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The Sentimental Vikings
BY
R. V. RISLEY
JOHN LANE
THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1897
To E. F. C.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE SWEEPING OF THE HALL 1
AN INCIDENT 37
WHERE THE WOLVES DANCE 61
THE SACRILEGE 99
THE STORY OF THE OAR-CAPTAIN 115
THE LAST VOYAGE 145
THE SWEEPING OF THE HALL:
AN OLD DANISH TRAGEDY
And now this is the story of Witlaf the harper, that he told in the
great hall of Gorm, the king of all Denmark, ten centuries ago, waving
his handless arms in the flickering glow of the firelight.
I tell the tale of Snore, the lord of the north of the island of
Zeeland, years ago; and of how he swept his hall as the day broke.
First, as to his birth. Men say that the heavens were darkened, and that
tumultuous clouds swept low over the battlements, and that voices were
heard, meaningless, in the air. I do not know--wonders are kind to great
names when they have been memories a little time.
But this much is true, that we in the hall of the castle were told by a
white-faced woman, just as the sun set--I remember how red its light fell
on the rush-covered floor, and how the woman leaned half through the
door and told us, holding the curtain--that the child was born, and was
strong, and a man; but that the mother was dead, and that the Lord
Sigmund was with her.
That night in the hall, by the light of the fire, as we men were talking
in whispers, and telling kind deeds of our lady (for she was ever about
in the cottages, and she and her women made soft-sewed clothes for all
the men of the ship-crew), came, from behind the curtain that is to my
lady's chambers, a long, low wail of a child, strong and insistent, and
then a man's tread for a few paces, and then silence again, save for the
men's whisperings and the sound of the squeaking of their leather-belts
as they moved, and the gentle rubbing of the wooden shields on the walls
as the wind blew through under the rafters.
And afterwards, when the fire burned low, the men departed for their
beds and left the hall empty, and then I also went, because I did not
like the shadows, but to the battlements, not to my sleep, for I felt
that this night meant something, and I was not yet enough settled in my
mind to lie and think in the darkness. So, lonesomely, I paced the
battlements, while the moon rose, and all around me lay the great forest
reaching almost down to the edge of the moat, and throwing its shadows
over the silver water and on the white walls of the house. And in the
distance, the long, still, snake of the fjord stretched out under the
moon, till it curved and a black point of trees cut it off suddenly.
And at last, when the woods had become dusky, and the distant water
where it passed out of sight was grey instead of silver, and then slowly
turned to pink, I went down the steep stairs, through the yet dark
galleries, where the carving on the corners was worn so smooth and
stained with smoke--down to the chill, dark hall, and, kneeling on the
hearth, built up and lit a fire of good beech twigs among the ashes,
while the first day of the life of Lord Snore, who swept this same hall
of his at another dawning, broke through the long windows and shone on
the armour.
There are truer ways of reckoning time, O king, than by the indifferent
passage of the meaningless years. Some moments, of the flying of a
thought in length, fill more space in our lives and memories than much
of everydays.
Yet something remains to me of those light-footed years till I see again
clearly. Thus, I remember Lord Sigmund, my Lord Snore's father, set
forth that year after the grain-planting was over, and until it was
tall, he sailed the high seas, and brought back white furs from the
North, and stories of mountains and ice-floors.
Next, I remember a strange ship come rowing one day up the fjord, and of
her landing, and the men coming up to the hall, where they stayed many
days; and of how they ran in the fields, shouting, and throwing the
grass at each other; for they were sea-weary.
Then they departed, and there passed some more seasons and harvests,
with sometimes hunting of bears or of deer, and the hewing of pieces of
woodland.
Thus the years trod by softly while the Lord Snore grew to his manhood.
And Lord Sigmund would sail away with his men every spring when the
planting was over, and my young lord would sit in his place in the hall,
and, when need was, give justice unto the townsfolk. Good years, O king,
when the fields grew wide, and the board was filled for a hundred men
who sat there every evening.
When, looking back from where I now sit--I hope near the end of my life--I
see again clearly, it is the time of mid-summer in the meadows that
stretch by the side of the fjord, where the woods fall back, an hour's
boat-row from the castle. There, just when the still noonday drew to its
close, and the slanting sun was beginning to throw its afternoon
brightness in our brown faces, my Lord Snore and I lay stretched out in
the long, sweet grass, he with a heavy cross-bow--a new weapon then--and
the carcasses of two brown deer lying beside him, I idly talking and
ever looking forth over the blinding waters for sight of his father's
ship that we might begin to expect now, the grain being tall.
Suddenly, from behind a point of jutting woods round which the fjord ran
curving, grew and took shape a something long that the sun shining on
made painful for the eyes--a long, low something that, curving in again,
glided between me and the dark green point of trees. It was the ship!
The young lord sat up on the grass, and putting his hand on the
carcasses of the deer, rose to his feet. "It moves too slowly," he said.
It was true. Now we could see the swing of the oars, and the pause
between the strokes was very long.
"Look at the dragon," he said again, shading his eyes with his hand. I
saw now that the great beak that had used to be so fierce in its
red-and-gold painting was broken off, so that only its curving neck rose
from the bow. And, looking again, I saw that the sides of the ship were
battered, as if by rocks, and that many of the oar-blades were broken
and tied to their stems with ropes. I ran to our boat that lay against
the side-of-grass, and hurriedly tumbled its stone anchor on board.
