To my mind, no gale seems so wild as one that comes at the time of
full moon, when the clouds break up and fly in great masses of
black and silver against the deeper sky beyond, while bright light
and deepest shadow chase each other across land and sea beneath
them. Kolgrim and I stood under the lee of a shed, waiting for the
fisher to get his boat afloat, and looked out on bending trees and
whitened water, while beyond the harbour we could see the great
downs, clear cut and dark, almost as well as by day, so bright it
was.
It was low water now, which was good for us, for the winding
channels that lead up to Wareham were sheltered under their bare
banks. We could hear the thunder of the surf along the rocky coast
outside, when the wind ceased its howling for a moment; and at high
water the haven had been well nigh too stormy for a small boat. Now
we should do best to go by water, for wind was with us; though,
unless the gale dropped very quickly, we could not return in her,
for there would be a heavy sea and tide against us if we could get
away before it turned, while if we were long wind against tide
would be worse yet.
The fisherman was eager to help us against the Danes, who had made
him work for nought; and so in half an hour we were flying up the
haven on the first rise of tide, and the lights of Wareham town
grew plainer every moment. From the number of twinkling sparks that
flitted here and there, it would seem that many folk were waking,
even if some movement were not on hand.
Presently we turned into the channel that bends to the southwest
from the more open water, and the town was before us. The fisher
took to his oars now, lowering the scrap of sail that had been
enough to drive us very swiftly before the gale so far.
Wareham stands on the tongue of land between two rivers' mouths,
and the tide was setting us into the northward of these. That was
the river one would have to cross in coming to or from Poole, and
maybe we should learn as much there as anywhere.
There were three ships on the mud, but even in the moonlight it was
plain that they were not seaworthy. There were wide gaps in their
bulwarks, which none had tried to mend, and the stem head of one
was gone.
"These ships were hurt in the storm of lest week," the fisher said,
as we drifted past them; "there was hardly one that came in unhurt.
But the Danes were eager to go, and mended them as they could."
Perhaps that was partly the reason why we gained so easy a victory,
I thought at the time, and afterwards knew that I was right. They
had suffered very much, while we lay across channel in safety.
There loomed before us the timbers of a strong bridge that had been
over the north river, when we were fairly in it and under the
nearer houses of the town. But now it was broken down, and the gap
in its middle was too wide for hasty repair.
"When was this done?" I asked the fisherman.
"Since yesterday," he answered.
Now this seemed to me to indicate that the Danes meant to guard
against attack by land from Poole; also that they overrated our
numbers, which was probable in any case, seeing that a fleet had
fled from before us.
There were wharves on the seaward side of the bridge, but none were
beyond; and the houses stood back from the water, so that there was
a sort of open green between it and them. There were no people
about, but we could hear shouts from the town now and then.
"Let us go ashore and speak with some one," I said; "it is of no
use our biding here on the water."
Kolgrim and I were fully armed, and had boat cloaks with us which
covered us well, and we thought none would question who we were if
we mixed among the men in some inn or other gathering place. So we
bade the fisher wait for us, and found the stairs, and went to the
wide green along the waterside, and across it to the houses, which
were mostly poor enough here.
Many of them stood open, and in one a fire burned on the hearth,
but all were empty. So we turned into a street that led seemingly
from one bridge to the other across the town. Here men were going
hither and thither with torches, and groups were outside some of
the houses. To the nearest of these I went, as if I had all right
to be in the place.
They were bringing goods out of the house, and loading a cart with
them.
"Here is a flitting," said Kolgrim, "and another or two are on hand
yonder."
I stayed a man who came past me from out of a house.
"I have fled from Poole," I said. "What is in the wind here? Are we
to leave Wareham also?"
"If you come from Poole, you should know that it is time we did
so," he answered shortly. "I suppose you saw the whole business."
"So I did," I answered. "What are the orders?"
"Pack up and quit with all haste," said he. "You had better get to
work if you have aught to save."
"Shall we go to Exeter, or back to Mercia?" I said.
"Exeter they say; but I know not. Why not go and ask Jarl Osmund
himself--or follow the crowd and hinder no one with questions?"
He hurried on; but then some men began to question us about the
doings off Swanage, and Kolgrim told them such tales that they
shivered, and soon we had a crowd round us listening. Nor did I
like to hurry away, for I heard a man say that we were Northmen, by
our voices. But there were plenty of our folk among the Danes.
