Inquire and impartShould every man of sense,Who will be accounted sage.Let one only know,—A second may not;If three, all the world knows.Ha'vama'l
It was early the next morning, so early that the world was only here and there awake. The town was silent; the fields were empty; the woods around the camp slept in darkness and silence. Only the little valley lay fresh and smiling in the new light, winking back at the sun from a million dewy eyes.
Under the trees the long white-scoured tables stood ready with bowl and trencher, and Alwin carried food to and fro with leisurely steps. From Helga's booth her voice arose in a weird battle-chant; while from the river bank came the voices and laughter and loud splashing of many bathers.
Gradually the shouts merged into a persistent roar. The roar swelled into a thunder of excitement. Alwin paused, in the act of ladling curds into the line of wooden bowls, and listened smiling.
"Now they are swimming a race back to the bank. I wonder whom they will drive out of the water today." For that was the established penalty for being last in the race.
The thunder of cheering reached its height; then suddenly it split into scattered jeers and hootings. There was a crackling of dead leaves, a rustling of bushes, and Sigurd appeared, dripping and breathless. Panting and spent, he threw himself on the ground, his shining white body making a cameo against the mossy green.
"You! You beaten!" Alwin cried in surprise.
Sigurd gave a breathless laugh. "Even I myself. Certainly it is a time of wonders!" He looked eagerly at the spread table, and held up his hand. "And I am starving besides! Toss me something, I beg of you." When Alwin had thrown him a chunk of crusty bread, he consented to go on and explain his defeat between mouthfuls. "It was because my shoulder is still heavy in its movements. I broke it wrestling last winter. I forgot about it when I entered the race."
"That is a pity," said Alwin. But he spoke absently, for he was thinking that here might be an opening for something he wished to say. He filled several bowls in silence, Sigurd watching over his bread with twinkling eyes. After a while Alwin went on cautiously: "This mishap is a light one, however. I hope it is not likely that you will have to endure a heavier disappointment when Leif arrives today."
Back went Sigurd's yellow head in a peal of laughter. "I would have wagered it!" he shouted. "I would have wagered my horse that you were aiming at that! So every speech ends, no matter where it begins. I talk with Helga of what we did as children and she answers: 'You remember much, foster-brother; do not forget the sternness of Leif's temper.' I enter into conversation with Rolf, and he returns, 'Yes, it is likely that Leif has got greater favor than ever with King Olaf. I cannot be altogether certain that he will shelter one who has broken Olaf's laws.' Tyrker advises me,—by Saint Michael, you are all as wise as Mimir!" He flung the crust from him with a gesture of good-humored impatience. "Do you all think I am a fool, that I do not know what I am doing? It appears that you forget that Leif Ericsson is my foster-father."
Alwin deposited the last curd in the last bowl, and stood licking the horn-spoon, and looking doubtfully at the other. "Do you mean by that that you have a right to give him orders? I have heard that in the North a foster-son does not treat his foster-father as his superior, but as his servant. Yet Leif did not look to be—"
Sigurd shouted with laughter. "He did not! I will wager my head he did not! Certainly the foster-son who would show disrespect to Leif the Lucky would be putting his life in a bear's paw. It makes no difference that it is customary for many silly old men of lower birth to allow themselves to be trampled upon by fiery young men of higher rank, like old wolves nipped by young ones. King Olaf's heir dare not do so to Leif Ericsson. No; what I would have you understand is that I know what I am doing because I know Leif's temper as you know your English runes. From the time I was five winters old to the time I was fifteen, I lived under his roof in Greenland, and he was as my father to me. I know his sternness, but I know also his justice and what he will dare for a friend, though Olaf and all his host oppose him."
He let fly a Norman oath as, splod! a handful of wet clay struck between his bare shoulders. Turning, he saw among the bushes a mischievous hand raised for a second throw, and scrambled laughing to his feet.
"The trolls! First to drive me from my bath and then to throw mud on me! Poison his bowl, if you love me, Alwin. Ah, what a throw! It is not likely that you could hit a door. What bondmaids' aiming! Shame!" Mocking, and dodging this way and that, he gained the welcome shelter of the sleeping-house.
A rush of big white bodies, a gleam of dampened yellow hair, an outburst of boisterous merriment, and the camp was swarming with hungry uproarious giants, who threw shoes at each other and shoved and quarrelled around the polished shield, before which they parted their yellow locks, stamping, singing and whistling as they pulled on their tunics and buckled their belts.
"Leif is coming!—the Lucky, the Loved One!" Helga sang from her booth; and the din was redoubled with cheering.
"By Thor, it seems to me that he is coming now!" said Valbrand, suddenly. He had finished his toilet, and sat at the table, facing the thicket. Every one turned to look, and beheld Leif's thrall-attendant gallop out of the shadows toward them. No one followed, however, and a murmur of disappointment went round.
"It is nobody but Kark!"