"He must have sunk the other ship or he would have come home in her," I
said, shipping the steering-oar.
Lord Snore raised himself from the bottom of the boat where he had been
stooping to place the two deer, and turning his shaggy head, looked at
me curiously. "I will sit in my own right now!" he answered.
Beneath the lord's long strong strokes the sharp-prowed skiff went
rapidly over the still water, and now we could see the broken
dragon's-neck and the rents in the shields hung over the sides more
plainly. We were almost within the shadow of her mast when a tall man--I
knew his face for that of Esbiern the oar-captain--with a great red cloth
round his head, leaped on the bow, waving his long arms wildly and
shouting to us over the sunny waters, wild words of some sea-fight.
Our prow cut the shadow; half-unwilling hands reached over the gunwale
to grasp our boat; we clambered over the side and turning, we looked
along the length of the battered ship, over the half-empty rowers'
benches, past the pale faces of five or six men with linen-swathed
heads and arms--on, over the confusion and wreckage that littered the
centre of the ship, to where, leaning against the edge of the fore-deck,
lay the body of Sigmund the lord with the half of the crew of his
returned ship arranged in a long sitting row beside him.
So, with Lord Snore at one of the big oars to help the weary men with
one more rower, and I heaving on the great steering blade and guiding
the ship slowly over the shallows, we went silently up the fjord through
the afternoon.
That night, when the men and the household were done eating and only the
horns and wooden tankards of beer stood along the board, my Lord Snore
spoke from the great seat where he sat moodily, with his fist on the
table, and the chair-cushions thrown on the floor beside him; and thus
he spoke, with the men leaning silently forward to hear him:
"The men of the ship have told ye of the fight; how in the south, off
Lolland, they met a Viking-ship which attacked them. How they fought and
drove the Viking; how that the Viking led them along the coast till,
our men weary with rowing, there came two fresh ships from a bay,
hidden, friends of the Viking; and how that Lord Sigmund died in the
fight, and how that our men fled north, while the Vikings shouted; and
our ship ye have seen!
"On the sixth day after this, at the sunrise, let the ship be ready with
new oars; the ship's men will stay here to rest. I shall take the men
that I call my guard; those who hunt bears with me in the forest. But
let the dragon's-neck remain broken."
This he said, and the men were silent, the old ship's crew sitting,
looking dejectedly along the board, their ale undrunk, and shuffling
their feet in the rushes. Then there was drinking one to another while
the women took down the men's axes and armour-coats from the walls and
carried them off to their houses to clean them; and there was laughter
and boasting and talking loud making up courage, and some got up from
their places and went seriously out of the hall to the houses and to
their children, and some talked to the men of the ship's crew.
Thus the evening passed, and the men went home to their beds early, save
for a few who sat down with made-up indifference and talked, while their
beer-mugs stood on the benches till they grew warm in the firelight.
So the next six days we worked and made ready, hewing and smoothing new
oars, and whetting our knives on the grind-stone; and at sunrise on the
sixth day, with a long crowd of men and women on the strand and the rain
pouring down out of the misty brown sky, we hauled our ship down the
beach and setting ourselves in our places rowed splashingly away from
the castle; while the fine rain ran down our faces and the shouting grew
faint in the distance.
And so passes that part of my tale and I take up the second.
Now there come two months, O king, that are as difficult to see clearly
as the length of a flame in the sunshine.
We sailed south to Lolland, but we could find no word of a large ship
with a plain prow and a new crew.
And we landed on many shores, and much I learned of the art of
minstrelsy.
And Lord Snore managed his men well and was a kind lord over us, though
fierce, and long of anger.
We sailed, passing along the coast, sometimes running so near that the
coolness of the trees was grateful to the sun-burned men--where we could
see the bottom over the side of the ship, as we glided, stilly, over the
white stones that glimmered through the clear water.
And sometimes we would pass by grey castles with small villages and
houses over the fields, where the people would come out and look at the
ship, and when they saw the broken dragon and that it was a ship for
fight, run in again, or hurry towards the castle from the fields. Then
we would call out to them to go back to their oxen, or to go on with
their thatching, and wish good marriages unto the maidens, and laugh at
them while they stood staring.
And we would land sometimes and hunt in the forests; and then we would
cook our meat all through over great fires, and not eat it half-fresh as
on shipboard.
Once we chased a great ship and came up with her, but on calling out, we
found they were Northmen; and the ship that we wanted was of our own
race. So we gave them some rope in exchange for some leather, and drank
"skaal" to them over the bulwarks as they spread their brown sail going
northwards.
Sometimes we landed at some lord's castle, sending a man before that
they might know us as friends. And here were we entertained for many
days, and were well liked, both on account of the kindness and manhood
of my Lord Snore and on account of the sturdiness of the ship's men, and
on account of the quest we were on.
Sailing thus, O king, come I to that part of my tale when the ladies
smile, and when the lords in the hall look away and seem not to
listen--yet would I be prompted if I forgot it.
Now, my Lord Snore was a fierce man of manner and face, being very
large, with his shaggy head held high on great shoulders--a man more for
fighting and combat than for young women's eyes--and old ones' tongues.
