INTRODUCES, AMONG OTHERS, THE HERO AND HEROINE, AND OPENS UP A VIEW OF
NORSE LIFE IN THE OLDEN TIME.
Ulf of Romsdal had a daughter named Hilda. She was fair, and extremely
pretty.
The young men said that her brow was the habitation of the lily, her eye
the mirror of the heavens, her cheek the dwelling-place of the rose.
True, in the ardour of their feelings and strength of their imaginations
they used strong language; nevertheless it was impossible to overpraise
the Norse maiden. Her nut-brown hair fell in luxuriant masses over her
shapely shoulders, reaching far below the waist; her skin was fair, and
her manners engaging. Hilda was undoubtedly blue-eyed and beautiful.
She was just seventeen at this time. Those who loved her (and there
were few who did not) styled her the sunbeam.
Erling and Hilda had dwelt near each other from infancy. They had been
playmates, and for many years were as brother and sister to each other.
Erling's affection had gradually grown into a stronger passion, but he
never mentioned the fact to anyone, being exceedingly shamefaced and shy
in regard to love. He would have given his ears to have known that his
love was returned, but he dared not to ask. He was very stupid on this
point. In regard to other things he was sharp-witted above his fellows.
None knew better than he how to guide the "warship" through the
intricate mazes of the island-studded coast of Norway; none equalled him
in deeds of arms; no one excelled him in speed of foot, in scaling the
fells, or in tracking the wolf and bear to their dens; but all beat him
in love-making! He was wondrously slow and obtuse at that, and could by
no means discover whether or not Hilda regarded him as a lover or a
brother. As uncertainty on this point continued, Erling became jealous
of all the young men who approached her, and in proportion as this
feeling increased his natural disposition changed, and his chafing
spirit struggled fiercely within him. But his native good sense and
modesty enabled him pretty well to conceal his feelings. As for Hilda,
no one knew the state of her mind. It is probable that at this time she
herself had not a very distinct idea on the point.
Hilda had a foster-sister named Ada, who was also very beautiful. She
was unusually dark for a Norse maiden. Her akin indeed was fair, but
her hair and eyes were black like the raven's wing. Her father was King
Hakon of Drontheim.
It was the custom in those warlike days for parents to send out some of
their children to be fostered by others--in order, no doubt, to render
next to impossible the total extirpation of their families at a time
when sudden descents upon households were common. By thus scattering
their children the chances of family annihilation were lessened, and the
probability that some members might be left alive to take revenge was
greatly increased.
Hilda and Ada were warmly attached. Having been brought up together,
they loved each other as sisters--all the more, perhaps, that in
character they were somewhat opposed. Hilda was grave, thoughtful,
almost pensive. Ada was full of vivacity and mirth, fond of fun, and by
no means averse to a little of what she styled harmless mischief.
Now there was a man in Horlingdal called Glumm, surnamed the Gruff, who
loved Ada fervently. He was a stout, handsome man, of ruddy complexion,
and second only to Erling in personal strength and prowess. But by
nature he was morose and gloomy. Nothing worse, however, could be said
of him. In other respects he was esteemed a brave, excellent man.
Glumm was too proud to show his love to Ada very plainly; but she had
wit enough to discover it, though no one else did, and she resolved to
punish him for his pride by keeping him in suspense.
Horlingdal, where Ulf and Haldor and their families dwelt was, like
nearly all the vales on the west of Norway, hemmed in by steep mountains
of great height, which were covered with dark pines and birch trees. To
the level pastures high up on mountain tops the inhabitants were wont to
send their cattle to feed in summer--the small crops of hay in the
valleys being carefully gathered and housed for winter use.
