TELLING HOW TRADE WITH THE SKRAELLINGS CAME TO A MYSTERIOUS END
The antlers were finally hung over the high-seat, while the hide made a
blanket for the bunk below, and the effect was so imposing that every
Champion went fur-mad as soon as he saw them. For a month afterward, it
took all the chief's authority to keep the fuel pile supplied and cooks
at their post. Every lad not told off--and told sternly off--for public
service or private drudgery, spent his days in ranging the country in
search of spoil, and his nights in dreaming of hunts wherein each dead
tree should turn out to be the den of a hibernating bear which he would
slay with valorous ease and bring home to deck the high-seat, even as
Leif the Lucky had done before him.
The way in which they did finally come into possession of a bearskin,
however, was really more dream-like than their dream.
Nothing could have been more peaceful than the beginning of the
happening, in the women's room of Karlsefne's booth. Loafing after the
noonday meal, Erlend the Amiable had stretched his plump length over the
cushions of a bench. At one end of the fire, the long-kirtled forms of
Gudrid and her women moved to and fro before their looms. At the other,
where the firelight lay brightest, the Sword-Bearer was playing wolf
with the baby,--a game evoking so much rumbling growling and squealing
laughter that presently it took precedence of the conversation.
"You are spoiling him, Kinsman Alrek," Gudrid said, looking around the
edge of her loom with a smile which belied her reproach.
The prettiest of the bondmaids gave her braids a pettish flirt. "That is
so," she confirmed. "Yesterday, when it happened that I was at the door
trying to talk to Hauk Votsson, I was obliged to turn around and growl
between every two words or the child would have deafened us. I do not
know what Hauk thought of me."
"If you wish, I will ask him," Erlend offered,--a piece of flippancy
which cost him his comfort, as to save his ears he was obliged to take
to instant flight around the looms.
But Alrek, sitting back on his heels, shaking back his long hair,
remained intent upon the cradle. "It is the greatest fun," he said, "to
see the cub try to frown at me. His eyebrows are like the fuzz on a
chicken, yet he tries to make them look like his namesake's, before a
laugh gets the better of him. Watch now!"
Small Snorri had been there but seven months; he was still wonderfully
new. The maid and Erlend left their chase, and Gudrid came from her
loom, and together they watched breathlessly the knitting of the downy
brows above the blue eyes, and the slow dawning of the unwilling smile,
brighter and brighter, until in each soft cheek a dimple broke.
"He is going to be in every respect like his father!" Gudrid cried,
falling on her knees beside him. And she was smothering him with kisses,
and the others were looking on sympathetically, when the door was flung
open before little Olaf the Fair, rosy and breathless.
"Where is Alrek?" he panted. "I want--Oh! Alrek! What do you think I
have seen?"
"Hallad?" shrieked the three bondmaids together.
"Skraellings! Black as crowberries. Crossing the open space west of
here. With big packs on their backs. I was up in that tree by the
wheat-shed, watching for Brand to slip on the slide I had made to get
revenge on him for cuffing me, and--" His voice was lost in the babel of
exclamations that came from the bondmaids and from the men peering
around the hall door.
Gudrid rose from beside the cradle with a gesture of authority. "Too
much noise is here. Since Karlsefne is away it behooves us to be
especially careful how we behave. Run, some one of you, to the
Icelanders' booth. I know that Snorri is not there, but if it happen
that Biorn is, ask him to get a following together and stand ready to
receive the wild men. And since it is likely that they will want to buy
the same dairy wares as before, Melkorka, you may have charge--but
there! Tch! Your heedlessness is such that you would give them three
times as much as they required. I shall have to portion, it out myself.
The child I will leave with you, Roswitha--No, you would forget him if a
man so much as looked through the door at you! Kinsman!" She laid a
white hand on Alrek's brown one as he would have moved past her. "He is
more fond of you than of any one, and I would trust you before a hundred
girls,--so long as you keep his fingers away from that hatchet in your
belt. Will you not stay with him the little while that I must be in the
dairy?"
