
shall remain good-humored if I put my tongue to them. Oh! Now it becomes clear
in my mind what you have sent your black-haired falcon down the wind
after,--to carry your order to Northampton?" "Certainly it is," Canute
assented. "When the boy found that I had need of a messenger, he begged it of
me as a boon that he might be the one to carry the good news to my lady. I
thought it a well-mannered way to show his thankfulness. But why is your voice
so bitter when you speak of him?"

"Because I have just found out that he is a fox," Rothgar bellowed. "Because
it has been borne in upon me that he has played me a foul trick, by which I
lost property that was already under my hands; lost it forever, Troll take
him! if it be really true that we are to make no more warfare upon the lands
south of the Watling Street."

"It is not possible!" Canute ejaculated. "He looks to be as truthful as
Balder."

Rothgar uttered his favorite grunt. "Never did I hear that Loke had crooked
eyes or a tusk, and black hair grows on both of them. I tell you, I know it
for certain. I have just been to find the English serf who became my man after
Brentford; and he has told me what he says he tried to tell the night before
we left Ivarsdale, but no one would listen to him without pounding him,--that
the servant-maid, who informed him concerning the provision house, spoke also
of a Danish page her lord had, whom he treated with such great love that it
was commonly said he was bewitched. And before that, when the brat was telling
you how the Englishman had saved him from Norman's sword, it occurred to me
that he talked more as a woman talks of her lover than as a man speaks of his
foe. I had my mouth open to tax him with it, when you threw this duel at me
like a rock and knocked everything else out of my head."

"May the gallows take my body!" the King breathed. And he sat down upon a
grassy hummock as suddenly as though a rock had been thrown at him that
knocked the legs from under him. Nor did he get up immediately, but remained
gazing at the string of bright beads which English camp-fires made along the
opposite bluff, his face intent with pondering.

Meanwhile the son of Lodbrok strode to and fro, declaiming wrathfully. "There
is not an honest bone in the imp's body," he wound up. "It is certainly my
belief that he was in league with the Englishman; and his freedom was the
reward he got for drawing me off."

"Certainly you are a very shrewd man," Canute murmured. But something in his
voice did not stand firm; his foster-brother darted him a keen glance. His
suspicions were well founded. Canute's face was crimson with suppressed
laughter; he was biting his lips frantically to hold back his mirth. The
temper of the son of Lodbrok left him in one inarticulate snarl. Turning on
his heel, with a whirlwind of flying cloak and a thunder of clashing weapons,
he would have stalked away if the King had not made him the most peremptory of
gestures.

"No, wait! Wait, good brother! I will show you whether I offend you
intentionally or not! It is--it is--the--the jest--" Again he became
unintelligible.

Rothgar stopped, but it was to glower over his folded arms. "Do you think I do
not know as well as you that I behaved like a fool? What I dislike is that you
cannot see as plainly that your ward is a troll. Because his womanish face has
caught your fancy, you will neither blame him yourself nor allow others to
make a fuss--"

"That is where you are wrong," the King interrupted, with as much gravity as
he could command. "When Fridtjof Frodesson comes again into your presence, I
give you leave to take whatever revenge you like. Lash him with your tongue or
your belt, as you will; and I promise that I will not lift finger to hinder
you from it."

"And not hold it against me?" Rothgar demanded incredulously.

"And not hold it against you," Canute agreed. Then he tilted his head back to
laugh openly in the other's face. "Will you wager a finger-ring against my
knife that your mind will not change when my ward stands again before you?"

The Jotun smiled grimly. "Is that the expectation you are stringing your bow
with? It will fail you as surely as the hair of Hother's wife failed him. The
wager shall be as you have made it; and may I lack strength if I do not deal
with him--" He paused, blinking like a startled owl, as his royal
foster-brother leaped to his feet and fronted him with shouts of laughter.

"You dolt, you!" Canute cried. "Do you not see it yet? Frode's child is a
woman!"

Rothgar's jaw dropped and his bulging eyes seemed in danger of following.
"What!" he gasped; and then his voice rose to a roar. "And the Englishman is
her lover?"

"You are wiser than I expected," the King laughed. "I intend to call you Thrym
after this, for it is unlikely that Loke made a greater fool of the Giant.
Your enemies will make derisive songs about it."

Stamping with rage, the Jotun hammered his huge fist upon a tree-trunk until
bark flew in every direction. "King, I will give you every ring off my hand if
you will give me leave to strangle her!"