Every morning, before the birds began to twitter, Hilda set out, with
her pail and her wooden box, to climb the mountain to the upland dairy
or "saeter", and fetch the milk and butter required by the family during
the day. Although the maid was of noble birth--Ulf claiming descent
from one of those who are said to have come over with Odin and his
twelve godars or priests from Asia--this was not deemed an inappropriate
occupation. Among the Norsemen labour was the lot of high and low. He
was esteemed the best man who could fight most valiantly in battle and
labour most actively in the field or with the tools of the smith and
carpenter. Ulf of Romsdal, although styled king in virtue of his
descent, was not too proud, in the busy summertime, to throw off his
coat and toss the hay in his own fields in the midst of his thralls
[slaves taken in war] and house-carles. Neither he, nor Haldor, nor any
of the small kings, although they were the chief men of the districts in
which they resided, thought it beneath their dignity to forge their own
spearheads and anchors, or to mend their own doors. As it was with the
men, so was it with the women. Hilda the Sunbeam was not despised
because she climbed the mountainside to fetch milk and butter for the
family.
One morning, in returning from the fell, Hilda heard the loud clatter of
the anvil at Haldorstede. Having learned that morning that Danish
vikings had been seen prowling among the islands near the fiord, she
turned aside to enquire the news.
Haldorstede lay about a mile up the valley, and Hilda passed it every
morning on her way to and from the saeter. Ulfstede lay near the shore
of the fiord. Turning into the smithy, she found Erling busily engaged
in hammering a huge mass of stubborn red-hot metal. So intent was the
young man on his occupation that he failed to observe the entrance of
his fair visitor, who set down her milk pail, and stood for a few
minutes with her hands folded and her eyes fixed demurely on her lover.
Erling had thrown off his jerkin and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt
of coarse homespun fabric, in order to give his thick muscular arms
unimpeded play in wielding the hammer and turning the mass of glowing
metal on the anvil. He wore woollen breeches and hose, both of which
had been fashioned by the fingers of his buxom mother, Herfrida. A pair
of neatly formed shoes of untanned hide--his own workmanship--protected
his feet, and his waist was encircled by a broad leathern girdle, from
one side of which depended a short hunting-knife, and from the other a
flap, with a slit in it, to support his sword. The latter weapon--a
heavy double-edged blade--stood leaning against the forge chimney, along
with a huge battle-axe, within reach of his hand. The collar of his
shirt was thrown well back, exposing to view a neck and chest whose
muscles denoted extraordinary power, and the whiteness of which
contrasted strikingly with the ruddy hue of his deeply bronzed
countenance.
The young giant appeared to take pleasure in the exercise of his
superabundant strength, for, instead of using the ordinary single-hand
hammer with which other men were wont to bend the glowing metal to their
will, he wielded the great forehammer, and did it as easily, too, with
his right arm as if it had been but a wooden mallet. The mass of metal
at which he wrought was thick and unyielding, but under his heavy blows
it began to assume the form of an axe--a fact which Hilda noticed with a
somewhat saddened brow. Erling's long hair, rolling as it did down his
shoulders, frequently straggled over his face and interfered slightly
with his vision, whereupon he shook it back with an impatient toss, as a
lion might shake his mane, while he toiled with violent energy at his
work. To look at him, one might suppose that Vulcan himself had
condescended to visit the abodes of men, and work in a terrestrial
smithy!
During one of the tosses with which he threw back his hair, Erling
chanced to raise his eyes, which instantly fell upon Hilda. A glad
smile beamed on his flushed face, and he let the hammer fall with a
ringing clatter on the anvil, exclaiming:
"Ha! good morrow to thee, Hilda! Thou comest with stealthy tread, like
the midnight marauder. What news? Does all go well at Ulfstede? But
why so sad, Hilda? Thy countenance is not wont to quarrel with the
mountain air."
"Truly, no!" replied the girl, smiling, "mountain air likes me well. If
my looks are sadder than usual, it is because of the form of the weapon
thou art fashioning."
"The weapon!" exclaimed Erling, as he raised the handle of the hammer,
and, resting his arms on it, gazed at his visitor in some surprise. "It
is but an axe--a simple axe, perchance a trifle heavier than other axes
because it suits my arm better, and I have a weakness that way. What
ails thee at a battle-axe, Hilda?"
"I quarrel not with the axe, Erling, but it reminds me of thy love of
fighting, and I grieve for that. Why art thou so fond of war?"
"Fond of war!" echoed the youth. "Now, out upon thee, Hilda! what were
a man fit for if he could not fight?"
