THE SECRET OF THE RUNIC RING
The room that Godfrey Rothwell was accustomed to call his study was
a small and cosy apartment, well furnished with books; while, here
and there, were many ornaments betraying the taste of Beatrice, for
the room was jointly occupied by brother and sister. They loved to
be together, and while Godfrey studied his medical tomes, Beatrice's
fingers would be busy with sewing or embroidery.
On this particular evening the presence of Idris caused both study
and needlework to be suspended. He had whetted the curiosity of his
entertainers by affirming that his coming to Ormsby had something to do
with the search for his father: he was, in fact, following a clue.
His hearers pressed for enlightenment.
"Let us sit around the fire, and I will explain my meaning."
Drawing a comfortable arm-chair to the hearth Beatrice composed herself
for what she felt was about to be an interesting disclosure.
"Among the papers," Idris began, "handed to me on my eighteenth
birthday by my mother's executors was a piece of vellum with runic
letters upon it. Though eleven years had passed I immediately
recognized these characters as being identical with those engraved on
the Ring of Odin. My mother had had the forethought to make a copy of
the inscription."
Here Idris paused, reading a question in Beatrice's eyes.
"Have you the transcript with you?" she asked. "It will be interesting
to look at, though we do not understand it."
Idris produced from his pocketbook a scrap of vellum inscribed with
four lines of tiny runic letters.
"And these are runes?" said Beatrice, looking at them attentively.
"They are very like the characters on the bugle that hangs within the
porch of Ravenhall."
"Precisely," said Godfrey, "inasmuch as that is an old Norse
drinking-horn. But we are interrupting Idris' story."
"The sight of this inscription naturally interested me," continued
Idris, "and I resolved to make an attempt at its decipherment, in the
hope that it might cast a ray of light upon the mystery of Duchesne's
murder, for I have always held to the belief that he was assassinated
for the sake of the altar-ring. With this view I procured the services
of a professor eminent for his knowledge of Norse antiquities, and
under his tuition I began the study of runology.
"I was soon able to read all the letters of the inscription, and to
pronounce what I supposed were syllables and words: but syllables
and words would not yield any sense. And here and there came a
juxtaposition of consonants quite unpronounceable. To add to the
difficulty there were no spaces to show where one word ended and
another began. All the characters were equally close together and
seemed to form one long word. I did my best to break the inscription
up into its component parts, but failed. I could not distinguish one
familiar term. Either the language was not old Norse, or the professor
had taught me wrongly."
"Why did you not lay the inscription before the professor," asked
Beatrice, "and get him to decipher it for you?"
"Because I did not wish any one to know the secret till I myself had
first ascertained its value. In the belief that it might be written in
some language other than old Norse I made incursions, not very deep, I
fear, into Danish, Frisian, Icelandic, and other northern dialects, but
failed to identify the inscription with any one of these tongues.
"At last in despair I cast aside the caution I had hitherto exercised,
and placed the writing before my tutor; but, eminent runologist as he
was, he could extract no meaning from it.
"Anxious to begin the search for my father, I parted from the Norse
professor; but yet, amid all my wanderings through Europe, I never
quite gave up the hope of being able to decipher the inscription.
"Now, a few weeks ago, it occurred to me that the art of secret writing
may have been practised in Norse times just as in our own. Hitherto,
following modern usage, I had always read the inscription from left to
right: why not from right to left, as ancient Hebrew is read? I tried
the course, but it made me no wiser.
"However, the cryptographic idea grew upon me, and was not to be shaken
off. As you perceive, it is a four-line inscription; I therefore read
downwards, combining the letters in the first line with those directly
beneath in the second, third, and fourth lines, but with no success.
I read upwards: disappointment was still my lot. I tried the plan of
omitting every alternate letter. I seemed as far off as ever."
"But you succeeded in the end," said Beatrice.
"Yes. By playing at random with the letters, I hit upon the key to
the decipherment. Observe this character," continued Idris, pointing
to one in the first line, shaped thus:--*. "It is called _Hagl_, and
corresponds to our H. As it is slightly larger than the other letters,
I had come to regard it as the initial one in the series, and the
sequel proved that I was correct. Beginning with this _Hagl_, I omitted
the three following letters, taking the fifth which corresponds to our
i."
"That gives us H-i," said Beatrice.
"Just so. Passing over the next three characters we come to the
equivalent of our l."
"H-i-l," said Beatrice.
"Proceeding in this way I add two more letters, and the result is a
woman's name, as common in Norse days as in our own."
"You mean Hilda?"
"Precisely. Hilda is the first word of the inscription. Light had
dawned at last. I had discovered the key to the writing, and it is
this: every fourth letter is to be treated as if in immediate sequence.