Then came a patrol of horsemen down the street, and they bade the
loiterers hurry. I drew Kolgrim into an open doorway, and stood
there till they passed, hearing them rate their fellows for delay.
"Wareham will be empty tomorrow," I said. "Now we can go; we have
learned enough."
Still I would see more, for there seemed no danger. Every man was
thinking of himself. So we went across the town, and as we came
near the western bridge the crowd grew very thick.
We heard before long that the army was as great as Odda had
thought, and that they were going to Exeter. Already the advance
guard had gone forward, but this train of followers would hardly
get clear of the town before daylight. They had heard great
accounts of our numbers, and I wished we had brought the ships up
here at once. There would have been a rout of the Danes.
But the place was strange to me, and to Odda also, so that we could
not be blamed.
We got back by the way we came, and then knew that we could in no
way take the boat to Poole. The gale was raging at its highest, and
thatch was flying from the exposed roofs. It would be dead against
us; and the sea was white with foam, even in the haven. So we must
go by road, and that was a long way. But we must get back to Odda,
for he should be in Wareham before the Danes learned, maybe, that
their flight was too hurried.
Now it seemed to me that to leave Wareham was not so safe as to
come into it, for no Dane would be going away from the place.
However, the bridge was down; and if it had not been done in too
great haste, any fugitives from the country would have come in. So
that maybe we should meet no one on the road that goes along the
shore of the great haven.
The fisherman ferried us over to the opposite shore, and then tied
his boat to the staging of the landing place, saying that he was
well known and in no danger. He would sleep now, and bring his boat
back when the wind fell. So we left him, thanking him for his
goodwill.
Grumbling, as men will, we set out on our long walk in the gale. We
could not miss the road, for it never left the curves of the shore,
and all we had to do was to be heedful of any meetings. There might
be outposts even yet, watching against surprise.
However, we saw no man in the first mile, and then were feeling
more secure, when we came to a large farmstead which stood a short
bowshot back from the road, with a lane of its own leading to the
great door. What buildings there were seemed to be behind it, and
no man was about; but there was light shining from one of the high
windows, as if some one were inside, and plain to be seen in the
moonlight were two horses tied by the stone mounting block at the
doorway.
"Here is a chance for us, master," said my comrade, coming to a
stand in the roadway. "I must try to steal these horses for
ourselves. If Danes are in the place, they have doubtless stolen
them; and if Saxons, they will get them back."
"There will be no Saxon dwelling so near the Danes," I said. "Maybe
the place is full of Danes--some outpost that is careless."
"Careless enough," said Kolgrim. "If they are careless for three
minutes more, they have lost their horses."
Then we loosened our swords in their sheaths, and drew our seaxes,
and went swiftly up the grassy lane. The wind howled round the
house so that none would hear the clank of mail, which we could not
altogether prevent. But the horses heard us, and one shifted about
and whinnied as if glad to welcome us.
At that we ran and each took the bridle of that next him, and cut
the halter that was tied to the rings in the wall, looking to see
the doors thrown open at any moment. Then we leaped to the saddles
and turned to go. The hoofs made a great noise on the paving stones
before the doorway, yet there was no sound from inside the house.
That seemed strange to me, and I sat still, looking back with the
horse's head turned towards the main road.
"Stay not, master," Kolgrim said. "'Tis some outpost, and the men
have slept over the farmhouse ale. Maybe the stables behind are
full of horses. Have a care, master; the door opens!"
He was going; but I waited for a moment, half expecting to see a
spear point come first, and my hand was on my sword hilt. But the
great heavy door swung slowly, as if the one who opened it had
trouble with its weight. So I must needs see who came. Maybe it was
some old man or woman whose terror I could quiet in a few words.
Then the red firelight from within shone out on me, and in the
doorway, with arms raised to post and door on either hand, stood a
tall maiden, white robed, with gold on neck and arm. The moonlight
on her seemed weird with the glow of the fire shining through the
edges of her hood and sleeves. I could see her face plainly, and it
was fair and troubled, but there was no fear in her looks.
"Father, is this you?" she said quietly.
I could make no answer to that, and she looked intently at me; for
the moon was beyond me, and both Kolgrim and I would seem black
against it, as she came from the light within, while the wind, keen
with salt spray, was blowing in her face.
"Who is it?" she said again. "I can scarcely see for moon and wind
in my eyes."
"Friends, lady," I said, for that at least was true in a way.