"Nay, I question not thine ability to fight, but I grieve to see thy
love for fighting."
"Truly there seems to me a close relationship between the love of war
and the ability to fight," returned the youth. "But to be plain with
thee: I _do not_ love war so much as ye think. Yet I utter this in
thine ear, for I would not that the blades of the valley knew it, lest
they might presume upon it, and I should have to prove my ability--
despite my want of love--upon some of their carcasses."
"I wish there were no such thing as war," said Hilda with a sigh.
Erling knitted his brows and gazed into the smithy fire as if he were
engaged in pondering some knotty point. "Well, I'm not sure," said he
slowly, and descending to a graver tone of address--"I'm not sure that I
can go quite so far as that. If we had no war at all, perchance our
swords might rust, and our skill, for want of practice, might fail us in
the hour of need. Besides, how could men in that case hope to dwell
with Odin in Valhalla's bright and merry halls? But I agree with thee
in wishing that we had less of war and more of peace _at home_."
"I fear," said Hilda, "we seem likely to have more of war and less of
peace than usual, if rumours be true. Have you heard that Danish
vikings have been seen among the islands?"
"Aye, truly, I have heard of them, and it is that which has sent me to
the smithy this morning to hasten forward my battle-axe; for I love not
too light a weapon. You see, Hilda, when it has not weight one must
sometimes repeat the blow; especially if the mail be strong. But with a
heavy axe and a stout arm there is no need for that. I had begun this
weapon," continued the youth, as if he were musing aloud rather than
speaking to his companion, "with intent to try its metal on the head of
the King; but I fear me it will be necessary to use it in cracking a
viking's headpiece before it cleaves a royal crown."
"The King!" exclaimed Hilda, with a look of surprise, not unmingled with
terror, "Erling, has ambition led thee to this?"
"Not so; but self-preservation urges me to it."
The maiden paused a few seconds, ere she replied in a meditative
voice--"The old man who came among us a year ago, and who calls himself
Christian, tells me that his god is not a god of war, like Odin; he says
that his god permits no war to men, save that of self-defence; but,
Erling, would slaying the King be indeed an act of self-preservation?"
"Aye, in good sooth would it," replied the youth quickly, while a dark
frown crossed his brow.
"How can that be?" asked the maiden.
"Hast such small love for gossip, Hilda, that the foul deeds and
ambitious projects of Harald Haarfager have not reached thine ear?"
"I have heard," replied Hilda, "that he is fond of war, which, truly, is
no news, and that he is just now more busy with his bloody game than
usual; but what does that matter to thee?"
"Matter!" cried the youth impatiently, as he seized the lump of metal on
which he had been at work, and, thrusting it into the smouldering
charcoal, commenced to blow the fire energetically, as if to relieve his
feelings. "Know ye not that the King--this Harald Fairhair--is not
satisfied with the goodly domains that of right belong to him, and the
kingly rule which he holds, according to law, over all Norway, but that
he means to subdue the whole land to himself, and trample on our necks
as he has already trampled on our laws?"
"I know somewhat of this," said Hilda.
"No one," pursued Erling vehemently, and blowing the fire into a fervent
heat--"no one denies to Harald the right to wear the crown of Norway.