"You remind me that I will take one of your rings now," Canute said, reaching
out and opening the mallet-like fist that he might make his choice. Then, as
he fitted on his prize and held it critically to the light, he added with more
sympathy: "I will arrange for you a more profitable revenge than that. I will
make a condition with Edmund that the Etheling's odal shall not be included in
the land which is peace-holy, and that to ravage it shall not be looked upon
as breaking the truce. Then can you betake yourself thither and sit down with
your following, and have no one but yourself to blame if you fail a second
time. Only,"--he thrust his knuckles suddenly between the other's ribs,--
"only, before we get serious over it, do at least give one laugh. Though she
be Ran herself, the maiden has played an excellent joke upon you."

"I do not see how you make out that it is all upon me," Rothgar said sulkily.
"It did not appear that you got suspicious in any way, until I told you myself
what she talked like. You did not have the appearance of choking much on her
stories."

The King seemed all at once to recover his dignity. "I will not deny that," he
said gravely; "and have I not said that I expect to be angry about it
presently? Certainly I do not think she has treated me with much respect. That
she did not tell you, is by no means to be wondered at; it might even count as
something in her favor. But me she should have given her confidence. That she
should dare to offer her King that lying story about her sister's death--" His
face flushed as though he were remembering his emotion on receiving that same
story; and his foster-brother's observation did not tend to mollify him.

"And not only to offer it," the son of Lodbrok chuckled, "but to cram it down
his throat and make him swallow it."

Canute's heels also began to ring with ominous sharpness upon the frosty
ground. "She must be Ran herself! Oh, you need not be afraid that I shall not
get overbearing enough after I am started! Had she been no more than her
father's daughter, her behavior would have been sufficiently bad; but that she
whom I had made my ward should withhold her confidence from me to give it to
an Englishman! Become his thrallwoman, by Odin, and betray my people for his
sake! Now, as I am a king, I will punish her in a way that she will like less
than strangling! I tell you, her luck is great that she is not here to-night."




Chapter XIX

The Gift of The Elves

Fair shall speak
And money offer,
Who would obtain a woman's love.
Ha'vama'l.

It was the edge of a forest pool, and a slender dark-haired girl bending from
the brink to see herself in the water. Looking, she smiled,--and small wonder!

Below her, framed in green rushes, was the reflection of a high-born maiden
dressed according to her rank. Clinging silk and jewelled girdle lent new
grace to her lithesome form, while the mossy green of her velvet mantle
brought out the rich coloring of her face as leaves bring out the glowing
splendor of a rose. Gold was in the embroidery that stiffened her trailing
skirts; gold was sewn into her gloves, and golden chains twined in her
lustrous hair added to the spirited poise of her head a touch of stateliness.
No wonder that her mouth curved into a smile as she gazed.

"It cannot be denied that I look woman-like now," she murmured. "It is a great
boon for me that he likes my hair."

Then the water lost both the reflection and the face above it as a sweet voice
sounded up the bank, calling, "Randalin! Randalin!"

Picking up the branchful of scarlet berries which she had dropped, Frode's
daughter moved toward the voice. "Are they about to go, Dearwyn?" she asked
the little gentlewoman who came toward her around a hawthorn bush, lifting her
silken skirts daintily.

Dearwyn shook her head. "My lady wishes to try on you the wreath she has made.
She thinks your dark locks will set it off better than our light ones."

"I was on my way thither," Randalin said, quickening her steps.

With timid friendliness in her pretty face, Dearwyn waited, and the Danish
girl gave her a shy smile when at last they stood side by side; but their
acquaintanceship did not appear to have reached the point of conversation, for
they walked back in silence to the spot where the Lady Elfgiva's train had
halted on its journey for a noonday meal and rest.

Along the bank of a pebbly stream, between pickets of mounted guards, the
troop of holiday-folk was strung in scattered groups. Yonder, a body of the
King's huntsmen struggled with braces of leashed hounds. Here were gathered
together the falconers bearing the King's birds. Nearer, a band of grooms led
the King's blooded horses to the water. And nearer yet, where the sun lay warm
on a leafy glade, the King's beautiful "Danish wife" took her nooning amid her
following of maids and of pages, of ribboned wenches and baggage-laden slaves.

