George Barr McCutcheon - "The Rose in the Ring"

Thomas Hardy - "The Trumpet Major"

Plato - "Plato's Republic"

Thomas H. Huxley - "The Perpetuation of Living Beings"

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The Ward of King Canute

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




Up came the young King's yellow head. There was no question now about his
temper. A spot of fiery red marked each cheek-bone, and his colorless eyes
were points of blazing light.

"Better is it to stand unsteadily upon two legs than to go naturally upon
four," he retorted. "If I also am a beast, at least there is a man's mind in
me that tells me to loathe myself for being so. Even as I loathe you--both of
you--and all your howling pack! Make me no answer or, by the head of Odin, you
shall feel my fangs! You say that my will is like the wind's will. Can you not
see why, dull brutes that you are? Because it is not my will, but yours,--now
Rothgar's beast-fierceness, now your low-minded craft. Because I am not
content with myself, I listen to you. And you--you-- Oh, leave me, leave me,
before I lose my human nature and go mad like a dog! Leave--You laugh!" As he
caught sight of Rothgar, he interrupted himself with a roar. His hand shot to
his belt and plucking forth the jewelled knife that hung there, hurled it, a
glittering streak, at the grinning face. If it had reached home, one of
Rothgar's eyes would have gone out in darkness.

But the son of Lodbrok had known his royal foster-brother too long to be taken
by surprise. Throwing up a wooden platter like a shield, he caught the
quivering blade in its bottom, whence he drew it forth with good-humored
composure.

"If you wish to give a friend a present, King, you should not throw it at him
so angrily," he suggested. "Had you given me the sheath too, your gift would
have been doubly dear."


The fiery spots in Canute's cheeks deepened and spread. He turned away without
answering, and stood a long time beating his fingers on the table in a sharp
tattoo.

What does it mean, the pause that follows the storm, when Nature's accumulated
discontent has vented itself in a passionate outbreak? The trees stand
motionless, with hanging heads; the blue of the clearing sky is divinely
tender; under the spangling drops, the flowers look up like tear-filled eyes.
Does it mean repentance, or only exhaustion?

Gradually the color flowed back to the young King's eyes and softened them;
gradually his mouth relaxed from its fierce lines and drooped in bitter
curves. When at last his fingers stopped their nervous beat, it was to
unfasten the sheath of chased gold which was attached to his waist, and
stretch it out to Rothgar.

"Have it your own way," he said gravely. "It is right that I pay some fine; I
have a troll's temper. Take the sheath. But do not make the mistake again of
laughing at me because you cannot understand me. But one person may do that
and live; and that person is a woman, and my wife... There is a strange
feeling in my heart that we have begun to travel different paths, you and I,--
and that it is because we no longer walk on the same level of ground, that we
no longer see any object in the same light... And my mind tells me that in
time to come your path will lead you down into the valley and my road will
take me up the mountain-side,...until even our voices shall no longer reach
across." He came out of his dreaming abruptly. "It is not worth while to speak
further. I do not blame my foster-father that he is lifting the corner of his
mouth at me. And you--you think I am talking in my sleep. Leave me, as I
ordered you. There is no unfriendliness in my mind at this, but I can command
myself no further. Go."

Rothgar said, with some approach to formal courtesy, "I ask you to pardon it
that I have done what you dislike, for I wish that the least of all the world.
And I give you thanks for your gift." Their hands clasped strongly as the
trinket passed from grasp to grasp.

Then the sage and the soldier turned and strode past the cowering figure of
Randalin and out of the linen doorway.




Chapter V

Before The King



Know if thou hast a friend
Whom thou little trustest
Yet wouldst good from him derive
Thou shouldst speak him fair,
But think craftily,
And leasing pay with lying.
Ha'vama'l.

When the curtain had fallen behind his advisers, the young King threw himself
back upon his rude high-seat and rested motionless among its cushions, his
head hanging heavily upon his breast.

Crouching on her bench near the door, Randalin watched him as a fly caught in
a web watches the approaching spider. She had forgotten her errand; she had
forgotten her disguise; she had forgotten where she was; her one conscious
emotion was fear. Her eyes followed his roving glance from spear to banner,
from floor to ceiling, in terrible anticipation. It approached her; it turned
aside; it passed above her, hesitated, sank, touched her! Ashen-white, she
staggered to her feet and faced him.