That was settled at the Ore Thing [see note 1] in Drontheim long ago;
but everyone denies his right to interfere with our established laws and
privileges. Has he not, by mere might and force of arms, slain many,
and enslaved others, of our best and bravest men? And now he proposes
to reduce the whole land to slavery, or something like it, and all
because of the foolish speech of a proud girl, who says she will not wed
him until he shall first subdue to himself the whole of Norway, and rule
over it as fully and freely as King Eric rules over Sweden, or King Gorm
over Denmark. He has sworn that he will neither clip nor comb his hair,
until he has subdued all the land with scatt [taxes] and duties and
domains, or die in the attempt. Trust me! he is like to die in the
attempt; and since his Kingship is to be so little occupied with his
hair, it would please me well if he would use his time and his shears in
clipping the tongue of the wench that set him on so foul an errand. All
this thou knowest, Hilda, as well as I; but thou dost not know that men
have been at the stede to-day, who tell us that the King is advancing
north, and is victorious everywhere. Already King Gandalf and Hako are
slain; the two sons of King Eystein have also fallen, and many of the
upland kings have been burned, with most of their men, in a house at
Ringsager. It is not many days since Harald went up Gudbrandsdal, and
north over the Doverfielde, where he ordered all the men to be slain,
and everything wide around to be given to the flames. King Gryting of
Orkadal and all his people have sworn fidelity to him, and now--worst
news of all--it is said he is coming over to pay us a visit in
Horlingdal. Is not here cause for fighting in self-defence, or rather
for country, and laws and freedom, and wives, and children, and--"
The excited youth stopped abruptly, and, seizing the tongs, whirled the
white mass of semi-molten steel upon the anvil, and fell to belabouring
it with such goodwill that a bright shower of sparks drove Hilda
precipitately out of the workshop.
The wrongs which roused the young Norseman's indignation to such a pitch
are matters of history.
The government of the country at that time involved the democratic
element very largely. No act or expedition of any importance could be
done or undertaken without the previous deliberation and consent of a
"Thing", or assembly of landed proprietors. There were many different
Things--such as General Things, District Things, House Things of the
King's counsellors, and Herd Things of the Court, etcetera, and to such
of these there was a distinct and well-known trumpet call. There were
also four great Things which were legislative, while the small district
Things were only administrative. In addition to which there was the Ore
Thing of Drontheim, referred to by Erling. At these Things the King
himself possessed no greater power than any of the bonders. He was only
a "Thing-man" at a Thing.
No wonder, then, that the self-governing and warlike Norsemen could not
bring themselves tamely to submit to the tyranny of Harald Haarfager, or
Fairhair, King of Norway by hereditary right, when he cast aside all the
restraints of ancient custom, and, in his effort to obtain more power,
commenced those bloody wars with his subjects, which had the effect of
causing many of his chief men to expatriate themselves and seek new
homes in the islands of the great western sea, and which ultimately
resulted in the subjugation (at least during that reign) of all the
petty kings of Norway. These small kings, be it observed, were not at
that time exercising any illegal power, or in the occupation of any
unwarrantable position, which could be pleaded by King Harald in
justification of his violent proceedings against them. The title of
king did not imply independent sovereignty. They were merely the
hereditary lords of the soil, who exercised independent and rightful
authority over their own estates and households, and modified authority
over their respective districts, subject, however, to the laws of the
land--laws which were recognised and perfectly understood by the people
and the king, and which were admitted by people and king alike to have
more authority than the royal will itself. By law the small kings were
bound to attend the meetings of the Stor Things or Parliaments, at the
summons of the sovereign, and to abide by the decisions of those
assemblies, where all men met on an equal footing, but where, of course,
intellectual power and eloquence led the multitude, for good or for
evil, then just as they do now, and will continue to do as long as, and
wherever, free discussion shall obtain. To say that the possession of
power, wealth, or influence was frequently abused to the overawing and
coercing of those assemblies, is simply to state that they were composed
of human beings possessed of fallen natures.
So thoroughly did the Northmen appreciate the importance of having a
right to raise their voices and to vote in the national parliaments, and
so jealously did they assert and maintain their privileges, that the
King himself--before he could, on his accession, assume the crown--was
obliged to appear at the "Thing", where a freeborn landholder proposed
him, and where his title to the crown was investigated and proved in due
form. No war expedition on a large scale could be undertaken until a
Thing had been converged, and requisition legally made by the King for a
supply of men and arms; and, generally, whenever any act affecting
national or even district interests was contemplated, it was necessary
to assemble a Thing, and consult with the people before anything could
be done.
It may be easily understood, then, with what an outburst of indignation
a free and warlike race beheld the violent course pursued by Harald
Fairhair, who roamed through the country with fire and sword, trampling
on their cherished laws and privileges, subduing the petty kings, and
placing them, when submissive, as Jarls, i.e. earls or governors over
the districts to collect the scatt or taxes, and manage affairs in his
name and for his behoof.