Kark rose in his stirrups and waved his hand. He was of the commonest type of colorless blond, and coarse and ignorant of face; but his manners had the assurance of a privileged character.
"It is more than Kark," he shouted. "It is news that is worth a hearing. Ho, for Greenland! Greenland in three days!"
"Greenland?" echoed the chorus.
"Greenland?" cried Helga, appearing in her doorway, with blanching cheeks.
They rushed upon the messenger, and hauled him from his horse and surged about him. And what had seemed Babel before was but gentle murmuring compared with what now followed.
"Greenland! What for?"—"You are jesting." "That pagan hole!"—"In three days? It is impossible!"—"Is the chief witch-ridden?"—"Has word come that Eric is dead?"—"Has Leif quarrelled with King Olaf, that the King has banished him?"—"Greenland, grave-mound for living men!"—"What for?"—"In the Troll's name, why?"—"You are lying; it is certain that you are."—"Speak, you raven!"
"In a moment, in a moment,—give me breath and room, my masters," the thrall answered boldly. "It is the truth; I myself heard the talk. But first,—I have ridden far and fast, and my throat is parched with—"
A dozen milk-bowls were snatched from the table and passed to him. He emptied two with cool deliberation, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"I give you thanks. I shall not keep you waiting. It happened last night when Leif came in to make his report to the King. Olaf was seated on the throne in his hall, feasting. Many famous chiefs sat along the walls. You should have heard the cheer they gave when it was known that Leif had the victory!"
Here Kark's roving eyes discovered Alwin among the listeners; he paused, and treated him to a long insolent stare. Then he went on:
"I was saying that they cheered. It is likely that the warriors up in Valhalla heard, and thought it a battle-cry. Olaf raised his drinking-horn and said, 'Hail to you, Leif Ericsson! Health and greeting! Victory always follows your sword.' Then he drank to him across the floor, and bade him come and sit beside him, that he might have serious speech with him."
A second cheer, loud as a battle-cry, went up to Valhalla. But mingling with its echo there arose a chorus of resentment.
"Yet after such honors why does he banish him?"—"Did they quarrel?"—"Is it possible that there is treachery?"—"Tell us why he is banished!"—"Yes, why?"—"Answer that!"
The messenger laughed loudly. "Who said that he was banished? Rein in your tongues. As much honor as is possible is intended him. It happened after the feast—"
"Then pass over the feast; come to your story!" was shouted so impatiently that even Kark saw the wisdom of complying.
"It shall be as you like. I shall begin with the time when every warrior had gone to bed, except those lying drunk upon the benches. I sat on Leif's foot-stool, with his horn. It is likely that I also had been asleep, for what I first remember was that Leif and the King had ceased speaking together, and sat leaning back staring at the torches, which were burning low. It was so still that you could hear the men snore and the branches scraping on the roof. Then the King said, while he still looked at the torch, 'Do you purpose sailing to Greenland in the summer?' It is likely that Leif felt some surprise, for he did not answer straightway; but he is wont to have fine words ready in his throat, and at last he said, 'I should wish to do so, if it is your will.' Then the King said nothing for a long time, and they both sat looking at the pine torch that was burning low, until it went out. Then Olaf turned and looked into Leif's eyes and said, 'I think it may well be so. You shall go my errand, and preach Christianity in Greenland.'"
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.
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 the 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.
Brand burns from brand,Until it is burnt out;Fire is from fire quickened.Man to manBecomes 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.
Alwin was in the mood to suffer torture with a smile. The more outrageous Valbrand depicted him, the better he was pleased. Leif made no comment whatever, but sat pulling at his long mustaches and eying them from under his bushy brows.
When the steersman had finished, he asked, "Is Kark slain?"
Glancing back, Valbrand saw the bowerman sitting up and feeling of his wounds. "Except a lump on his head, I do not think he is worse than before," he answered.
"So," said Leif with an accent of relief. "Then it is not worth while to say much. If he had been killed, his father would have taken it ill; and that would have displeased Eric and hurt my mission. It would have become necessary for me to slay this boy to satisfy them. Now it is of little importance."
He straightened abruptly and waved them away.
"What more is there to do about it?" he added. "This fellow has been punished, and Kark has got one of the many knocks his insolence deserves. Let us end this talk,—only see to it that they do not kill each other. I do not wish to lose any more property." He motioned them off, and turned back to Tyrker.
But there was more to it. Something,—Leif's curtness, or the touch of Valbrand's hand upon his naked shoulder,—roused Alwin's madness afresh. Shaking off the hand, fighting it off, he bearded the chief himself.
"I will kill him if ever he utters his cur's yelp at me again. You are blind and simple to think to keep an earl-born man under the feet of a churl. You are a fool to keep an accomplished man at work that any simpleton might do. I will not bear with your folly. I will slay the hound the first chance I get." He ended breathless and trembling with passion.
Valbrand stood aghast. Leif's brows drew down so low that nothing but two fiery sparks showed of his eyes. Through Alwin went the same thrill he had felt when the trader's sword-point pricked his breast.