A lithe boyish figure with wide boyish eyes and a tanned boyish face,--Canute
gazed incredulously; rubbed his eyes and looked again.

"In the Troll's name, who are you?" he ejaculated. "How came you here?"

The pale lips moved, but no sound came from them.

Their fruitless twitching seemed to irritate him. He made a petulant gesture
toward the half-filled goblet. "Why do you stand there making mouths? Drink
that and get a man's voice into your throat, if you have anything to say to
me."

"A man's voice!" The girl stared at him. "A _man_'s voice?" Then, like
lungfuls of fresh air, it entered into her that she was not really the naked
fledgeling she felt herself. She was in the toils, surely, but there was a
shell around her. Glad to hide her face for a moment, she seized the goblet
and drained it slowly to the last drop. If only she could remember just how
Fridtjof had borne himself! As she swallowed the last mouthful, a recollection
came to her of the thrall-women grumbling over Fridtjof's wine-stained tunics;
and she carefully drew her sleeve across her mouth as she set down the cup.

Leaning back in his seat, the King took frowning measure of his guest, from
the toe of her spurred riding-boot to the top of the green cap which she had
forgotten to remove. His mood seemed wavering between annoyance and amusement;
a word could decide the balance. With her last swallow he repeated his
challenge.

"Are you capable now of giving me any reason why I should not have you flogged
from the camp? Is it your opinion that because I choose to behave foolishly
before my friends, I am desirous to have tale-bearing boys listening?"

"Boys" again! Randalin's sinking spirit rallied at the assurance as her
fainting body had revived under the rich warmth of the mead.

She managed to stammer out, "I entreat you not to be angry, Lord King. It was
the fault of the man on guard that I came in as I did. And I did not
understand six of the words you spoke,--I beseech you to believe it."

That she had in truth been too frightened for intelligent eavesdropping, the
remaining pallor of her face made it easy to believe. The scales tipped ever
so little.

"Did you think you had fallen into a bear pit?" the King asked with a faint
smile, that sharpened swiftly to bitterness. "After all, it would matter
little what anyone told of me. Without doubt your kin have already taught you
to call me thrall-bred and witless. Little more can be said."

That from the warrior whose foot was already planted on the neck of England!
In her surprise, Randalin's eyes met his squarely. "By no means, King Canute;
my father called you the highest-minded man in the world."

The young leader flushed scarlet, flushed till he felt the burning, and
averted his face to hide it. He said in a low voice, "Many things have been
told of me that I count for naught, but this--this has not been said of me
before. Tell me his name."

"He was called Frode, the Dane of Avalcomb." The red mouth trembled a little.
"He is dead now. He was slain last night, by Norman Leofwinesson, who is Edric
Jarl's thane."

As both horseman and sentinel had started at that name, so now the King
straightened into alertness, forgetting everything else.

"Leofwinesson? What know you of him or his Jarl? Where are they? When saw you
them?"

"Last night; when they lay drunk in my father's castle at Avalcomb, after--"

"Avalcomb? Near St. Alban's? The swine!" The monarch was a soldier now,
shooting his questions like arrows. "After I bade them at Gillingham come
straight to me! How many were they? Where is the Jarl?"

"He was not with them. It was Norman of Baddeby who led, and he had no more
than five-and-fifty men. It was spoken among them that they would join you at
sunset to-day--"

Canute's hand shot out and gripped her arm and shook it. "You know this for
certain? I will have your tongue if you lie to me! You are sure that they
intend coming,--that it is not their intention to play me false and return to
Edmund?" His voice was stern, his gaze mercilessly direct. An hour before, the
girl would have shrunk from them both.

One can learn life-lessons in an hour. She faced the roughness now as one
faces a rush of bracing north wind. "I know what I heard them say, Lord King.
They said that Edric Jarl had marched on to St. Alban's to lie there
over-night. Leofwinesson stopped at Avalcomb because he wished to vent his
spite upon my father. It was their intention to meet at the city gate at noon
and come on to join you. They will be here before the sun is set."

Canute released her arm to reach for his goblet. "I wish I could know it for
certain," he muttered. "But it is as the saying has it, 'Though they fight and
quarrel among themselves, the eagles will mate again.'" He looked at her with
a half-smile as he refilled his cup, motioning toward the other flagon. "Fill
up, and we will drink a toast to their loyalty and to your beard; they appear
to be equally in need of encouragement." Draining it off, he sat staring down
into the dregs, twirling the stem thoughtfully between his fingers.