As her glance fell upon this last picture, Randalin drew a quick breath of
admiration. While they waited for the bondwomen to restore to the hampers the
crystal goblets and gold-fringed napkins that even in the wood wastes must
minister to such delicate lips, one merry little lady was launching fleets of
beech-nut rinds down the stream; another, armed with a rush-spear, was making
bold attack on the slumbers of some woodland creature which she had spied out
basking on the sunny side of a stump; and in the centre of the open, the Lady
Elfgiva was amusing herself with the treasures of red and gold leaves which
silk-clad pages were bringing from the thicket.

Gazing at her, Randalin's admiration mounted to wistfulness. "Were I like
that, I should be sure of his feeling toward me," she sighed.

Certainly, as she looked to-day sitting under the towering trees, it was easy
to understand why the King's wife had been named "the gift of the elves."
Every lovely thing in Nature had been robbed to make her, and only fairy
fingers could have woven the sun's gold into such tresses, or made such eyes
from a scrap of June sky and a spark of opal fire. From the crown of her
jewelled hair to the toe of her little red shoe, there was not one line
misplaced, one curve forgotten, while her motions were as graceful as blowing
willows.

When the pair came toward her over the carpet of leather-hued leaves, she put
out a white hand in beckoning. "Come here, my Valkyria, and let me try if I
can make you look still more like a gay bird from over the East Sea."

"You have made me look a very splendid bird, lady," Randalin said gratefully,
as she knelt to receive the woodland crown.

Elfgiva patted the brown cheeks in acknowledgment, and also in delight at the
effect of her handiwork. "You are an honor to my art. Do you know that the
night before you came to me I dreamed I held a burning candle in my hand, and
that is known by everybody to be a sign of good. A hundred plans are in my
mind against the time that this peace shall be over, and we are obliged to
return to that loathful house where we suffer so much with dulness that the
quarrels of my little brats are the only excitement we have."

Still kneeling for the white fingers to pat and pull at her head-dress,
Randalin looked up wonderingly. "Is it your belief that King Canute will not
carry out his intention, lady, that you say 'when the peace is over'? I know
for certain that it is expected to last forever."

"Forever?" The lady's voice was an echo of sweet mockery. "Take half a kingdom
when a whole lies almost within his reach? Now I will not deny that the King
is sometimes boyish of mood, but rarely that foolish." She seemed to toss the
idea from her with the leaves she shook from her robe as she rose and moved
back a step to see the wreath from a new point. "Turn your head this way,
child. Yes, there is still one thing wanting on this side; berries if I have
them, or grasses if I have not,--here are more berries! Oh, yes, I declare
that I expect to be very merry through your spirits! You shall have the rule
over my pages and devise games and junketings without end."

Humming gayly, she began to weave in the bright berries; and it struck
Randalin that here was a good opportunity to make the plea she had in her
mind. She said gravely, "I shall be thankful if you are able to manage it,
lady, so that I may go back with you."

Pausing in her work, Elfgiva looked down in surprise. "Now what should
prevent?" she asked.

The girl colored a little as she answered: "It was in the King's mind once,
lady, that a good way to dispose of Randalin, Frode's daughter, would be to
marry her to the son of Lodbrok. If he should still keep that opinion--I would
prefer to die!" she ended abruptly.

But the King's wife laughed her rippling laughter that had in it all the music
of falling waters. "Shed no tears over that, ladybird! Would I be apt to let
such an odious bear as Rothgar Lodbroksson rob me of my newest plaything?
Whence to my dulness a pastime but for your help? Though he were the King's
blood-brother, he should tell for naught. You do not guess half the
entertainment your wild ways will be to me. I expect it will be more pleasant
for me to have you than that Norman ape which Canute sent me at the beginning
of the summer,--which is dead now, unfortunately, because Harald would insist
upon shooting his arrows into it. There! Now my work could not be improved
upon." Again she moved back, her beautiful head tilted in birdlike
examination. Randalin arose slowly and stood before her with widening eyes.

But it was not long that the Lady of Northampton had for her or for the
wreath. Now her attention was attracted to the farthest group of guards and
huntsmen, whose motions and shouting seemed to indicate some unusual
commotion. Bending, she peered curiously under the branches. "I wonder if it
has happened that the King has sent someone to meet us?" she exclaimed. "I see
a gleam of scarlet, lady," the maiden of the riverbank came to tell her
eagerly.

But even as Elfgiva was turning to despatch a page for news, the throng of
moving figures parted, and from it two horsemen emerged and rode toward them.
One was the mighty son of Lodbrok, clad in the scarlet mantle and gilded mail
of the King's guard. The other, who wore no armor at all, only feasting-
clothes of purple velvet, was the King himself.

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