Yet like some ugly men he seemed the manlier by his ugliness.
We sat in the hall of Lord Rudolf of Lolland, anxiously waiting the
coming of the ship of his brother, gone Viking--hoping for word of the
ship we had searched for. And Lord Snore hunted and rode with Lord
Rudolf every day, till it came to the evening that he had set for
departure.
And, drinking health to the lord, as he raised his great mug to his
lips, I saw his eyes glance over the edge, and they met the eyes of Lord
Rudolf's fair daughter. And I saw a slight surprise come into his face;
it grew into amazement; and he drank the cup slowly still looking at
her.
We stayed many days at Lord Rudolf's.
It was when the men were growing weary of waiting and the household that
eat in the hall knew all of my songs--when the keel of the ship was fast
grounded--that one night as I lay asleep with my back to the bulwark I
felt a hand shaking my shoulder. And, as I grasped his arm in the
darkness, Lord Snore's voice came to me whispering:
"Awake; and come out of the ship, silently--here in the darkness," he
whispered, as I came over the side and let myself drop by my arms to the
sand.
I saw that he was dressed in his armour, and had his great axe in his
hand, as he pulled me into the shadow of the steering-oar, where it
stuck over the stern, its blade of broad silver where it shone to the
moonlight.
"Do you hear the noise up at the castle?" he whispered.
"It is surely Lord Rudolf's brother returned," I answered when I had
listened; for a sound like the grounding of swords and the tramping of
men passing in and out over the drawbridge came to me, faintly, from
where lay the castle beyond the black line of trees: the night was very
still.
"Nay, it is not that," whispered Lord Snore, looming up dim by the
ship's side. "Listen, Witlaf: I love Lord Rudolf's daughter--ah! so thou
knowest?--and this night have I gone up to look at her window where the
light is--nay, listen--and as I was standing there dreaming, I think,
sudden and soft her voice came to me out of the darkness, from just
within the great window that is at the side of the hall, and looking up,
I heard her call to me gently, saying, 'Snore, Snore; come here to the
window-ledge, silently--quick! Back to your ship, Snore--my father is
arming himself in his chamber; I heard the clang of his armour: he is
angry because that I--love thee. The castle is filled with his men, and--I
love thee!'"
And the lord's great hand was raised in the darkness.
"Now, Witlaf," he whispered, and I heard his voice tremble, "the maiden
is safe in the ship; but thou knowest," and his voice grew firm, "that
the half of our men lie drunk on the fore-deck--and 'tis hard to move
ship with so few. Say, Minstrel, wilt thou hold the ship while I, with
the rest, warm my hands at the castle?"
And thus it was that I, the harper of Lord Snore, came to be sitting in
the moonlight inside the ship, with my harp by my knee, and my axe in
my hand, and a pale-faced maiden beside me who listened in silence to
the distancing tread of my lord and his men as they stealthily passed up
the path towards the castle.
So, seemingly for years and years, we sat there, with the water lapping
against the side of the ship, and the sound of the straining of leather
and the shuffling of feet as the men sleepily put on their arms on the
fore-deck. Then, more years passed, and the maiden shivered and crept
closer, and I put my great skin-cloak around her.
So we sat and waited; and the moon sailed grandly overhead throwing
flakes of white on the dancing water to seaward; and save for the
lapping of water and occasional sounds from the fore-deck, there was
stillness--out of which an owl cried, thrice, with its long, strange,
mournful note, and then ceased; leaving the silence more silent.
Then, suddenly, from out the darkness, seemingly miles away, there rose,
and rose, and hung on the air, and slowly died away, a great cry in a
man's voice. Then there was silence once more for a moment. And now
began a confused dull rabble of sound that I knew well enough; with a
skin-moving swish in it like the whetting of knives. And there were far
sounds of voices, and sometimes a curious hollow drubbing, like a hammer
on the side of a ship; this, I could tell, was the sound of my Lord
Snore's great axe as it beat on the door, and when it ceased presently I
knew that the door was down.
Now, for a long time only the far sounds and the occasional voices came
to us; and the years grew long again, and I heard the water lapping
against the side of the ship.
Suddenly, out of the darkness and into the strip of moonlit beach that
lay between the edge of the black forest and the silvery ship, came
running a man, silently, and swaying as he ran, and just midway in the
moonlight, he stopped, ran round uncertainly twice in a little circle,
and then pitched forward with his face in the sand and lay still. The
maiden by me gave a little cry and hid her face on the edge of the
bulwark. Then we waited again and listened to the barking of dogs in
the distance; and so more years passed, and the lapping of the water
grew loud again.
Now began to come wounded men in pairs, stumbling groaningly over the
side, and soon with these began to come back other men out of the
darkness, unwounded, but bloody enough, and these waited in a little
crowd outside the ship panting, and wiping the sweat from their
foreheads, and leaving the prints of their hands on the planks where we
found them next morning. And, last, with a little knot of unwounded men
around him, came Lord Snore walking heavily, swinging his axe, with the
blood dripping from his shaggy foretop and from the ends of his hands.
He stood while the men slowly shoved off the ship, then plunging through
the water like horses and splashing it over their red armour and faces,
they all came clambering aboard, and throwing off their steel hoods and
sword-belts, sat them down to the oars to get the ship out of shoal
water. But my Lord Snore came to the gunwale, and taking the maiden's
hand drew her to him, wrapped in the great wolf-skin, and lowered his
head on her shoulder.