By the time she had shifted her weight twice for each foot, the petitioner
ventured to recall him.

"It gives me some hope, to hear what you say about suspecting Edric Jarl," she
said timidly; "for that makes it appear more likely that you will be willing
to give me justice on his man."

"Justice?" The King's mind came back to her slowly, as from an immense
distance. "By Thor, I had forgotten! There have not been so many to me on that
errand... Though I take it well that you should trust me... Yes, certainly; I
will be king-like once. Stand here before me, while I question you."

She caught her breath rather sharply as she stepped forward. Would she be able
to tell a straight story? She stood with fingers interlacing nervously.

"Tell me first how you are called?"

"I am called Fridtjof Frodesson."

"Frode of Avalcomb! Now I know where I have heard that name; my father spoke
it often, and always with great respect. It will go hard with me if I must
return an unfavorable answer to his son. Tell me how his death was brought
about."

Randalin thrust the sobs back from her throat; the tears back from her eyes.
Only a clear head could deliver her out of the snare. She began slowly:
"Leofwinesson set upon him last night, at the gate of the castle, and slew
him. The Englishman had long been covetous of Avalcomb, so that even his fear
of you was not so great as his greed. He had five-and-fifty men, and my father
but twelve--besides me; he--we--had just come in from hunting. Then he rode
over my father's body into the castle." She stopped uncertainly to glance at
her listener.

The brightness of his eyes startled her, though they were not turned in her
direction. They were blazing down into the cup that he was turning and
pinching between his fingers. He said, half as though to himself: "Vermin!
What would I give if I might take them in my teeth and shake them like the
filth-fed rats they are! Ten hundred such do not reach the value of one finger
of a warrior like Frode! I knew that the fetters of Thorkel's craftiness would
pinch me some-where--" He broke off and flung the goblet from him, burying his
hands in his yellow hair. "How I hate them!" he breathed between his teeth.
"How I hate their smooth-tongued Jarl, and all their treacherous hides! Oh,
for the day when I no longer need their aid; when I am free to strike!" The
joy of his face was a terrible thing to hold in one's memory.

Perhaps he saw its awfulness reflected in the wide blue eyes, for he checked
himself abruptly. When he spoke again, he had himself well in hand.

"I act like a fool to let you hear my ravings. Poor cub! it is likely you will
call me a worse name when you find out how I am hindered! Yet go on and tell
me the rest. How comes it that you escaped unharmed?"

With Gram's experience to follow, it was not hard to frame that answer. "They
knocked me on the head with a spear-butt and left me for dead. When I got my
senses again, I found my way to the nuns of St. Mildred's; and they gave me
food, and I rode hither."

"It is the Troll's luck! I--yet, go on. The day will come! Did they further
harm within the castle? Have you women-kin?"

Randalin hesitated. Would it not be safer if she could deny altogether the
existence of a daughter of Frode? But no, that was not possible, in the face
of what Norman might reveal. She began very, very carefully: "It happened that
my mother died before we came to Avalcomb; and my father had but one daughter.
She was called Randalin. I did not see what became of her, for I was outside;
but I think that she is dead. A--her thrall-woman told me that Leofwinesson
pursued her to a chamber in the wall. And and because she could not escape
from him--she--she threw herself from the window, and the stones below caused
her death."

The King's hands clenched convulsively. "It is like them!" he muttered. "It
has happened as I supposed. If the master be like his men, I ask you in what
their God is to be preferred to ours? Have no fear but that I will avenge your
kinswoman. Those of her own blood-ties could do no more. And Frode also. You
need not wait long for me when the day comes; the last hair of the otter-skin
shall be covered, though I take from them the Ring itself. You shall see! Have
patience, and you shall see!"

Upon burning ears the word "patience" falls coldly.

"Patience!" the child of Frode repeated.

Perhaps in days gone by the young King himself had rebelled at the tyranny of
that word. Perhaps the smart of its scourge was still upon him. He put forth a
kindly hand and drew the boy down beside him.

