How Sir Otto rode down the steep rocky cliffs.
Sir Otto kept his eyes for a long time fixed on the ground, for he was
lost in deep thought. The song which Astrid and Hugur had sung at her
death (for this too the armourer had repeated) had agitated his inmost
heart. As he began to raise himself from this melancholy trance, and
was about to ask how Sir Arinbiorn came to be related to the mysterious
knight with the vulture’s wings, he heard in the castle-court the
stamping of many horses, and his own name called out loudly and
impatiently. “They have not found you in your own chamber,” said the
armourer; “and know not whither you have gone. There, take your sword,
and let us go forth.” The weapon shone bright and spotless in the
hands of Sir Otto; and his own eyes too gleamed with joy as he came
forth with the black-visaged armourer into the court, which was already
bright with the ruddy gleams of the morning. The sea-monarch came
cheerfully to meet him, and wished him joy, that he had now a weapon
from the hand of the skilful and far-famed Asmandur. Otto thankfully
gave him back his battle-axe; whereupon Sir Arinbiorn commanded the
black and silver mail to be brought, and busied himself in buckling
on his young friend’s armour. “Mark you that troop of horsemen?” said
he, pointing to the opposite side of the court, where a band of Norman
soldiers were mounted on light-brown chargers, which stamped and foamed
with impatience to go forth. “If my will is here to be followed, you
shall lead these men into Sweden, to make war against the Pagans in
Finland, while I shall again betake myself with my ships to the sea,
and keep watch on our enemies’ coast, till I have found means of
landing advantageously, and attacking them by surprise. Are you content
with this proposal?” “Wherefore should I not be so?” answered Sir Otto;
“Shall we not set out this very morning?” “Immediately,” answered
the sea-monarch; “but there is yet one question to be answered. The
soldiers whom you are to command would willingly see one proof more of
that valour and activity for which you are so esteemed; for, to say the
truth, they have doubts whether your war-steed may be worthy of his
master. Therefore may it please you to try a race with that soldier
there, whose light-brown horse seems to be about a match for yours in
height, colour, and symmetry.” “Most willingly,” replied Sir Otto; “I
could not wish for any better amusement!” So being now fully armed,
he started away to the neighbouring stables, saddled and bridled his
own favourite steed, who was now quite recovered from the effects of
the sea-voyage, and made his appearance at the lofty portal leading
into the court. The light-brown neighed and snorted, as if in joyful
salutation of his friends and brethren, who were thus drawn up in
battle-array; while at this approach of their leader all the band of
horsemen joined in a loud cry of exultation. With a lowly and courteous
bow, one of them came forward, and begged to know whether it was the
knight’s pleasure that they should then commence their race. “Lead me
to the proper ground,” answered Sir Otto; and the Norman, guiding his
horse a few steps to one side, said,--“The course is now right before
us, noble sir.” At that moment he had stationed himself opposite to a
steep declivity of the mountain, broken indeed by insulated fragments
of rock, which partly rose up in frightful rugged masses, and partly
spread out in yet more dangerous smoothness, mingling with the green
turf. “That is to be our race-course,” said the Norman, in a tranquil
and friendly tone. “Among us northern soldiers, less is thought of the
trial, whether one horse can ride more swiftly than another, than of
the question, whether he can find his way prudently and safely on such
unequal rocky ground?” “Very well, I am ready to join you,” answered
Sir Otto; though it must be owned, when he looked down the precipice,
his brain became confused, and his eyes clouded. Yet he took courage,
more especially as he perceived that his light-brown steed seemed just
as willing to encounter the descent as that of his adversary; and
with like impatience foamed at the mouth, and gnawed the bridle which
restrained him. “Let the trumpets blow the signal, for I am prepared,”
said Sir Otto to the sea-monarch, who stood behind him; while the whole
troop of cavalry had formed a half-circle, watching what would be the
result of this adventure.
Accordingly, the war-horns were sounded, the combatants gave the reins
to their steeds, and struck the spurs deep into their sides; at the
same time leaning backwards, both for their own safety, and that they
might render the descent more easy to their horses. Sir Otto found
his eyes dazzled,--there was a rushing sound in his ears,--the wind
whistled through the long waving plumes of his head-piece. It seemed
to him as if, instead of running a race, he would soon fall headlong
through the air; and more than once he was on the point of drawing
the reins; but, reflecting that if he did so, his adversary probably
might gain the victory, he used the spurs instead of the bridle,
and the light-brown steed flew like a supernatural being over the
rocky cliffs and slippery declivities. At length they both arrived
safely, and stationed themselves quietly in the valley beneath, while
Sir Otto’s rival was still heard clashing and rattling through the
thickets above them. As soon as he had arrived also on the plain,
his horse, notwithstanding all the endeavours that the rider made
to prevent him, rushed against that of Sir Otto, and both steeds
directly engaged in a furious combat. In a few minutes, however, that
of the Norwegian knight was thrown down, the rider along with him,
both severely wounded. The soldier recovered himself in a short time;
but Sir Otto, perceiving that he was much hurt, said to him,--“If it
so please you, mount my horse, and ride him up to the castle.” “Sir
Knight,” said the Norman, shrinking back, “what would you have me
do?--I am now well convinced that your charger is of the right blood,
and is one of the noblest, as well as most formidable, steeds that
ever sprung from the Norwegian race. But without doubt he would rend
me in pieces if I ventured to come near him; for after a battle such
an animal could not be tamed even by his own master.”--“That depends,”
said the Knight of Trautwangen, “on the question, whether his master
be right valiant and powerful. Trust to my promise, and mount him
without apprehension!--Ruhig du Bursch!” added he, at the same time
dismounting; and on hearing these words, his horse, as usual, stood
motionless. Sir Otto assisted the wounded knight into the saddle, and
then led the way on foot; while his light-brown favourite followed him
like a sumpter-horse, slowly and carefully climbing over the rocks. On
their return to the castle the whole troop of horsemen saluted them
with the greatest respect, and the oldest among them affirmed that Sir
Otto was indeed a leader to whom they had yet never beheld any equal.
Thereafter, without dismounting, they all drank his health in a cup of
mead, which was replenished by the squires, and passed round from man
to man. Then, in a short space, Sir Otto was seen at the head of his
troop, departing rapidly through the plains beneath the castle, and the
white sails of Sir Arinbiorn were unfurled, and gleaming on the blue
waters.