It is no wonder that Erling the Bold gathered his brow into an ominous
frown, pressed his lips together, tossed his locks impatiently while he
thought on these things and battered the iron mass on his anvil with the
amount of energy that he would have expended in belabouring the head of
King Harald himself, had opportunity offered.
Erling's wrath cooled, however, almost instantly on his observing
Hilda's retreat before the fiery shower. He flung down his hammer,
seized his battle-axe, and throwing it on his shoulder as he hurried
out, speedily overtook her.
"Forgive my rude manners," he said. "My soul was chafed by the thoughts
that filled my brain, and I scare knew what I did."
"Truly, thou man of fire," replied the girl, with an offended look, "I
am of half a mind not to pardon thee. See, my kirtle is destroyed by
the shower thou didst bestow upon me so freely."
"I will repay thee that with such a kirtle as might grace a queen the
next time I go on viking cruise."
"Meantime," said Hilda, "I am to go about like a witch plucked somewhat
hastily from the fire by a sympathising crone."
"Nay; Herfrida will make thee a new kirtle of the best wool at
Haldorstede."
"So thy mother, it seems, is to work and slave in order to undo thy
mischief?"
"Then, if nothing else will content thee," said Erling gaily, "I will
make thee one myself; but it must be of leather, for I profess not to
know how to stitch more delicate substance. But let me carry thy
pitcher, Hilda. I will go to Ulfstede to hold converse with thy father
on these matters, for it seemed to me that the clouds are gathering
somewhat too thickly over the dale for comfort or peace to remain long
with us."
As the young man and maiden wended their way down the rocky path that
skirted the foaming Horlingdal river, Hilda assumed a more serious tone,
and sought to convince her companion of the impropriety of being too
fond of fighting, in which attempt, as might be supposed, she was not
very successful.
"Why, Hilda," said the youth, at the close of a speech in which his fair
companion endeavoured to point out the extreme sinfulness of viking
cruises in particular, "it is, as thou sayest, unjust to take from
another that which belongs to him if he be our friend; but if he is our
enemy, and the enemy of our country, that alters the case. Did not the
great Odin himself go on viking cruise and seize what prey he chose?"
Erling said this with the air of a man who deemed his remark
unanswerable.
"I know not," rejoined Hilda. "There seems to me much mystery in our
thoughts about the gods. I have heard it said that there is no such god
as Odin."
The maiden uttered this in a subdued voice, and her cheek paled a little
as she glanced up at Erling's countenance. The youth gazed at her with
an expression of extreme surprise, and for a few minutes they walked
slowly forward without speaking.
There was reason for this silence on both sides. Hilda was naturally of
a simple and trustful nature. She had been brought up in the religion
of her fathers, and had listened with awe and with deep interest on many
a long winter night to the wild legends with which the scalds, or poets
of the period, were wont to beguile the evening hours in her father's
mansion; but about a year before the time of which we write, an aged
stranger had come from the south, and taken up his abode in the valley,
in a secluded and dilapidated hut, in which he was suffered to dwell
unmolested by its owner, Haldor the Fierce; whose fierceness, by the
way, was never exhibited except in time of war and in the heat of
battle!
With this hermit Hilda had held frequent converse, and had listened with
horror, but with a species of fascination which she could not resist, to
his calm and unanswerable reasoning on the fallacy of the religion of
Odin, and on the truth of that of Jesus Christ. At first she resolved
to fly from the old man, as a dangerous enemy, who sought to seduce her
from the paths of rectitude; but when she looked at his grave, sad face,
and listened to the gentle and--she knew not why--persuasive tones of
his voice, she changed her mind, and resolved to hear what he had to
say. Without being convinced of the truth of the new religion--of which
she had heard rumours from the roving vikings who frequented
Horlingdal--she was much shaken in regard to the truth of her own, and
now, for the first time, she had ventured to hint to a human being what
was passing in her mind.