Thus we left that shore; and when far out, we saw first a flicker and
then a glow of fire, and the burning of Lord Rudolf's castle lit up the
sea, and we heard the cocks crowing over the water as we turned our prow
homeward, while the oar-blades rose and fell, dripping silver.
Now, as we sailed homeward the maiden was given the after-part of the
ship, save for the steersman, and because, that, loving Lord Snore, she
was afraid of him; yet ever looking towards the forward part of the ship
where he sat with his men: thus she would have me come and harp to her
and tell her sagas and tales; and she told me many things in return.
And then Lord Snore would come to the edge of the raised deck and
leaning upon it, talk to her, while my harp made low music.
In the years that have passed, O king, a mist like the autumn mist that
lies white on the earth in the morning has grown between my eyes and the
past, so that only the hill-tops break through it.
Now, I will tell of the passing of Snore and Helga, and like the scenes
of a play, the last scene of my tale is the bloodiest--for fighting was
the half of men's lives in those days--thank the Gods! So, to the end of
the tale.
As we rowed up the fjord past the meadows and woodlands, the oars making
song on the oar-pins for gladness, pointing out things to each other, my
lord and I talked over his taking of Helga to wife on the morrow; my
lord laughing loud and resting his hand on my shoulder and glancing back
ever at Helga as she sat looking out on the fields. We arranged that all
the men of his land should be called in for the great feast that night
at the castle, and that the feast should be until daybreak, when he
would take Helga as wife before all men. Then these things being
arranged, my Lord Snore went to her and told her, and she answered him
honestly blushing a little that she was glad; and then bade him sit down
beside her, and tell her of what we were passing. And thus, with Lord
Snore sitting beside her pointing out woodland and meadow, and the men
smiling up at them, as they rowed in the waist of the ship, we came to
the strand and the old castle stood before us; and landing we pulled the
ship up on the beach and with the crowds laughing and welcoming us and
all confusion, we all went up to the castle. I remember till now, the
great comfort it was to get fresh boots and clothes, and new
harp-strings, and soft cushions to sit on.
It was a great feast that night! The long hall with the smoke-stained
walls, hung with great boat-shields and bright arms, with skins of bear
and deer, and with branches of green oak and beech leaves.
Down through the whole length ran the long table, loaded with meat and
drink, and from the cushioned bench where sat Snore and Helga, to the
other end of the table, were laughing and welcoming. And from the fire
at the end of the hall, where two deer swung, cooking and burning, in
the blaze, and from the great candles along the gay walls came yellow
light shining on arms and laughing faces.
And the smell of the cooking deer came through the hall, and the cakes
of brown meal were piled up on the end of the table, and the great mugs
rang as the drinking men struck them together, and the voices and
laughter rose loud in the hall. And then the men rose, shouting, to my
lord, and drank welcome and "skaal" to him; and, standing, they drank a
great welcome to my lady, and the mugs came down with a crash on the
board, and the shouting was long ere it rested. Then my lady spoke from
the place that she held by Lord Snore and thanked them in woman's words;
and they roared again in their gladness.
After, they called to me for a song. Then I stood up and sang to them
with my harp; I sang of peace, and of the glory of it; and of battle,
and of the strong joy of it; and of welcome, and so again peace. And the
men stood, shouting, unto my lord, till the hall rang with it; and the
great fire roared, and the yellow light flashed on the arms and the
faces, and glowed on the painted shields hung on the walls--oh it was a
great feast!
And now, O king, this is the last scene of my play--all this was long
ago, and these loves and these lives have passed away utterly.
It was far in the night and the empty platters and dishes were piled on
the floor, and the men were drinking the frothing beer, resting their
mugs on the foam-dripping board or on the empty seats of the drunken,
who lay around the sides of the hall asleep on the rushes; the arms were
thrown in the corners with dishes, and the air felt chill ere the
dawning in spite of the piled-up fire.
Now Helga being weary arose, and leaned towards my lord Snore to kiss
him ere she went to her chamber, and I who sat by the side of my lord,
looked up at her, smiling; for she had never kissed him before among
men. And looking, I saw, ere their lips met, a change come into the
eyes of Helga and she stood still. Then, making a little gesture as of
casting something away from her, she stooped again, but the change grew
in her eyes and she could not. I followed her look to where it rested on
the curtained door that enters the hall from the apartments which face
on the water.
Slowly I reached for my axe, and leaning to look at my lord as I lifted
up his, I saw him waiting expectantly, shyly before his men, for Helga's
good-night. So I leaned a moment. Then I whispered to him, and put the
axe in his hand.
The great table is overturned, the broken stools and benches lie over
the floor, the fire is scattered, and the flying ashes drift in the
smoke and swirl around the heads of the combatants, making them cough as
they strike. The drunken men along the walls are stabbed or trampled
among the torn rushes, and the foe that have stolen in through the
seaward windows are pressing over the benches.
We are behind the upturned table, and fighting desperately, our backs
to the wall. The enemy rush against the table but the long arms of our
men drive them back. I am holding a boat-shield from the wall over Helga
and using my axe with the other hand.