"Where are my horses? Have you seen aught of our thralls, who
should have left them?" she asked, looking to whence we had just
taken the beasts.
Now I was ashamed to have taken them, for she was so plainly alone
and helpless, and I could not understand altogether how it could be
so. I was sure that she was Danish, too.
"How is it that you have not fled, lady?" I asked. "Surely you
should have gone."
"Ay; but the thralls fled when they heard the news. Has not my
father sent you back for me?"
This seemed a terrible plight for the maiden, and I knew not what
to say or do. She could not be left in the way of our Saxons if
they came on the morrow, and I could not take her to Poole. And so,
lest I should terrify her altogether, I made up my mind even as she
looked to me for an answer.
"I think your father is kept in Wareham in some way. Does he look
for you there?"
"Ay, surely," she answered; but there was a note as of some new
fear in her voice. "Has aught befallen him? Have the Saxons come?"
"All is well in Wareham yet," I answered. "Now we will take you to
your father. But we are strangers, as you may see."
Then I called to Kolgrim, who was listening open eyed to all this,
and backed away from the door a little.
"What is this madness, master?" he whispered hoarsely.
"No madness at all. Ten minutes' ride to Wareham with the maiden,
give her to the fisherman to take to her friends, and then ride
away--that is all. Then we shall be in Poole long before any look
for us, for we are in luck's way."
Kolgrim laughed.
"Strange dangers must I run with you, master; but that is what one
might look for with Ranald of the Sword."
Then I got off the horse, which was very strong and seemed quiet,
and went to the maiden again.
"It will be best for you to come with us, lady," I said "we will
see you safely to Wareham."
The light fell on my arms now, and they were splendid enough, being
Harald Fairhair's gift, which I had put on for the fight, seeing
that the men loved to see their king go bravely, and being,
moreover, nowise loth to do so myself. She seemed to take
heart--for she was well nigh weeping now--when she saw that I was
not some wandering soldier of the great host.
"My horses, two of them should be here," she said. "I bade the
thralls leave them when they fled."
So she thought not that we had loosed them, and did not know her
own in the moonlight. Maybe she had no knowledge as to which of
many had been left, and I was glad of that, for so her fear was
less.
"You must ride with us," I said, "and I would ask you to come
quickly; even now the host is leaving Wareham."
"Ay, is that so? Then my father is busy," she said, and then she
faltered a little, and looked at me questioningly. "I cannot go
without my nurse, and she is very sick. I think she sleeps now. Men
feared her sickness so that we brought her here from the town. But
indeed there is nought to fear; there is no fever or aught that
another might take from her."
Then I grew fairly anxious, for this was more than I had looked
for. I knew that it was likely that she would soon be missed and
sought for; yet I could not think of leaving her to that chance,
with the bridge broken moreover.
I gave the bridle to Kolgrim then to hold.
"Let me see your nurse," I said gently; "I have some skill in these
troubles."
She led me into the house without a word. All the lower story was
in one great room, with a hearth and bright fire thereon in the
centre. Beyond that was a low bed, to which the maiden went. A very
old woman, happed in furs and heavy blankets, lay on it, and it
needed but one look to tell me that she needed no care but the
last. Past need of flight was she, for she was dead, though so
peacefully that her watcher had not known it.
"The sleep is good, is it not?" the maiden said, looking anxiously
into my face.
"It is good, lady," I answered, taking off my helm. "It is the best
sleep of all--the sleep that heals all things."
The maiden looked once at the quiet face, and once more at me, with
wide eyes, and then she knew what I meant, and turned quickly from
me and wept silently.
I stood beside her, not daring to speak, and yet longing to be on
the road. And so still were we that Kolgrim got off his horse and
came to the door and called me, though not loudly.
I stepped back to him.
"Come again in a few minutes and say one word--'Saxons'" I
whispered, "then we shall go."
He nodded and drew back. I think the maiden had not heard me move,
for she was bent over the bed and what lay thereon. It seemed very
long to me before I heard my comrade at the door.
"Saxons, master!" he said loudly.
"Say you so?" I answered, and then I touched the maiden's arm
gently.
"Lady, we must go quickly," I said. "The dame is past all help of
ours, and none can harm her. Come, I pray you."
She stood up then, still looking away from me, and I drew the
covering over the still face she gazed at.
"You must leave her, and I know these Saxons will not wrong the
dead," said I gently. "Your father will miss you."