At this period Christianity had not penetrated into Norway, but an
occasional wanderer or hermit had found his way thither from time to
time to surprise the inhabitants with his new doctrines, and then,
perchance, to perish as a warlock because of them. Erling had heard of
this old man, and regarded him with no favour, for in his sea rovings he
had met with so-called Christians, whose conduct had not prepossessed
him in their favour. As for their creed, he knew nothing whatever about
it.
His mind, however, was of that bold, straightforward, self-reliant, and
meditative cast, which happily has existed in all ages and in all
climes, and which, in civilised lands, usually brings a man to honour
and power, while in barbarous countries and ages, if not associated with
extreme caution and reticence, it is apt to bring its possessor into
trouble.
It was with astonishment that Erling heard sentiments which had long
been harboured in his own mind drop from the lips of one whose natural
character he knew to be the reverse of sceptical in matters of faith, or
speculative in matters of opinion. Instead of making a direct reply to
Hilda's remark, he said, after a pause:
"Hilda, I have my doubts of the old man Christian; men say he is a
warlock, and I partly believe them, for it is only such who shun the
company of their fellows. I would caution thee against him. He
believes not in Odin or Thor, which is matter of consideration mainly to
himself, but methinks he holdeth fellowship with Nikke, [Satan, or the
Evil One] which is matter of consideration for all honest men, aye, and
women too, who would live in peace; for if the Evil Spirit exists at
all, as I firmly believe he does, in some shape or other, it were well
to keep as far from him as we may, and specially to avoid those erring
mortals who seem to court his company."
"The old man is misjudged, believe me," replied the girl earnestly; "I
have spoken much with him and oft. It may be he is wrong in some
things--how can a woman judge of such matters?--but he is gentle, and
has a kind heart."
"I like him not," was Erling's curt reply.
The youth and maiden had now reached a part of the valley where a small
footpath diverged from the main track which led to Ulf's dwelling. The
path ran in the direction of the hayfields that bordered the fiord.
Just as they reached it, Hilda observed that her father was labouring
there with his thralls.
"See," she exclaimed, stopping abruptly, and taking her pitcher from
Erling, "my father is in the hayfield."
The youth was about to remonstrate and insist on being allowed to carry
the pitcher to the house before going to the field; but on second
thoughts he resigned his slight burden, and, saying "farewell", turned
on his heel and descended the path with rapid step and a somewhat
burdened heart.
"She loves me not," he muttered to himself, almost sternly. "I am a
brother, nothing more."
Indulging in these and kindred gloomy reflections, he advanced towards a
rocky defile where the path diverged to the right. Before taking the
turn he looked back. Hilda was standing on the spot where they had
parted, but her face was not directed towards her late companion. She
was looking steadily up the valley. Presently the object which
attracted her attention appeared in view, and Erling felt a slight
sensation of anger, he scarce knew why, on observing the old man who had
been the subject of their recent conversation issue from among the
rocks. His first impulse was to turn back, but, checking himself, he
wheeled sharply round and hurried away.
Scarcely had he taken three steps, however, when he was arrested by a
sound that resembled a crash of thunder. Glancing quickly upwards, he
beheld an enormous mass of rock, which had become detached from the
mountain side, descending in shattered fragments into the valley.
The formation of Horlingdal at that particular point was peculiar. The
mountain ranges on either side, which rose to a height of at least four
thousand feet, approached each other abruptly, thus forming a dark
gloomy defile of a few hundred yards in width, with precipitous cliffs
on either side, and the river roaring in the centre of the pass. The
water rushed in white-crested billows through its rock-impeded bed, and
terminated in a splendid foss, or fall, forty or fifty feet high, which
plunged into a seething caldron, whence it issued in a troubled stream
to the plain that opened out below. It here found rest in the level
fields of Ulfstede, that lay at the head of the fiord. The open
amphitheatre above this pass, with its circlet of grand glacier-capped
mountains, was the abode of a considerable number of small farmers, in
the midst of whose dwellings stood the residence of Haldor, where the
meeting in the smithy just described took place.
It was in this narrow defile that the landslip happened, a catastrophe
which always has been and still is of frequent occurrence in the
mountain regions of Norway.