Yet the lightning did not strike. Alwin glanced up, amazed. While he stared, a subtle change crept over the chief. Slowly he ceased to be the grim curt Viking: slowly he became the nobleman whose stateliness minstrels celebrated in their songs, and the King spoke of with praise. A stillness seemed to gather round them. Alwin felt his anger cooling and sinking within him.
After a time, Leif said with the calmness of perfect superiority: "It may be that I have not treated you as honorably as you deserve. Yet what am I to think of these words of yours? Is it after such fashion that a jarl-born man with accomplishments addresses his lord in your country?"
To the blunt old steersman, to the ox-like Olver, to the half-dozen others who heard it, the change was incomprehensible. They stared at their master, then at each other, and finally gave it up as a whim past their understanding. It may be that Leif was curious to see whether it would be incomprehensible to Alwin as well. He sat watching him intently.
Alwin's eyes fell before his master's. The stately quietness, the noble forbearance, were like voices out of his past. They called up memories of his princess-mother, of her training, of the dignity that had always surrounded her. Suddenly he saw, as for the first time, the roughness and coarseness of the life about him, and realized how it had roughened and coarsened him. A dull red mounted to his face. Slowly, like one groping for a half forgotten habit, he bent his knee before the offended chief. Unconsciously, for the first time in his thraldom, he gave to a Northman the title a Saxon uses to his superior.
"Lord, you are right to think me unmannerly. I was mad with anger so that I did not weigh my words. I will say nothing against it if you treat me like a churl."
To the others, this also was inexplicable. They scratched their heads, and rubbed their ears, and gaped at one another. Leif smiled grimly as he caught their looks. Picking a silver ring from his pouch, he tossed it to Valbrand.
"Take this to Kark to pay him for his broken head, and advise him to make less noise with his mouth in the future." When they were gone he turned to Alwin and signed him to rise. "You understand a language that churls do not understand. I will try you further. Go dress yourself, then bring hither the runes you were reading to Rolf Erlingsson."
Alwin obeyed in silence, a tumult of long-quiet emotions whirling through his brain,—relief and shame and gratification, and, underneath it all, a new-born loyalty.
All the rest of the day, until the sun dropped like a red ball behind the waves, he sat at the chief's feet and read to him from the Saxon book. He read stumblingly, haltingly; but he was not blamed for his blunders. His listener caught at the meanings hungrily, and pieced out their deficiencies with his keen wit and dressed their nakedness in his vivid imagination. Now his great chest heaved with passion, and his strong hand gripped his sword-hilt; now he crossed himself and sighed, and again his eyes flashed like smitten steel. When at last the failing light compelled Alwin to lay down the book, the chief sat for a long time staring at him with keen but absent eyes.
After a while he said, half as though he was speaking to himself: "It is my belief that Heaven itself has sent you to me, that I may be strengthened and inspired in my work." His face kindled with devout rapture. "It must have been by the guidance of Heaven that you were trained in so unusual an accomplishment. It was the hand of God that led you hither, to be an instrument in a great work."
Awe fell upon Alwin, and a shiver of superstition that was almost terror. He bowed his head and crossed himself.
But when he looked up, the thread had snapped; Leif was himself again. He was eying the boy critically, though with a new touch of something like respect.
He said abruptly: "It is not altogether befitting that one who has the accomplishments of a holy priest should go garbed like a base-bred thrall. What is the color of the clothes that priests wear in England?"
Alwin answered, wondering: "They wear black habits, lord. It is for that reason that they are called Black Monks."
Rising, Leif beckoned to Valbrand. When the steersman stood before him, he said: "Take this boy down to my chests and clothe him from head to foot in black garments of good quality. And hereafter let it be understood that he is my honorable bowerman, and a person of breeding and accomplishments."
The old henchman looked at the new favorite as dispassionately as he would have looked at a weapon or a dog that had taken his master's fancy. "I would not oppose your will in this, any more than in other things; yet I take it upon me to remind you of Kark. If you make this cook-boy your bowerman, to keep the scales balancing you must make him who was your bowerman into a cook-boy. It is in my mind that Kark's father will take that as ill as—"
A sweep of Leif's arm swept Kark out of the path of his will. "Who is it that is to command me how I shall choose my servants? The Fates made Kark a cook-boy when he was born; let him go back where he belongs. I have endured his boorishness long enough. Am I to despise a tool that Heaven has sent me because a clod at my feet is jealous? What kind of luck could that bring?"
Convinced or not, Valbrand was silenced. "It shall be as you wish," he muttered.
Alwin fell on his knee, and, not daring to kiss the chief's hand, raised the hem of the scarlet cloak to his lips.
"Lord," he said earnestly; then stopped because he could not find words in which to speak his gratitude. "Lord—" he began again, and again he was at a loss. At last he finished bluntly, "Lord, I will serve you as only a man can serve whose whole heart is in his work."