Lord Snore is sweeping the space in front of him clear; he has thrown
aside his shield. We seem to have been fighting for hours in the dim
hall.
Our men begin to fall behind the table; they are in their leather coats,
and guard badly in the murk.
The swords clang on the edge of the table; the men stumble over broken
dishes. I see through the smoke one of them with his foot fast in a
wooden beer mug. They run along the table striking. The smoke comes in
my eyes, and the forms grow dim.
Now they go back leaving us, and a tall man dressed in strange armour,
breaks through them, and stands, banging his leg with his sword.
"I am Swend, kinsman of Rudolf of Lolland; and I came and found his hall
ashes. Say, dost thou think that a ship with the dragon beheaded, can
sail where it will and no man be the wiser? And who was it, think you,
that drove your ship--laughing?" And he stood, snarling and digging the
floor with his sword-point, like a wolf in his anger.
Then Lord Snore, resting his axe on the table--"If thou art the man who
fought with my father and called two fresh ships to thy helping then I
am glad thou art come to my feast in my hall!"
Then Swend--"Thou hast murdered thy host for the sake of his daughter! I,
his kinsman--" and he stopped while the smoke swirled down and I heard
him coughing.
"Who would have been kinsman to me had I slept in my ship, Rudolf's
guest? And the maiden chose freely. He would have bit on my
axe-blade--though he were Odin!" And Lord Snore lifted his axe, shouting
aloud in his anger.
I hear Swend yell to his men through the smoke; the floor shakes as they
come running towards us. They break out of the gloom; they leap on the
table smiting and stabbing. But the long arms of our men pull them
down; they fall. Lord Snore's axe swirls and bangs on their armour; the
table is cleared. They draw back, gasping like dogs; their wounded lie
against the wall in the drip of the candles. I see the chests of our men
heave in their weariness. They lean with their backs against the wall,
wiping their slippery hands on the skirts of their garments. The smoke
comes down; again they come. The fight closes in again the struggling
forms striking over the table, I catch dim sight of swift grey shapes
and the flashing of swords high in the air. Our men are panting like
bulls; I hear the straining of their leather coats as they lean,
striking into the mist. Bodies of men come shocking against the table;
there is roaring, and trampling of feet, and banging and clashing of
armour, and breaking of wood, and the sound of Lord Snore's axe falling
regularly comes through the darkness.
All this comes to me, dimly, as though through a dream, and dreaming, I
catch a passing sight of the shadowy figures in the smoke on the other
side of the table. The fight goes on; it goes on for ever and ever it
seems; and the world in the smoke and the noises and sounds of the
combat grow farther and farther away; they come to me unreally, in a
far-off roar, like the sea.
I hear the sound of waves; the water roars, and roars, and roars--farther
and farther--then nearer again; the ship moves and heaves and turns
slowly round under the motion. And now I hear the sound of my harp
playing, coming through the sound of the water; that ceases, and I hear
the sound of Snore's and Helga's voices speaking softly. I hear the
words--they come to me over the continuous sound of the water--and they
are silly words, about a piece of her hair that she has given him--and I
laugh--
And my laugh awakens me, sounding ghastly under the dull smoke; and the
tumult and ringing and roar of the combat springs up around me again.
And now, over the banging of metal and the clashing of armour on armour
and the sounds of the trampling and breaking of wood and the howling,
comes another sound--surely my Lord Snore's axe! But the blows are so
quick, there is something awesome, unnatural, in the blows of a man
falling so fast.
And now I am aware of a change that has come in the fight. I no longer
see the ghost-figures passing, dim in the smoke. The sound of the
fighting comes from out in the hall. I wait, peering into the smoke.
Slowly it lifts from above the table--lifts, growing dimmer.
Outlines come out of the distance. The opposite wall of the hall looms
up into the darkness. The candles glimmer and show through the smoke. I
look down the hall. A grey mass, moving indistinctly, and the sound of a
great continuous crashing coming from somewhere within it.
The smoke lifts more; bodies of men on the floor come out, and I can see
the dim tapestries waving on the walls; and now the great sound of the
crashing comes louder.
The smoke lifts yet more, it is pouring out of the windows and under the
roof; the walls spring out into distinctness; and I see, plain, the end
of the hall.
A crowd of men struggling and falling over each other against the great
door; the flashing of armour, swords thrown in the air, clenched hands
raised and falling, the end of the hall full of tumult of arms and legs
and bodies, as the men rush and surge over each other against the
outlet.
But, dominating all in its hugeness, striking the men before it, making
a glory with its flying axe--enormous, irresistible, clothed in red,
seeming to shake the air with the roar through its skin, yet utterly
silent--Lord Snore, gone mad with the combat, striking with the strength
of a falling tree--sweeping out the hall before him!
The door is open! The men pile up on the threshold; the door grows
high--is darkened--is full. Grows open--men whirl along the floor under the
axe--the wave breaks, it recedes, it runs away into the corners, it
dissolves and runs away in foam--the door is empty.
The last of the smoke rolls around under the roof, the walls rock with
the reverberation, and the sounds of our voices calling to one another
are lost in the echoes. The hall heaves, the sounds die, going out with
the smoke under the roof; and the pale light of the daybreak falls
through the long windows. The candles gutter and go out, falling down
from the walls, from the burned-out spikes. We stumble over the table,
on, over the broken benches, and over the bodies.