Hilda and the old man (whom we shall henceforth call Christian) cast
their eyes hastily upwards on hearing the sound that had arrested
Erling's steps so suddenly. The enormous mass of rock was detached from
the hill on the other side of the river, but the defile was so narrow
that falling rocks often rebounded quite across it. The slip occurred
just opposite the spot on which Hilda and the old man stood, and as the
terrible shower came on, tearing down trees and rocks, the heavier
masses being dashed and spurned from the hillside in innumerable
fragments, it became evident that to escape beyond the range of the
chaotic deluge was impossible.
Hilda understood the danger so well that she was panic stricken and
rooted to the spot. Erling understood it also, and, with a sudden cry,
dashed at full speed to the rescue. His cry was one almost of despair,
for the distance between them was so great that he had no chance, he
knew, of reaching her in time.
In this extremity the hermit looked round for a crevice or a rock which
might afford protection, but no such place of safety was at hand. The
side of the pass rose behind them like a wall to a height of several
hundred feet. Seeing this at a glance the old man planted himself
firmly in front of Hilda. His lips moved, and the single word "Jesus"
dropped from them as he looked with a calm steady gaze at the avalanche.
Scarcely had he taken his stand when the first stones leaped across the
gorge, and, striking on the wall of rock behind, burst into fragments
and fell in a shower around them. Some of the smaller _debris_ struck
the old man's breast, and the hands which he had raised to protect his
face; but he neither blanched nor flinched. In another instant the
greater part of the hurling rubbish fell with a terrible crash and tore
up the earth in all directions round them. Still they stood unhurt!
The height from which the ruin had descended was so great that the
masses were scattered, and although they flew around over, and close to
them, the great shock passed by and left them unscathed.
But the danger was not yet past. Several of the smaller masses, which
had been partially arrested in their progress by bushes, still came
thundering down the steep. The quick eye of the hermit observed one of
these flying straight towards his head. Its force had been broken by a
tree on the opposite hill, but it still retained tremendous impetus. He
knew that there was no escape for him. To have moved aside would have
exposed Hilda to almost certain destruction. Once again he murmured the
Saviour's name, as he stretched out both hands straight before his face.
The rock struck full against them, beat them down on his forehead, and
next instant old man and maid were hurled to the ground.
Well was it for Erling that all this occurred so quickly that the danger
was past before he reached the spot. Part of the road he had to
traverse was strewn so thickly with the rocky ruin that his destruction,
had he been a few seconds sooner on the ground, would have been
inevitable. He reached Hilda just in time to assist her to rise. She
was slightly stunned by the shock, but otherwise unhurt.
Not so the hermit. He lay extended where he had fallen; his grey beard
and thin scattered locks dabbled with blood that flowed from a gash in
his forehead. Hilda kneeled at his side, and, raising his head, she
laid it in her lap.
"Now the gods be praised," said Erling, as he knelt beside her, and
endeavoured to stanch the flow of blood from the wound; "I had thought
thy last hour was come, Hilda; but the poor old man, I fear much he will
die."
"Not so; he recovers," said the girl; "fetch me some water from the
spring."
Erling ran to a rill that trickled down the face of the rock at his
side, dipped his leathern bonnet into it, and, quickly returning,
sprinkled a little on the old man's face, and washed the wound.
"It is not deep," he remarked, after having examined the cut. "His
hands are indeed badly bruised, but he will live."
"Get thee to the stede, Erling, and fetch aid," said Hilda quickly; "the
old man is heavy."
The youth smiled. "Heavy he is, no doubt, but he wears no armour;
methinks I can lift him."
So saying Erling raised him in his strong arms and bore him away to
Ulfstede, where, under the tender care of Hilda and her foster-sister
Ada, he speedily revived.
Erling went out meanwhile to assist in the hayfield.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The great assembly, or parliament, which was considered the
only "Thing" which could confer the sovereignty of the whole of Norway,
the other Things having no right or powers beyond their circles. It was
convened only for the special purpose of examining and proclaiming the
right of the aspirant to the crown, but the King had still to repair to
each Law Thing or Small Thing to obtain its acknowledgement of his right
and the power of a sovereign within its jurisdiction.