THE NORTHMAN SEA-KING.
Rolf, the Sea-King and supreme Chief of the Northman pirates, was a man
far advanced in years. His beard and hair, naturally of a yellow blonde,
were heavily streaked with grey. Numerous scars criss-crossed his face,
which was of a brick-red hue, tanned and copper-colored by the sun and
the sea air. His physiognomy was rendered hideous by a saber cut that
put out his left eye and cut his nose off to the bone. His single eye
glistened like a burning coal under its bushy eye-brow; his heavy lips,
half-hidden under his bristling moustache and by his shaggy beard,
imparted to his mouth a scoffing and sensuous expression. Rolf was of
middle size and of athletic frame. His arms were abnormally long. Like
his champions, the Northman Chieftain wore an armor of iron scales. But,
in order to feast and frolic more at ease, he had doffed his cuirass,
and now kept on only a jacket of reindeer-skin, blackened at several
places by the friction of his armor, and that fell open from time to
time, exposing his shirt and, under his shirt, a chest as hirsute as
that of the bears of the northern sea. The pirate chieftain was just
finishing his repast. Canons and a few other surviving dignitaries of
the abbot served Rolf upon their knees. The friars looked haggard and
were pale with fear. He allowed them to move about only on all fours, or
upon their knees when they were wanted to reach out dishes and wine
cups to him. Every time that the movements of these servitors seemed too
slow, either the pirates themselves, or former serfs of the abbey, who
now saw their opportunity to avenge the ill-treatments that they had
been subjected to, quickened, with kicks and sticks, the motions of the
holy men.
Rolf, just finishing his sumptuous feast, seemed to be in great good
humor. Half seas over with the old wines of Gaul, he was indulging
himself in the well upholstered easy-chair of the abbot. He had just
placed a woman on each knee, when, back from his call upon the Beautiful
Shigne, and at ease concerning her recovery, Gaëlo entered the
banquet-hall, accompanied by Eidiol, Rustic and the other skippers whom
he was to present to Rolf.
"So the priests of this place were keeping you prisoners!" remarked Rolf
to the skippers while wiping with the back of his hand his thick
moustache, still wet with wine. "You should side with us against the
church rats and the castle falcons!"
"We river-pikes can escape the rats and the falcons easy enough,"
answered Eidiol. "Nevertheless, we love to see the falcons transfixed
with arrows, and the rats drowned in their traps. We applaud your
victory over the monks of St. Denis."
"Are you of the city of Paris?"
"Yes, seigneur; I am the dean of the Skippers' Guild."
"Will the Parisians defend their city?"
"If you injure the poor folks, yes; if, however, all you mean to do is
to burn down the churches, levy ransoms on the rich abbeys and on the
palaces of the Frankish seigneurs, then the people will not budge."
"So, then, the good people of Paris will offer us no resistance. That
will be wise on their part. What with the reserve that I shall leave in
this fortified abbey, and my two thousand vessels that will ascend the
Seine as far as Paris, resistance could come neither from Count Rothbert
nor from Charles the Simple. Your King will pay us ransom, after which
we shall wing our flight towards the North on the tracks of the
swans,--unless I should take it into my head to settle down in this
country of Gaul, the same as my comrade Hastain did when he settled down
in the country of Chartres. He! He! my champions! I am growing old.
Perhaps I should settle down in this country, in some fat province rich
in pretty girls and good wine! Oh, my champions! As our saga sings: 'I
am an old sea-crow; for nearly forty years I have grazed with my wings
the fresh waters of rivers and the briny waves of the sea'. Now, then,
there must be an end of this, my brave champions! Charles the Simple has
a daughter called Ghisèle. She is a girl of fourteen, and pretty enough
to make one's head swim. Maybe I shall take the daughter of Charles the
Simple to wife and demand of him a whole province for dower. What think
you of this project?"
No less intoxicated than their chieftain, the pirates emitted loud roars
of laughter and answered vociferously:
"We shall drink to your wedding, old Rolf! A handsome maid belongs in
your couch. Glory to the husband of Ghisèle, the daughter of Charles the
Simple."
"The old brigand is drunk as a thrush in autumn, Master Eidiol; what
wild scheme is that which he pursues?" whispered Rustic to the old
skipper.
A great tumult interrupted the answer. The noise proceeded from without,
it grew louder and approached the apartment. Imprecations and threats
were vociferated wildly. Presently the door burst open and several
pirates rushed in, dragging after them Guyrion the Plunger, his face
bathed in blood.
"My son!" cried Eidiol running towards the lad. "My son is wounded!"
"And your mother--your sister--where are they?" added Rustic, rushing
upon the heels of the old skipper. "Oh! I fear me a great misfortune has
happened!"
"These bandits have killed my mother from whose arms they strove to drag
my sister," answered Guyrion in despair. "I sought to defend them--these
men struck me over the head with a saber and knocked me senseless!"
"My wife dead!" exclaimed the old man stupefied; and turning to the
chieftain of the pirates, he cried out in a thundering voice: "Rolf!
Justice! Justice! I demand vengeance!"
"Yes, Rolf, justice and vengeance!" cried several of the pirates who
rushed in with Guyrion. "This dog whom we bring here to you has killed
one of our companions. We want justice!"
Rolf, more and more under the influence of the heady wine, seeing that
he continued to empty cup after cup, answered in a husky voice: "Yes, my
champions; I shall order that justice be done. Only let me finish this
flagon of wine."
At the same moment other pirates rushed in. They carried Anne the Sweet
unconscious in their arms and deposited her at the feet of the Northman
chieftain saying:
"Old Rolf, here is a beautiful girl that we have reserved for you. She
belongs to your part of the booty."
Eidiol, Rustic, Guyrion and the other skippers in their company ran to
the rescue of Anne, but they were violently repelled and held back by
the pirates.
"My champions, I shall administer justice!" cried Rolf from his seat in
a maudlin voice; and addressing himself to Guyrion the Plunger, who,
forgetful of his wound that bathed his forehead in blood, looked
alternately with despairing eyes from his father to his sister who lay
prostrate in a swoon: "Who are you? Where do you come from? Answer,
young man!"
"He is my son," answered Eidiol, choking with rage. "He is a skipper,
like myself, and he came to join me at the abbey, where I was retained a
prisoner."
"And as truly as I have managed the oar since my childhood," cried
Rustic, "seeing that you, Rolf, and your men, ill-treat us poor people
in such a manner, our Skippers' Guild will call the other guilds of
Paris to arms against you."
Rolf received the threat with a loud roar of laughter. He rose, and
trying to steady himself upon his feet answered in a voice frequently
interrupted by hiccoughs:
"I pardon all these fellows; but I shall keep the girl. And now, you,
Parisians, return to your city; you are free. I forbid my champions do
you the least harm."
"Rolf!" cried Eidiol imploringly, "return my daughter to me! Allow us to
carry away in our vessel the body of my wife!"
"My champions, cast these dogs out at the gate of the abbey, and let
them hurry to announce to Charles the Simple that--I want--to marry his
daughter Ghisèle--Yes, I want that maid for my wife."
"Yes, yes! You shall wed the princess!" cried the pirates, delighted at
the whim of their chief; and dragging the Parisian skippers despite all
the resistance that they offered, drove them out of the abbey of St.
Denis at the point of their swords.