"I instantly marked off the characters into sets of four. By taking out
the first letter in each quartette, and placing them in consecutive
order, I found the result was an intelligible sentence. By treating
the second letter of each quartette in like manner the sentence was
continued: and so with the third and fourth letters. There could be no
doubt about it. I had mastered the secret of Odin's Ring."
"And what _is_ the secret?" said Beatrice breathlessly.
Idris could not avoid smiling at her eagerness. It was pleasant to have
so fair and interested a listener.
"Impulsive Beatrice!" said Godfrey. "Idris may wish to keep the secret
to himself."
"It will be very unfair, then, after having excited our curiosity," she
retorted.
"You shall have the secret," said Idris; "though you will probably be
as much disappointed with it as I was. There is nothing very startling
in it. It does not relate to Odin and the gods of Valhalla, but to an
old Viking and a buried treasure. This is my rendering of the Norse
runes engraved on the broad perimeter of the ancient altar-ring."
And here Idris drew forth a second piece of vellum, and read from it as
follows:--
_"'Hilda, the Alruna, to her son, Magnus of Deira,
greeting.--Within the lofty tomb of thy sire Orm, the Golden, wilt
thou find the treasure won by his high arm. The noontide shadow
of the oft-carried throne will be to thee for a sign. And may the
fires of the Asas guard thy heritage for thee.--Farewell."_
"That," continued Idris, after a pause, "is the secret of Odin's
Ring: and though, as I have said, I was disappointed at first, yet
in course of time I began to think that the knowledge I had acquired
might furnish me with a clue--a very faint one, it is true,--towards
discovering my father."
"I fail to see how," observed Godfrey.
"In this way. Captain Rochefort, who was instrumental in effecting my
father's escape, possessed--so I have learned--a copy of this runic
inscription. Now, let us suppose that he and my father turned their
attention to its decipherment, and, like myself, succeeded. Let us
further grant that they had reasons for believing that the old Viking's
treasure still existed in the spot where it was originally placed.
Allowing these premises, what is the conclusion?"
"That they would endeavour to possess themselves of this treasure."
"Just so. They would try to find the Viking's tomb. Therefore, if I,
too, could hit upon the place----"
"I understand. You might come upon some trace of your father."
"That is my meaning. I admit that it is a very slender thread upon
which to hang my hopes, but it is all that is left me. To find the
burial-place of Orm the Golden became my next object, a somewhat
difficult feat, seeing that he is a person who has altogether escaped
the historian's pen. However, I have succeeded."
"What!" exclaimed Godfrey, incredulously. "You have discovered the
burial-place of this unknown Viking, who, granting the reality of his
existence, must have lived at least a thousand years ago?" And on
receiving a nod of affirmation, he asked, "How did you accomplish it?
'_Within the lofty tomb of thy sire Orm, the Golden_,'" continued he,
reading from Idris' translation of the inscription, "'_wilt thou find
the treasure, won by his high arm._' There is nothing here to indicate
the site of this 'lofty tomb.'"
"There is just a hint. Magnus, the Viking's son, is said to be 'of
Deira.' I infer, therefore, that the father Orm was likewise of Deira;
that in Deira he lived, in Deira he died, and in Deira he was buried.
'Look for the tomb in Deira,' became my watchword."
"Deira," said Beatrice quickly. "Is not Deira the ancient name for this
part of the country?"
"Yes," Godfrey answered, "and it is rather a wide area for our friend
Idris to explore, seeing that the name included all the country from
the Tyne to the Humber, and from the Pennines to the sea."
"True," assented Idris; "but we may narrow the area of our search
considerably. These old Vikings had such love for the sea that they
were usually buried within sound of the breakers. We shall not err,
therefore, if we confine our attention to the sea-board only of Deira."
"Even then you will have a coast-line of more than one hundred miles to
explore."
"A glance at an ordnance map will help us to fix the site."
"In what way?"
"Thus. I take it that Orm the Viking, being master of much wealth, as
is clear from the words on the ring, would build for himself a dwelling
or castle by the sea. Around the abode of their chief the vassals and
dependants would fix theirs, thus forming the nucleus of a town. Now
what name would such a place be likely to take?"
"My dear Idris," said Godfrey, protestingly, "how can I tell?--or you
either?" he added.
"Well, like most town-names of Norse origin it would probably end in
the syllable _by_."
"I will grant you that much--no more."
"You cannot see at what I am aiming?"
"I am completely in the dark."
"Receive a ray of light, then. Don't you think that if this Orm built a
town, that town would bear his name?"
"Surely you are not alluding to Ormsby?"