Stay with a baby while the long-looked-forward-to trading went on
without him! Frowning involuntarily, the Sword-Bearer hesitated,--and
during that pause the Fate who was spinning his life-thread sat with
suspended breath, so much hung on his answer.
It can not be denied that it came somewhat grudgingly when it did come.
"Why--if it _will_ be a _little_ while, kinswoman," he stipulated,
turning back.
Gudrid waited to hear no more; with the last word she was off, sweeping
the maids like chaff before her. Erlend and Olaf had long since
vanished; and now the men could be heard clattering out of the great
next room that was their headquarters.
From the green behind the booths came the clamor of barking dogs and the
thud of running feet accompanied by excited voices, now far away, now
just outside the door. Gradually the scattered chatter blended into a
hum; the hum rose higher and higher; then fell suddenly in a hush so
deep that it seemed to the Sword-Bearer he could hear the pat of bare
feet and the rustle of boughs put aside; and his fancy conjured up a
picture of dark forms with bright-eyed shaggy heads bent under shaggier
packs, emerging single file from the white depths of the forest.
Directly after, the sound of strange guttural voices speaking words he
had never heard told him that some part of his vision was correct.
"Oh, you great hindrance!" he sighed to the tyrant in the cradle.
But as even while he complained, he obeyed the command of the chubby
fists by picking up the soft little body as gently as a woman would have
done, and tossing and dandling it in his strong brown hands as no woman
could have done, the tyrant was in no way cast down but clung to him
confidingly, catching his breath with squeals of delight and winding up
by burying both fists in the brown mane with a rapture of gurgling
laughter.
So Gudrid found them when she came in, the color of haste in her fair
face; and her smile was very lovely as she took her baby from his guard.
"Whether you are like your father or not, Alrek my kinsman, you have a
good disposition," she said; then went on swiftly: "I hurried because I
want to remind you of something. I beg of you, do not forget that
Karlsefne has forbidden any weapon whatever to be traded to the
hatchet-men, no matter what loose property they offer for it. Do not
forget, or let your men forget."
Alrek's glance reassured her. "I will remember," he said quietly.
"Then go quickly! They have only just opened their packs." She gave him
a little shove, but she might have saved herself the trouble for he was
out of the door at a bound.
Coming out into the gathering was like coming upon some strange
new-world fair. Everywhere over the white of the snow-covered earth,
against the gray of the snow-filled sky, the Northmen's gay cloaks made
rings of bright color around the dark fur-clad forms of the wild men.
Everywhere the sounds of fair-time had vanquished the stillness of the
forest,--the hails of eager barterers, the boasts of jubilant
purchasers, even the familiar din of fighting dogs wherever a Norse
hound and one of Skraelling breed were able to find a spot free from
interfering boot-toes.
On the step before the dairy door, the yellow heads of the three pretty
bondmaids showed above a hedge of bristling black locks; the love of
trading, so long denied, getting the better of any fear they might have
felt of their uncouth customers. As Alrek looked, Roswitha with one hand
delivered a cheese ball into a copper-colored palm and with the other
drew in a magnificent wolf-skin; while Melkorka, her saucy Irish face
twinkling with mischief, ladled curds from her bowl into the gaping
mouth of an enormous Skraelling, standing before her with half-shut eyes
and an air of solemn content.
[Illustration: She ladled curds from her bowl into the gaping mouth.]
"If only we could build cows as well as ships out of timber!" the
Sword-Bearer wished as he watched them with a grin.
He was brought out of his reverie by the appearance of a shadow on the
snow at his feet. Though he had not heard the faintest sound of an
approach, he looked up to find a wild man as dark as the shadow and
almost as tall standing at his side. Over the Skraelling's left shoulder
and arm was hung a bearskin which took the Viking's breath to look at;
his right arm he was stretching toward Alrek's sword, a glitter of
indescribable craftiness in his beady eyes. It was so like the stories
that the Irish monks told of the wiles of the Evil One that Alrek's
recoil had in it even a touch of superstitious fear.