It was a good fight, O king, when Lord Snore swept his hall! There is
now but little more to tell. We found a great figure standing idly by
the door when we came there; it was swinging a great axe in its hand,
with its head sunk on its chest, and it swayed when a man touched it,
and fell back limply into our arms.
As they carried him up the hall towards the great bench a white figure
ran past me.
Then the lights went out, the world heaved, and I fell down across the
table; for both my hands had been cut off upon its edge.
When next I saw the hall, having come back out of the long unreality
that had lasted so many days, the first snow of the winter lay on the
window-ledges and the great fire was blazing merrily. I remember how
strange it all looked. And there, walking up and down slowly, and
leaning on my lady who guided him, was the wreck of a great man who
grasped weakly for support at her robe. I went up to him and stood
silently. My lady touched me with her hand and whispered to me to speak
to him. Then said I to my lord with a strange softness in my throat: "I
hope my lord is better--after his sickness." And he answered, "Yes,
yes--yes, yes--yes, yes--" nodding his head, sillily. And then my lady led
him to the great bench, and, seating him, talked to him child-talk and
tended him gently.
That night, as I sat by my lady, silent, the boy who fed me having gone
away to the others, one rose, and thinking to please me I suppose,
brought me my harp out of an inner room.
I think we were all glad when my lord died at the last snow. Then my
lady used to go among the cottages of the villagers, tending those who
were sick, talking with the young girls, and comforting all who were in
any sorrow. The women used sometimes to cry when she spoke to them. And
in about three months after we buried my lord, when summer was come
again, and the sun had already begun to warp the timbers of the ship on
the beach, when the boys ran shouting in the shallows, died my lady
also, and we buried her by the side of my lord.
Then left I the castle; and men tell me that it is pulled down to build
more houses for the villagers, and that the old ship has mouldered away
on the beach and can no more be seen.
And all this happened years ago and is forgotten. If some one will hold
my cup I will drink "skaal" to the king that he has listened.
And this is the tale of the sweeping of the hall, that the old minstrel
used to tell at the board of King Gorm, waving his handless arms in the
glow of the firelight.
AN INCIDENT
The great fog lay dun over the sea, and the shadows moved over the
motionless ship, passing swiftly; yet there was no wind.
We lay wrapped in the wood-ashes coloured air, through which the mast
shone glimmering in many lines when you looked at it, idly swinging
under no wind. Easily the water slipped by, dimly streaked, through the
cloudy vapour. The men from the stern could not be seen by those in the
bow.
We yawned and stretched ourselves, the peculiar smell of the fog rising
into our nostrils. The warm air lay like the weight of a cloud on our
foreheads, and we grumbled wearily, wanting a sight of the sun.
While we waited thus sighing, out of the dun vapour on the right came a
cry indistinguishable. After we had been on our feet for some moments,
there came the swift wash of oar-blades, and their rabble on the
gunwale, going very fast.
Then the sound of a far-away crash, and, after a little, clinking as of
knife on glass, and a dead murmur of voices in the fog.
We straightened ourselves, and after a moment of hesitation, my lord
gave the word to get out the oars, which we did very gladly though with
little noise, pulling carefully, our mast-top lost in the shifting roof.
Very soon we could hear the sound of the fighting coming quite plainly
over the dusky sea; and in a little time thereafter, we saw, while the
vapour swirled back for a moment, three brown hulks near together. We
lay on the edge of the foam-touched space of water, catching
occasionally glimpses of the moving shapes: only a large piece of wood
floated past us.
Have you ever listened to a fight at sea? The men were leaning over the
bulwarks, their hands on their axe-handles, their feet grasping firmly
the deck. My lord raised himself in a moment; we ran swiftly along the
water under the quick, ragged stroke, the ships rose before us, we
swept past the side of the largest one, dropping the oars.
The man next to me leans back suddenly just as my bow twangs; arrows
strike into the bulwarks.
Fierce faces and bent bows send their sound of shouting and twanging at
us over the close side of the enemies' ship. We thrust with our oars
that slip along the timbers; the arrows sing and streak past, their long
feathers grey like storks.
Then the ship by us turns off into the fog with a dash of oars that
sends the white spray flashing for a moment; it is a shadowy form in the
mist; a tall brown thing disappears beside it; we are alone on the
smooth water with the ship we have come to help.
The hillside is sprinkled with flowers, the setting sun draws our
attention from them. "Come," says Lord Erik to my lord, "let us go in."
They walk slowly over the darkening blossoms.
"Ever since you called out to me through the fog," says Lord Erik, "and
came on with me and became my guest, I have trusted you with all that I
care, or think, or am, and you have never before told me of this."
My lord smiled rather sadly at the handsome, eager, young face, where
the emotion of disappointment lay, like all emotions on those expressive
features, bare.
"We do not always speak so easily of what we like," he answered.
"Oh, it is like an old sail you speak of her--why do you not care?" And
the beardless mouth went down. "Does she not like you?" glancing at my
lord's strong limbs.
"Perhaps; girls do not usually love old men," my lord answered, looking
kindly, amusedly, at the boy.
"You old! You are not old! I think of you as something with me, you----"
"Try your success with women, my son," broke in my lord laughing; "you,
a young lord--come."
They went in.