"But I am. This town must have received its name from some one called
Orm, and it is my belief that this Orm was none other than the Viking
who figures on the runic ring. In the neighbourhood of this town, then,
we must look for the 'lofty tomb' of my Norse warrior. Now, four miles
to the north of us, there is, so local guide-books say, a lonely valley
called Ravensdale, containing----"
"Containing," Beatrice broke in, excitedly, "containing a rounded,
artificial hillock, over fifty feet high, and known by the name of
Ormfell."
"Ah! I see you know it," smiled Idris. "Yes, Ormfell, or Orm's Hill, is
the spot where I shall find the bones of the ancient Viking."
"And do you really intend," asked Beatrice, "to bore your way to the
heart of that hillock in order to see what it contains?"
"Such is the purpose that has brought me to Ormsby, my object being to
discover whether this tumulus exhibits traces of having been recently
opened. It may be that in the sepulchral chamber within the hillock I
shall light upon something that will afford a clue towards discovering
my father. It may be a handkerchief merely, a discarded lantern, a
tool, a match-box, a button, or some other article trifling in itself,
but which a skilled detective will know how to employ in tracing the
man he wants. I may come even upon a pocketbook or a letter unwittingly
dropped--who can tell? Ormfell is my last hope. Fanciful as it may
appear to you, Godfrey, something seems to whisper to me that the
interior of that tumulus will furnish me with the means of lifting the
veil that has so long shrouded my father's fate."
There was in Idris' manner a confidence which his hearers did not like
to quell by the expression of cold doubt, though they considered his
expectation fanciful in the extreme.
"Do you intend to obtain the earl's sanction to make your excavations?"
asked Beatrice. "Ormfell stands on the Ravengar lands, you know."
"Humph! if I should ask for permission I may meet with a refusal. In
such circumstances, therefore, I feel myself justified in committing a
bold trespass."
"Well, if you should be caught, Mr. Breakspear," said Beatrice with a
blush, "I will intercede for you with Lord Ormsby, for I believe I am
rather a favourite of his."
Idris tendered her his thanks. He had almost forgotten that the pretty
maiden sitting beside him might one day be the inheritrix of Ravenhall,
and owner of those very lands the proprietary rights of which he was
preparing to set at naught.
"But," continued Beatrice, "if you are not going to apply for the
earl's permission, how do you intend to escape observation?"
"By conducting my operations in the dead of night."
"Break into a Viking's tomb in the dead of night! What a weird idea!"
"I shall not be the first who has so acted, Miss Ravengar."
"You will not object to my help, I presume?" Godfrey remarked.
"On the contrary, I shall be glad of it."
"I am half-disposed to join in this romantic business myself," said
Beatrice with a smile. "How interesting if you should discover the
treasure!"
"We are not very likely to discover treasure that was secreted a
thousand years ago," commented Godfrey.
"And yet," said Idris, "many sepulchral barrows, opened in our day, are
found to contain treasure--coins, drinking-horns, armour, and the like."
"True: but in this case you forget that the words on the runic ring
were an express invitation to Orm's son--what was his name, Magnus?--to
possess himself of the treasure. He would not leave much for posterity
to glean."
"Yes, if he received his mother's ring; but how if it miscarried? Hilda
evidently lived far away from her son Magnus, else why should she have
engraved her communication on metal, when she could more easily have
delivered it _vivâ voce_ and face to face? The messenger entrusted with
the ring may have gone astray. Travelling was a difficult matter in
Norse times, and many perils beset the wayfarer, especially a wayfarer
who carried anything worth stealing. Or consider this point, that
though Magnus was capable of understanding the runic riddle--otherwise
his mother would not have adopted such a mode of communication--yet
it does not follow that his son or successor was equally skilled.
Supposing, then, that Magnus was dead when the messenger arrived with
the ring, there may have been no one in Deira capable of interpreting
the message. The ring might thus retain its secret, and the hillock its
treasure, down to our own time."
"Possible, but not probable," smiled Godfrey.
Beatrice's eyes rested upon the vellum containing Idris' translation of
the runic inscription.
"'_The fires of the Asas guard thy heritage for thee!_'" she read.
"What does that mean?"
"The Asas were the old Norse gods, who were supposed to dart forth
flames upon any one venturing to disturb the sleep of the dead."
"Then beware, Mr. Breakspear," she said playfully, "for you are going
the very way to evoke their wrath. '_The noontide shadow of the
oft-carried throne will be to thee for a sign._' How do you interpret
that?"
"I wish I could answer you, Miss Ravengar. That sentence is an enigma
I've never been able to solve. It is my intention to pay a visit to
Ormfell at noon to-morrow, when an inspection of the hillock may
perhaps throw some light on the matter."
Soon afterwards Beatrice retired for the night, but it was a long time
before sleep came to her. She lay awake, thinking of Idris, and of the
passionate look that came into his eyes at the sight of the beautiful
Lorelie Rivière.