"I will not sleep in my bed to-night, for I suspect there may be
treachery abroad. Thou shalt keep watch, therefore, in case anything
may happen in the night; and if thou shalt see me strive with anyone, do
not alarm the men. Meanwhile go thou and fetch me a billet of wood, and
let it be a large one."
The boy quickly brought from the hold one of the largest billets of wood
he could find, and gave it to his master, who laid it in his own bed,
which was under a small tent spread over the aft part of the vessel,
close to the poop. Having covered it up carefully, he sent the boy
forward, and went himself to lie down elsewhere.
At midnight a boat was rowed stealthily alongside. It was guided by one
man, and moved so silently that the lightest sleeper on board could not
have been awakened by it. The man stepped on board; lifted up the cloth
of the tent over the bulwarks; looked cautiously all round him, and then
went up and struck in Erling's bed with a great axe, so that it stuck
fast in the billet of wood. Next instant the man felt his neck in a
grip like that of an iron vice, and his face was thrust upon the ground
and held there, while a heavy knee pressed into the small of his back,
so that he was utterly unable to rise.
Erling's foot-boy saw the whole of this, and heard what followed, for
the curtain of the tent was raised; but he moved neither hand nor foot,
though he held a spear ready for instant action if required.
"It ill becomes thee, Hake," said Erling, "to seek my life a second
time, after making such poor work of it the first. What! wilt thou not
lie quiet?"
While he was speaking the berserk struggled with the fury of a madman to
free himself, but Erling's grip (perhaps his own wisdom also!) prevented
him from shouting, and Erling's knee prevented the struggles from making
much noise. Finding, however, that he would not be quiet, our hero
tightened the pressure of his left hand until the tongue and eyes of the
berserk began to protrude, and his face to get black, while with his
right hand he drew his knife, and ran the point of it about a quarter of
an inch into the fleshy part of Hake's back. The effect was
instantaneous! Hake could face danger and death bravely, and could hurl
defiance at his foe with the best, when on his legs; but when he felt
the point of the cold steel, and knew that the smallest impulse would
cause it to find a warm bed in his heart, his fury vanished. Brave and
bold though he was, and a berserk to boot, he sank quietly down, and lay
perfectly still!
Erling at once relaxed the pressure of his fingers, and allowed Hake to
breathe, but he let the point of the knife remain, that it might refresh
his memory, while he read him a lesson:--
"Now, Hake, let me tell thee that thou richly deservest to lose thy
life, for twice hast thou sought to take mine in an unfair way, and once
have I spared thine. However, thou art but a tool after all, so I will
spare it again--and I do it the more readily that I wish thee to convey
a message to thy master, King Harald, who, I doubt not, has sent thee on
this foul errand."
Erling here signalled to his foot-boy, whom he directed to bind Hake's
arms securely behind his back. This having been done, Erling suffered
him to rise and stand before him.
"See now," he said, taking a silver ring from his finger, "knowest thou
this ring, Hake? Ah, I see by thy look that thou dost. Well, I will
return it to thee and claim mine own."
He turned the berserk round, took off the gold ring which he had placed
on his finger on the day of the fight and put the silver one in its
place.
"By these tokens," said he, "thou mayest know who it was that cared for
thee in the wood after the fight, and restored thy consciousness,
instead of cutting off thy head, as he might easily have done. I know
not why I did it, Hake, save that the fancy seized me, for thou art an
undeserving dog. But now we will take thee back to thy master, and as
our message can be conveyed without the use of speech, we will bind up
thy mouth."
So saying, Erling gagged the berserk (who looked dreadfully sulky) with
a strip of sailcloth. Then he made him sit down, and tied his legs
together with a piece of rope, after which he lifted him in his arms to
the side of the ship and laid him down.
"Go fetch me a stout carle," he said to the foot-boy, who went forward
and immediately returned with a strapping man-at-arms.
The man looked surprised, but asked no questions, as Erling directed him
in a low tone to assist in lifting the prisoner into the boat as quietly
as possible. Then they placed the lump of wood with the axe sticking in
it beside him. This accomplished, they rowed silently to the side of
the Dragon, where a sentinel demanded what they wanted.
"We bring a prisoner to King Harald," answered Erling. "We have him
here tied hand and foot."
"Who is he?" asked the sentinel; for there was not so much light as is
usual at midnight of that time of the year, owing to a mist on the sea.
"Thou shalt see when he is aboard."
"Hoist him up, then," said the man, Erling and his carle raised Hake
over the bulwarks, and let him drop heavily on the deck. Then Erling
seized the lump of wood and hurled it on board with considerable force,
so that, hitting the sentinel on the head, it bounded onwards to the
after part of the ship, and struck against the tent under which Harald
lay. The King sprang out, sword in hand, but Erling had pushed off, and
was already enveloped in the mist. As they rowed away they heard a
great clamour on board the Dragon, but it was quickly hushed by a stern
voice, which Erling knew to be that of the King.
No pursuit was attempted. Erling got back to his own ship, and, setting
a watch, lay down to rest.
In the morning no notice was taken of what had occurred during the
night. The King evidently pretended that he knew nothing about the
matter. He again met with the chief men of the district, and made them
many promises and many complimentary speeches, but in his heart he
resolved that the day should come when every one of them should either
bow before his will or lose his life. The bonders, on the other hand,
listened with due respect to all the King said, but it need scarcely be
added that their lips did not express all their thoughts; for while the
sanguine and more trustful among them felt some degree of hope and
confidence, there were others who could not think of the future except
with the most gloomy forebodings.
In this mood the two parties separated. The King sailed with his
warships out among the skerries, intending to proceed north to
Drontheim, while Haldor the Fierce, with his friends and men, went back
to Horlingdal.