A word about us. We were Eastern men from the island; my lord, old,
burned-out,--though not with years,--restless--deliberately--silent, kind,
secretive, and wise in some old-gained sad kind knowledge of men. So we
had cruised where my lord was quiet, seeming content, till in the fog
opportunity brought us new friends, at whose sunny, lonely town we were
guests. When my lord had told his host of the woman to whom he was
betrothed, idly, we men who stood by watching noticed them keenly, for
we were interested in my lord and the why of his choosing the maiden.
She, the daughter of a timid lord, her mother dead--a fair thing who gave
flowers to boys in fun.
This is what we were.
Now, whether it was the beer we drank that night, or whether the long
rest--though I think the long rest--the men began to speak in loud voices
with sea-tales. Now, the young lord, his slim right hand on the great
mug, laughed to my lord: "Let us go and make some sea-tales!" and
laughing, raised his mug to his lips, glancing merrily at his guest over
the top as he drank.
"But your ship," said my lord looking at him.
"Let us go in yours, mine is too battered," answered young Erik.
"Ah--that was a joy--the fog and the shouting and the grey ships!"
His face grew pale in the light with excitement. My lord seemed
reluctant.
"Yes"; he said. "Where shall we go?"
"There--here--anywhere!" cried young Erik, jumping to his feet and waving
his beer-mug to three points of the horizon.
"The men in my town will take care of the harvest."
We were at sea again; my lord cynical on the after-deck, young Erik
talking to the men.
We were passing a sand-spit that ran out into the calm water just
touched with ripples. Over the top of the sand we saw masts rising, and
came out into the open again, where we could see the yellow over our
sides through the light green water, the sand-spit falling behind--we saw
three great ships, heavy-masted, long-yard-armed and with sharp prow.
These slowly neared with flapping sails, and we could see that the decks
were crowded with men. They passed by, as they went hailing us in rough
tongue, laughing out many-languaged questions as to where we had come
from.
Then came something that was very strange. A few men and myself saw my
lord very slowly take up a cross-bow and drawing it, deliberately shoot
an arrow into the side of one of the nearest ships. A yell of defiance
came over the water, and young Erik cried to every man to take his arms.
Why had my lord shot that arrow? Who can say? We do not know.
They came down on us singing Icelandic songs, as is the custom of most
of these people, for the ships were principally full of these men.
One ship passed close by us and the men shouting over the sides, threw
spears at us as they went by, brushing us with their oars. Then this
ship rounded on behind us, and the spears came in showers over the
stern.
But part of our men, dropping their weapons, and throwing themselves at
the oars, drove us over the sparkling sea, toward the ship that came
gliding toward us, with a howl from the enemy that reverberated in the
ears of the straining men inside our wooden bulwarks, our long prow cut
into their ship's side. I saw their mast bend away from us. The other
ship now came on, singing.
We shoot at her with our long-bows, and the singing is turned to
shouting as they come toward us. My lord shouts to pull on the
right-hand oars and while some of us tug wildly the others shoot over
the side. Slowly we turn, and the heeling ship before us comes into view
over the bow--slowly we turn, as the third ship nears us. We move round,
and, their arrows in our faces, they go sweeping by--just by--the oars
grazing.
And now we can see the ship we have run down as she turns over her deck
to us; the men tumble down the rowers' benches; they leap into the
water; she settles sideways, the water bubbling.
Now come the two other ships from behind us.
Young Lord Erik lies wounded on the after-deck. Half of the men sit
white, about the arrow-struck mast. The other two ships come on.
My lord cries to face them, and we move slowly, seeing over the bow the
ships rush on over the place where their comrades sank, striking the
heads of the swimming men with their oar-blades.
We drop our arms and, heaving three times on the long-oars, send our
ship between the other two.
A flight of arrows, a glimpse on each side of a passing mast--they are
behind us. My lord calls from the after-deck, "Row away, row away!"
Turning my head to look at him I see him laughing, the bow still in his
hand.
We rowed round the sand-spit, and as we went round it we saw the two
ships close together picking up men from where a mast stuck up out of
the light-green water.
"It is the second time we have been comrades," said young Lord Erik, his
right arm bandaged, gazing up palely at my lord as they stood by the
rail.
My lord smiled.
"Yes, true," he said.
We were running along a forest-covered strand, where the roots of old
trees gnarled themselves into the water.
"Now we must go to the hall that I told you about," said my lord.
"Yes and see the girl I am so eager to see!" exclaimed young Lord Erik,
his white face lighting as he gazed up smiling to my lord.
He laughed.
"Ah," he said, "it is both pleasant and good," and he gazed along the
depleted seats.
The next day there was a strange excitement in my lord's eyes, and we
began to put together our clothes. And late in the afternoon we came
into the little bay on the shore of which lay old Raud's castle. We ran
through the water hauling our ship up with cables, and with shouting
from the people coming welcomingly down from the castle, we hastened up
the beach.