"I am keeping you also in danger," she answered bravely. "I will
come."
"Loth to go am I," she said, as she gathered her wrappings to her
and made ready very quickly, "for it seems hard. But hard things
come to many in time of war."
After that she ceased weeping, and was, as I thought, very brave in
this trouble, which was indeed great to her. And when she was clad
in outdoor gear, she bent once more over the bed as in farewell,
while I turned away to Kolgrim and made ready the horses. Then she
came, and mounted behind me on a skin that I had taken from a chair
before the hearth.
Then we were away, and I was very glad. The good horse made nothing
of the burden, and we went quickly. Many a time had I ridden
double, with the rough grip of some mail-shirted warrior round my
waist, as we hurried back to the ships after a foray; but this was
the first time I had had charge of a lady, and it was in a strange
time and way enough. I do not know if it was in the hurry of
flight, or because they had none, but the horses had no saddles
such as were for ladies' use.
So I did not speak till we were half a mile from the house, and
then came a hill, and we walked, because I feared to discomfort my
companion. Then I said:
"Lady, we are strangers, and know not to whom we speak nor to whom
we must take you."
There was a touch of surprise in her voice as she answered:
"I am the Lady Thora, Jarl Osmund's daughter."
Then I understood how this was the chief to whom the man I spoke
with first had bidden me go for orders. It was plain now that he
was up and down among the host ordering all things, and deeming his
daughter in safety all the while. He had not had time to learn how
his cowardly folk had fled and left their mistress, fearing perhaps
the sickness of the old dame as much as the Saxon levies.
Now no more was said till we came to the riverside, where the flood
tide was roaring through the broken timbers of the bridge. The
fisher slept soundly despite the noise of wind and water, and
Kolgrim had some trouble in waking him.
"How goes the flight?" I asked him when he came ashore with the
boat's painter in his hand.
"Faith, master, I know not. I have slept well," he said.
Now by this time it seemed to me that I ought to take the lady into
a safe place, and I would go myself rather than leave her to the
fisherman, who was rough, and hated the Danes heartily, as I knew.
Moreover, I had a new plan in my head which pleased me mightily.
Then I thought that if I were to meet any man who suspected me,
which was not likely, the Lady Thora would be pass enough for me.
So I told Kolgrim to bide here for me, and he said at first that he
must be with me. However, I made him stay against his will at last,
telling him what I thought.
Then the fisher put us across quickly, and went back to the far
side to wait my return.
I asked Thora where I must take her to find the jarl.
"To his house, surely," she said.
"I do not know the way from here," I answered; "I fear you must
lead me."
"As you will," she said, wondering. "It is across the town
certainly."
That was bad for me, perhaps, but I should find that out presently.
So we went across the open, and came to the road through the town
along which I had been before. It was clearer, though there were
yet many people about.
Now when we were in the shadow of the first houses, Thora stopped
suddenly and looked hard at me.
"Will you tell me if I am heading you into danger?" she said.
"What danger is possible?" I answered. "There are no Saxons here
yet."
"Not one?" she said meaningly. "I may be wrong--it does seem
unlikely but I think you do not belong to us. Your speech is not
like ours altogether, and your helm is gold encircled, as if you
were a king."
"Lady," I said, "why should you think that I am not of your people?
Let us go on to the jarl."
"Now I know that you are not. Oh, how shall I thank you for this?"
Then she glanced at my helm again, and drew a sudden little quick
breath.
"Is it possible that you are Alfred of Wessex? It were like what
they say of him to do as you have done for a friendless maiden."
Then she caught my hand and held it in both of hers, looking half
fearfully at me.
"Lady," I said, "I am not King Alfred, nor would I be. Come, let us
hasten."
"I will take you no further," she said then. "Now I am sure that
you are of the Northmen that were seen with the Saxons. You are not
of us, and I shall lose you your life."
Then came the quick trot of horses, and I saw a little troop coming
down the street, their arms flashing in the streaks of moonlight
between the houses.
"I will see you in good hands, Lady Thora," I answered. "Who are
these coming?"
"It is my father," she said, and drew me back deeper into shadow.
After the horsemen and beside them ran men who bore planks and
ropes, and it was plain that the jarl had found out his loss, and
hastened to bridge the gap and cross the river.
I saw that I could keep up the pretence no longer.
"Let me walk behind you as your servant," I said. "If any heed me,
I pray you make what tale you can for me."