"No," he said severely. "No!" And without further parley, he turned and
hastened in the direction in which Brand's red locks glowed between the
gray of cap and cloak, like fire amid ashes.
"I want to know at once that you have remembered not to trade them any
weapons," he demanded with an urgent hand on the Red One's arm.
Once Brand would have shaken off that hand resentfully; now he looked
around with affectionate impudence. "Which are you the more anxious to
know,--that I have remembered or that I have not traded?" he parried.
The Sword-Bearer let his hand fall with a breath of relief. "Since you
can make light of the matter, I know that no harm has been done; if you
had been disobedient, you would have hurled the news at me like a spear.
I trust you to keep on remembering it."
Brand made him a salute of mock deference. "I will heed your orders in
this as in everything," he mouthed the formal phrase of submission.
"Now I hope you will do better than that," his chief returned; then
hailed the Hare, scudding past, and bade him summon every member of the
band to immediate council.
When at last they were all before him, and he had obtained from them
individually an assurance that the order was still unbroken, he
delivered the command over again with all the weight he could bring to
bear.
They received the reminder as insult added to injury.
"I do not think I stand in need of telling when already for my poorest
spear I have refused three wolf-skins!" the Bull cried, wagging his
yellow head; while Ketil the Glib mocked openly:
"Behold the caution! Lose no time in punishing Erlend who has traded
them a brooch with a pin as long as my finger."
Even small Olaf sniffed rebelliously. "If I had known _that_ was all you
were going to say, I doubt if I would have come. I thought you were
going to offer us your red cloak to trade with."
"My red cloak?" Alrek repeated.
Forty eyes fastened themselves wistfully on the garment, while at least
ten voices answered: "Of course it is not to be expected--" "Yet you
could buy the most costly furnishings--" "They would like it better than
curds even--" "Njal got the finest gray fur only for a kerchief with one
stripe of red." "Think if this were cut in strips!" "Another cloak would
keep you equally warm--" "Karlsefne would give you a king's mantle for
the asking----"
Shaking his head, Alrek folded the stained drapery to him with both
arms. "You show too much generosity! I can tell you that you would not
get this though it would buy all the fur in Vinland. My father gave it
to me at the time of my first Viking voyage; while one thread holds to
another, I shall wear it." Then he unfolded his arms with a gesture more
encouraging. "But it may be that we shall not fare so ill, for I have
hit upon another plan. I have a suit of feasting-clothes of red
velvet----"
Not one of the twenty waited to hear more; after the Hare the band was
off like the tail after a comet. The Sword-Bearer considered himself
lucky that he reached the booth in time to secure one sleeve for his own
ventures.
After that the trading was like trading in a dream. Even after the first
recklessness had passed and they had cut the velvet into strips no wider
than their thumbs, the same sizes of skins were given in exchange.
Erlend, the first to run out of purchase money, was made custodian of
the spoils; and the rapidity with which the pile grew behind him in what
remained of the short afternoon was enough to heat cooler blood. By the
falling of twilight, Alrek announced the whimsical determination to try
if he could not capture the bearskin itself with what remained of his
red sleeve and the foot of a red stocking which he had found.
Because of the failing light, quenched early by a gentle fall of snow,
the trading had ceased before he started. Here and there, where light
streamed out through open doors, the forest men stooped in groups,
packing for departure all wares not previously bound around their heads
or bestowed in their stomachs. From group to group he went without
finding the tall Skraelling, until suddenly he caught a glimpse of him
passing the last door in the line, the door of their own booth. It
looked as though the great skin was still draping his shoulders, so
Alrek started leisurely toward him and reached the wheat shed this side
of the Champions' booth. Then he slipped on Olaf's slide and fell,
striking his head against a great oak root.