As we sat over the meat that night, a curtain was pulled aside from the
door by Lord Raud's chair, and he, rising feebly, my lord slowly, and
smiling, and young Lord Erik jumping to his feet eagerly, we saw her
come gliding in whom we had seen often before. She gave her hand
timidly, yet with a little laugh, to my lord, shyly yet kindly to young
Lord Erik, and welcomed them as her guests as her father had welcomed
them as his at the castle-door as we passed over it. How such a maiden
could be the daughter of such a feeble, timid, dainty old man as Lord
Raud, I could never know. As a child pretending to ask for forgiveness
was her face--half-laughing and half-sorrowful. Her moving was like a
ripple of blown cloth, it was so springing graceful. And her eyes, when
they occasionally looked at you, had a woman's innocence, never a man's
straightforwardness.
It was sunset three days later. Walking on the beach I could see my lord
and Hildur pacing slowly, he laughing, along the grass that stretched by
the path to the houses in the wood. The scene was lit up by one of the
sometimes far-reaching clear sunsets of autumn. I could see her hand
raised in remonstrance, and though I was too far, I could see that they
were both laughing. Presently she nodded her head of gold hair to him,
and turned into the castle-door, leaving him alone in the soft, far,
unusual, light. He turned.
As he moved, I saw that he was not laughing. As he came down to the
beach, I could see the same excitement in his eyes that had always been
there when he came near her, since his hair began to grizzle, and she
used to bring the cynical old father's friend his beer in the great hall
after meat--a little maiden.
He passed me and turning at a word behind me, I saw him meet young Lord
Erik; smiling again. But the young man's face was troubled, that face on
which all emotions were like shadows on even water.
Not a word, after my lord's greeting, passed.
Suddenly, my lord called to me over his shoulder:
"Lord Erik wishes to go home, wilt thou take ship with him and come back
to me?"
Their figures were dim in the lessened light.
"Let another man go; I stay. Send one of the younger men," I answered.
My lord held out his hand to me. Young Lord Erik's face was white in the
dusk.
Over our beer, by the firelight, I could see the glances Hildur threw to
young Lord Erik, I could see his hard-shut mouth; I could see my lord's
cynical smile and the gleam of the excitement in his eyes; I could see
old Lord Raud, daintily fingering his beer-mug-handle--thoughts far away.
And I was glad I had stayed by my lord.
So, the next day young Lord Erik went north with the ship. And my lord
stood on the beach smiling gaily and called out gay words of next
summer. And the young face brightened for a moment as the ship drew
away.
Well, all that day I followed my lord about, smiling at his gay moods,
quiet when he forgot--which gave me pleasure. I am sure he tried to leave
me behind him sometimes, after mid-day, by fast walking, but I came.
And toward evening, as we tramped back along the beach to the hall, I
coming behind, my lord turned, and started running. In a moment I caught
him; and he bent suddenly over my shoulder, with a sound like a seal
grunting. So, I held him for a moment till he shook himself into himself
again and walked up towards the castle, I falling back again; we never
said anything about this.
Now I go out on a long ending, that is only true. After some days of
silent smiling on the part of Hildur--to me she looked very ugly--and much
laughter--which cheered old Lord Raud--on the part of my lord, he asked
Lord Raud to give him the maiden now, for he was anxious to take her
away. So my lord spoke to her about it, and she said yes.
Then we went away; and old Lord Raud stood on the beach, our ship being
back, and large tears came down from his eyes. So we all went home again
and took the maiden with us.
There is little use in telling a tale of women. Yet some scenes rest
with me that concern my lord, so I tell it all. Thus those two used to
walk past the door of the hall, and past again, while I stood in the
doorway; and I would hear what they said, for my lord did not care for
me, and it was very loving. But after it was over he would go down to
the water and look out, and stretch his arms, and yawn--then break in
with a laugh and walk back again.
Often in mid-summer came ships, and their men were well fed and liked
us.
Hildur used to be gay now only when these ships would come; in the
winter she was silent.
The house was badly kept; many times I have made rough sowing for my
lord, so that he would not know.
When spring came and the sea was bright at the early morning, we would
often get drunk in the hall toward night after standing watching the
glancing of little waves through the lazy day. I used to put water in my
lord's beer that he might not drink too much. He never used to speak of
young Erik now; of which I was glad; he was only a boy.
So the spring went by and the green of the leaves grew darker and the
sunlight lingered over the sea till late. There were no good dishes in
the hall, and the women who cooked never thought of the things my lord
liked. Hildur would go to her chamber early, and we all would wander out
along the sea-shore, away from the clatter of dishes the women made. And
when it grew dark we would come in and sing over great beer-tankards;
but we loved the beer better than the soon-died-out singing.
We were weary in the sunshine, and old sea-sagas came to us so easily.
The women were cross, and children cried, instead of running about in
the forest. I do not know what is in man, or how himself works on
himself; we are parts of the woods, the sea, the far light. The spring
was running into summer; the free air in the night made us gasp like
tired dogs, and we felt smothered.
That night my lord sat on a piece of rock overlooking the sea, I was
behind him. All in front of us was dark, but we could hear the sound of
the water come from away and all along the coast.
Then, out of the silence that lies under the world, came over the edge
of the sea, the bare, silver, edge of the moon, lighting slowly the tips
of the waves. No mist around her; the unroofed, upward depths of the
sky, full of suspended stars, that seemed to wink, being alive. She rose
out of the sea, reaching toward us the elves-bridge she carries, over
which we cannot see the spirits pass; sending out her still beckoning
that she sends to all men. The little waves danced joyously in the
light; there was no sound at all from the shore, only the water
whispering on the sands.