"What can I say to you in thanks?" she cried quickly, and letting
go my hand which she yet held. "If you are slain, it is my fault.
Tell me your name at least."
"Ranald Vemundsson, a Northman of King Alfred's," I said. "Now I am
your servant--ever."
Then Thora left my side suddenly, and ran forward to meet the
foremost horseman--for they were close to us--calling aloud to
Osmund to stay. And he reined up and leaped from his horse with a
cry of joy, and took her in his arms for a moment.
I got my cloak around me, pulling the hood over my helm, and stood
in the shadow where I was. I saw the jarl lift his daughter into
the saddle, and the whole troop turned to go back. The footmen cast
down their burdens where each happened to be, and went quickly
after them; and I was turning to go my way also, when a man came
riding back towards me.
"Ho, comrade," he said, "hasten after us. Mind not the things left
in the boat. There is supper ere we go."
I lifted my hand, and he turned his horse and rode away, paying no
more heed to me. That was a good tale of things left that Thora had
made in case I was seen to be going back to the boat.
Then I waxed light hearted enough, and thought of my other plan.
Kolgrim saw me coming, and the boat was ready.
"Have you flint and steel?" I said to the fisher as I got into the
boat.
"Ay, master, and tinder moreover, dry in my cap."
"Well, then, take me to those ships we saw. I have a mind to scare
these Danes."
It was a heavy pull against the sea to where they lay afloat now,
though it was not far. I fired all three in the cabins under the
fore deck, so that, as their bows were towards the town, the light
would not be seen till I was away.
Then we went swiftly back to Kolgrim, and as I mounted and rode
off, the blaze flared up behind us, for the tarred timbers burned
fiercely in the wind.
"That will tell Odda that the Danes are flying. And maybe it will
save Wareham town from fire, for they will think we are on them. So
I have spoiled Jarl Osmund's supper for him."
Then I minded that this would terrify the Lady Thora maybe, and
that put me out of conceit with my doings for a moment. But it was
plain that she was brave enough, for there were many things to fray
her in the whole of this matter, though perhaps it was because
Kolgrim stayed beyond the river that she made so sure that I was a
man of King Alfred's and no friend to the Danes.
So we rode away, pleased enough with the night's work, and reached
Poole in broad daylight, while the gale was slackening. Well
pleased was Odda to see me back, and to hear my news.
Then he asked me what I would do next. There seemed to be no more
work at sea, and yet he would have me speak with King Alfred and
take some reward from him. And I told him that the season grew
late, and that I would as soon stay in England for this winter as
anywhere.
"What will you do next in the matter of these Danes, however?" was
my question.
Then he said:
"I must chase them through the country till they are within the
king's reach. He has the rest pent in Exeter, and there will be
trouble if they sail out to join these. I must follow them,
therefore, end send men to Alfred to warn him. Then he will know
what to do. Now I would ask you to take the ships back into the
river Exe and join us there."
I would do that willingly, and thought that if the wind held fair
after the gale ended, I might be there before he joined the king by
land. But I should have to wait for a shift to the eastward before
sailing.
So Odda brought his men ashore, and marched on Wareham and thence
after the Danes, not meaning to fight unless some advantage showed
itself, for they were too many, but to keep them from harming the
country. And I waited for wind to take me westward.
Then the strange Norsemen left us. They had gained much booty in
the Danish ships, for they carried what had been won from the
Saxons, and what plunder should be taken was to be their share in
due for their services. They were little loss, for they were
masterless vikings who might have given trouble at any time if no
plunder was to be had, and I was not sorry to see them sail away to
join Rolf Ganger in France.
Now these men would have followed me readily, and so I should have
been very powerful at sea, or on any shore where I cared to land.
But Odda had made me feel so much that I was one in his counsel,
and a friend whom he valued and trusted, that I had made this
warfare against the Danes my own quarrel, as it were in his
company. Already I had a great liking for him, and the more I heard
of Alfred the king, the more I wished to see him. At the least, a
man who could build ships like these, having every good point of
the best I knew, and better than any ever heard of before, was
worth speaking with. I thought I knew somewhat of the shipwright's
craft, and one thinks much of the wisdom of the man who is easily
one's master in anything wherein one has pride.
Moreover, Alfred's men were wont to speak of him with little fear,
but as if longing for his praise. And I thought that wonderful,
knowing only Harald Fairhair and the dread of him.