That was the last thing he remembered,--and he did not remember that for
some time. The next thing he was conscious of was sitting in his
high-seat in the booth, in silence and alone. The flickering firelight
that showed him the stretch of empty benches revealed gradually to his
bewildered eyes a dark huddled shape on the white surface of the table
in front of him. What it was or how it got there, he knew no more than
what he was doing there himself. He wondered dully if the Huntsman could
have put a spell upon him, until--like a wind-breath through a fog--came
the recollection that a sailor had once told him of having had a similar
experience, and that it had been caused by striking his head in falling
through a hatchway on the ship. Moving his head, the Sword-Bearer found
it as sore as an unhealed wound, and that part of his problem was
solved. But where had he been, and why was the booth empty at this time
of day? It was a relief to have the door open upon Gard's hulking
long-armed figure, powdered with glistening snow.
When the Ugly One had taken three steps beyond the threshold, he saw the
chief in the high-seat and stopped with a loud exclamation.
Alrek grinned faintly. "Your surprise is no greater than mine. I should
be thankful if you would tell me how I got here. No," as Gard made a
gesture of unbelief, "I declare myself in earnest. I suppose I fell and
struck my head somewhere. Do you know where I have been? And why the
booth is empty?"
When he had come around the fire and looked curiously at the
Sword-Bearer, Gard's doubts were laid. "The proof of this is that the
left side of your face is scratched and dirty," he said. "It is likely
that you fell on Olaf's slide. You were going in that direction, the
last I saw of you. I forgot you after the screech."
"What screech?"
"The yell that started the Skraellings, of course."
"What Skraellings?"
"_What_ Skraellings!" Gard echoed; but Alrek's memory had stirred.
"I remember! They were here trading. I came out of the women's house and
saw them--" He got upon his feet. "Are they gone?"
Gard began to laugh. "You _are_ addled! I should have thought the racket
sufficient to wake Thorwald in his grave. It is certain that they are
gone! At the first note of the yell they dropped their packs and plunged
into the woods, howling like trolls. What frightened them this time, no
one knows. Erlend and Brand followed, and also some of the other men of
the band, but the creatures seemed to melt and vanish. The men are only
just coming back. That is why no one is here yet to get the meal."
Coming down to the fire, Alrek kicked the logs about, partly to mend the
burning, partly to vent his irritation. "Never have I heard of a fall so
foolishly timed. I could give my head another knock--What is this? Fur?"
He stretched his hand toward the table. "A bearskin? What a--_the
bearskin the Skraelling offered for my sword?_" Memory came back like a
rush of fire, lighting the dark corners of his mind, flaming from his
eyes as he turned upon the slouching figure. "How did it come here?"
Gard began to speak with unwonted swiftness: "It is true, I forgot to
tell you that I bought it myself. You must recollect that things were
not so dear at the end of the trading. I gave only a piece of your tunic
and--and my ring with the red stone. I would not have parted with that
ring for anything less. He liked very much to get it, and put it on his
finger as soon--" He broke off as Alrek's hands fell upon his shoulders,
forcing him down on his knees where the fire could light his face. For
the moment they were neither comrade and comrade, nor chief and
follower, but master and thrall.
The Sword-Bearer's low voice seemed a hiss between his teeth. "Swear to
me that you gave no weapon for it! Take oath on the cross of my sword
hilt!"
Gard reached out even eagerly. "I take oath on the cross, so help me
Frey and Njord and Odin!"
After a while Alrek's hands relaxed their grasp. It was some time before
his eyes loosened their hold, but at last they also released the Ugly
One and fell away, back to the fur. "It is good that you are able to
swear to it," he said grimly.
Brushing from his knee the ashes into which he had been forced, the Ugly
One grunted. "Do you think I am a fool like Brand? Even if I did not
care for your orders, would I not be apt to heed Karlsefne's?"
"It is a good thing that you do," the chief said again.