"Listen, young one," he said, "and do not blame me for what I cannot help. Had
I come hither only to get property and go away again, as Northmen before me
have come, it would not matter to me whom I killed, and I would slay
Leofwinesson more gladly than I would eat; may the Giant take me if I lie! But
I have come to the Island to set up my seat-pillars and get myself land. I
think no one guesses how much I have the ambition at heart; even to me it
appears a strange wonder. But it is true that I look upon the fair rolling
meadows with such eyes of love that when it is necessary that I should set
fire to them, it is as though I had laid the torch to my hair. And because of
that, in order that I be not kept destroying them until they are not worth the
having, I have made a bargain with Edric Jarl, who is dissatisfied with his
king, that we are to support each other in the game. There it is all open to
you. Leofwinesson is the man of Edric. Until such time as I get the kingship
firmly in my hands, it would be unadvisable for me to reckon with him though
he had slain my foster-brother. You see? It is the way the Fates order things.
I must submit to them, though I am a king. Can you not, then, bend your head
without shame, and wait with me?"

Reasoning was lost on Randalin. The bitterness of failure had swept over her
and maddened her. Was she mistaken, then, about everything? Could those
trembling old women behind the broken wall read the world like witches? Was
everyone false or a beast? Oh, how her father had been wronged! She shook off
the King's hand and faced him with blazing eyes, seeking for words that should
bite like her thoughts. Then she became conscious that a word would
precipitate a flood of hysterical tears, to the eternal disgrace of her
warrior kin. All that was left for her was to get away without speaking. Out
in the woods there would be no one to see; and the grass would hide the
quivering of her lips. She put up her hand now to hide it and, struggling to
her feet, began groping toward the door.

She did not stop when Canute's voice called after her,--not until she had
reached the entrance, and the rattle of crossing spears, without, had told her
that her way was barred. Then she whirled back with a sharp cry.

"Let me go! I hate you! Let me go!"

He did not bid his guards kill her, as she half expected. Instead, he said
patiently, "I foresaw that you would take it ill; there is the greatest excuse
for you. In your place I should be equally unruly. Indeed, there is a likeness
about our luck, which causes my heart to go out to you as it has done to no
one else. I will grant your boon in time to come; so sure as I live, I will.
And until then, since all your stock has been cut off, I will be your guardian
and you shall be my ward, as though you were my own brother. Come, sit here,
and I will tell you."

She repulsed him sharply. "No, no, you shall do nothing for me! I am going
back. I ask you to let me go."

"Let you go, to starve under a hedge?"

"I shall not starve; Avalcomb is mine."

"What food will that put in your mouth, since Leofwinesson has conquered it
and driven out your servants and set his own in their place?"

Her heart sickened within her. Once more the impulse came to creep away, like
a wounded animal, and fight it out alone. She turned again to the door.

"I will starve, then. Let me go."

Leaning at his ease in the great chair, the young King regarded his ward
thoughtfully. "It is not possible that the son of Frode the Fearless should be
a coward," he said at last; "but you are over-peevish, boy. That you have
never known government is easily seen. Listen now to the truth of the matter.
If you were a maiden, it would be easy for me to-- Are you listening?" He
paused, for the slim figure had suddenly become so statue-like that he
suspected it of plotting another attack upon the door.

The boy answered very low, "Yes, Lord King, I am listening."

Canute went on again: "I say that if you were a maiden,--if you were your
sister, to tell it shortly,--I could easily dispose of you in marriage. Thus
would you get protection, and your father's castle would gain a strong arm to
fight for it. I would wed you to my foster-brother, Rothgar Lodbroksson, and
thus bring good to both of-- Are you finding fault with that also?"

But the lad stood before him like a stone. If a faint cry had come from him,
it was not repeated; and there was nothing offensive about a hidden face and
shaking limbs.

The King continued more gently: "But since you were so simple as to be born a
boy, such good luck is not to be expected. It is the best that I can do to
offer you to become my ward and follow me as my page, until the sword's game
has decided between me and Edmund of England. But I do not know where your
ambition is if that does not content you. There are lads in Denmark who would
give their tongues for the chance. What say you, Fridtjof the Bold?"

For a time it looked as if "Fridtjof the Bold" did not know what to say. He
stood without raising his hanging head or moving a muscle. Silence filled the
tent, while from outside leaked in the noise of the revel. Then, through that
noise or above it, there became audible the notes of far-away horns. Edric
Jarl was fulfilling his pledge. Cheers answered the blast. An exclamation
broke from the King's lips, and he leaped up. At that moment, "Fridtjof the
Bold" fell at his feet with clasped hands and supplicating eyes.

"Let me go, Lord King," he besought passionately. "Let me go, and I will ask
nothing further of you. I will never trouble you again. Let me go!--only let
me go!"

Canute of Denmark is not to be blamed that he stamped with exhausted patience.

"Go into the hands of the Trolls!" he swore. And again, "In the Fiend's name!"
And at last, "By the head of Odin, it would serve you well did I take you at
your word! It would serve you right did I turn you out to starve. Were it not
for your father's sake, and for the sake of my own honor, I vow I would! Now
hearken to this." Bending, he picked the boy up by his collar and shook him.
"Listen now to this, and understand that you cannot move me by the breadth of
a hair. I shall not let you go, and you shall be my ward, whether you will or
no. And if you run away, soldiers shall go after you and bring you back, as
often as you run. And if you answer me now or anger me further--but I will not
say that, for it is your misfortune that makes you unruly, and you are
weak-spirited from hunger. Take this bread now for your meal, and that bench
yonder for your bed, and trouble me no more to-night. I would not be hard upon
you, yet it would be advisable for you to remember that I have sufficient
temper for one tent. Go as I bid you. I must meet with the Jarl. Go! Do you
heed my orders?"

Only one answer was possible. After a moment the page gave it in a low voice.

"Yes, Lord King," he whispered, and crept away to his corner.




Chapter VI

The Training of Fridtjof The Page



A foolish man
Is all night awake,
Pondering over everything;
He then grows tired,
And when morning comes
All is lament, as before.
Ha'vama'l.

Who that has youth and a healthy body is not made a new being by a night of
dreamless slumber? What young heart is so despairing that to waken into a fair
day does not bring courage? Wakened by the sun's caress, to the morning song
of blowing trees, Randalin faced her future as became the kinswoman of
warriors.

"I do not know why it was that fear crept into my breast last night," she told
herself severely, when the first wave of strangeness and grief had broken over
her, and she had come up again into the sparkling air. "Great dangers have
threatened me, but I have escaped them all with great luck; it is poor-
spirited of me to despair. And it must be that witches had thinned my blood
with water that I should have thought of running away. To do that would be to
lose my revenge forever. I should become a creature without honor, like the
girl with the necklace. To stay is no less than my duty. If I think all the
time of Fridtjof, it is certain that I can hide it that I am a girl." Turning
in her furry bed, she rose cautiously upon her elbow and looked about.

The tent was empty, though scattered furs along the benches showed where
sleepers might have rested. But from outside, a clatter of hurrying feet and
excited voices broke suddenly upon her. Did it mean a battle? She sat up,
straining eye and ear. The jubilant voices shouted greetings that just missed
being intelligible. The sun, glancing from moving weapons, flashed through the
doorway in fantastic shapes.

While she was trying to unravel it all, one pair of the hurrying feet halted
before the entrance. After a muttered word with the sentinel, they came on and
brought the son of Lodbrok into view. The girl started up with a gasp of
alarm, then made the strange discovery that she was no longer afraid of him.
Though he showed against the linen wall as brawny and big of jowl as he had
loomed up the night before, she found herself moved only to dislike. What had
been the matter last night? Understanding nothing of the clairvoyant power of
sharpened nerves, she set it down tn cowardice, and put on an extra swagger
now as her eyes met his.

Rothgar surveyed the sprig of defiance with no more than a perfunctory
interest. "It seems that you are the son of Frode the Dane," he said in his
heavy voice. "Frode was a mighty raven-feeder; for his sake I am going to
support you until you can go well on your legs. Have you had anything to eat?"

As she shook her head, Randalin's heart rather softened toward him. But it
hardened again when the thralls had brought the food, and he had sat down and
begun to share it. Seen in a strong light, his rich tunic proved to be foul
with beer stains, while his great hands reeked with grease. His thick lips,
his heavy breathing--bah, he was revolting! Before she had finished the meal,
she had come to the conclusion that she hated him.

Perhaps it was as well that there was something to add firmness to her
bearing. As he swallowed his last mouthful of food, Rothgar said abruptly,
"Canute has put your training into my hands. It is his will that I find out
how much skill you have with weapons."

It was nothing more than she should have expected, yet it came upon her with
the suddenness of a blow. She could only stammer, "Weapons?"

The Jotun's voice rumbled hideously as he talked into his goblet. "Have you
the accomplishment to wield a battle-axe or throw a spear? Can you shoot
straight?"

"No," she faltered.

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