How Sir Kolbein of Norway came by his death-wound.
While they were thus occupied, all of a sudden their attention was
attracted by a loud ringing of armour and clashing of arms from the
rocky cliff which Sir Archimbald had chosen for a watch-tower. Looking
up, they all beheld how the count had engaged in single combat with
a tall powerful warrior; nay, their eyes lighted on him just at the
moment when he was almost quite overcome;--when the stranger’s enormous
brazen shield was forced against his breast and forehead, till at last
he fell prostrate on the cliff, and his adversary wielded a ponderous
battle-axe ready to inflict a mortal blow. Scarcely could they feel
assured that all this was not a mere delusion of enchantment; nor did
Sir Otto or the sea-monarch perceive how it would be possible to reach
the summit of that steep rock with sufficient rapidity to save the
count. Swerker, however, had not allowed himself time to reflect;--with
the activity of a true Norman, he had in a moment flown to the fatal
spot, and now interposed his sword betwixt the fallen knight and his
adversary’s battle-axe, so that both weapons started asunder, and were
broken into fragments. Thereafter Swerker grappled with his enemy, and
seized him round the body with such vehemence, that ere the count had
time to raise himself up, they had both rolled down from the slippery
rock, and, still holding one another firmly embraced, came together
with a great crash on the ground. There, whether it were by superior
art, or by the mere chance of the fall, the stranger had the upper
hand, and, grinning like a wild beast over his prey, he held the Swede
with one hand, while with the other he drew a dagger from his bosom.
Swerker, however, failed not at the same moment to draw forth his
sharp hunting-knife; and now, each having but one arm at liberty, they
glared at one another, both watching an opportunity to inflict the
mortal wound. Suddenly the stranger uttered a deep groan; his arms fell
powerless; Swerker arose, and his opponent, after leaning on his hands,
and vainly trying to raise himself up, at length yielded to his fate,
and stretched himself motionless on the now blood-stained grass.
The knights all drew near to him, and unclasped his visor and corslet;
while Hildiridur, kneeling beside him, declared, with a sigh of
compassion, that his wounds were mortal, and neither healing herbs nor
enchanters’ spells could save him from approaching death.
“That indeed I can well believe,” said the wounded man, in a voice
scarcely audible, while a kind of despairing smile passed over his
convulsed features, that already wore the paleness of death; whereupon
Sir Otto and the sea-monarch recognised in this unfortunate victim the
once-blooming and prosperous Sir Kolbein.
Melancholy and regret now prevailed through the circle that had formed
round the fallen youth; and Sir Archimbald, with glistening eyes,
said,--“Truly my heart is grieved for thy fate, young warrior, who, for
my sake, hast come to this untimely end. But what injury had I offered
against thee that thou should’st thus attack me at unawares, even
like a blood-thirsty assassin?”--“Thou had’st taken from me what was
to me far dearer than life,” said the dying youth; “and in my revenge
I have aimed at thy life alone. Without Gerda I could not live.”--He
paused, and then turned to the sea-monarch:--“Can’st thou remember,
cousin, how, with your fiery arrows, you once destroyed my little
vessel in the wide sea?--Even so has Gerda’s beauty, like consuming
fire, brought ruin on my fortunes!”--Hereupon Sir Arinbiorn wept
bitterly, when he thought how this blooming branch from his ancient
oak-tree of the north, which might have deserved a better fate, had
been untimely withered away; and Hildiridur, still kneeling over him,
said, in a voice whose tones were like the sweetest music,--“Think on
God, my son;--think on the merciful Giver of all good, who will not
refuse to hear the prayer even of him who has been deluded and misled
from his way, although he arrives late before the throne of grace and
forgiveness!”--“This indeed I feel in my inmost heart,” answered Sir
Kolbein, with a smile of hope and contentment on his pale features.
“To him who has loved much, much will be forgiven; and God is the
gleaming sun of love, whose light will at length prevail even through
the darkest clouds of superstition and idolatry.”--“Alas! cousin,”
said Arinbiorn, “how could’st thou remain so blind in thy days of
strength and health, when the divine light now shines so brightly on
thy departing spirit?--Could’st thou not yet wrestle against death,
and remain for a space, with thy heart thus changed, amid thy loving
friends?”--“Nay, nay,” said the youth, “thou can’st remember;--did not
my little bark gleam more brightly than ever, just ere it sank into the
dark sea?”--With these words a fleeting radiance shone in his eyes, but
in the next moment they closed for ever, and he lay outstretched in his
last peaceful slumbers on the blooming turf.
As, for a while, they stood there in their grief, gazing on each other,
behold! there came among them a man in long white garments,--and this
was the chaplain of the church on the neighbouring mountain. They now
begged that he would vouchsafe to their departed friend the rites of
Christian burial, and described to him how tranquil, and even pious,
had been the knight’s last moments.--“I believe you right willingly,”
said the monk; “the expression of divine peace, and trust in the mercy
of God, that yet rest on these features, were enough to convince one
who has been oft-times beside the dying and the dead. Pursue then your
journey, in God’s name, and leave the rest to me. When you are again
amid the tumults of this world, your friend now departed will not be so
far distant as it may seem to you. Remember this; and now, farewell!”
Thereafter, making the sign of the cross over their heads, he gave them
his blessing, and they went silently towards their horses. Sir Otto,
however, could not refrain from turning back to speak once more with
the monk, and thus addressed him:--“Venerable father, I pray that you
will not judge harshly of me, if, in this solemn hour, I venture to
propose to you one question which might indeed seem the result of idle
curiosity, though my real motives are indeed very different; for, in
truth, my whole hopes of earthly happiness, and even my soul’s weal,
depend thereon;--say then, were the party, who but a little while ago
seemed to wind round the mountain into the valley, mere phantoms?
or were they indeed habitants belonging to this world?--Moreover, I
would ask, whether the beautiful damsel, who rode in that procession,
had before appeared in the church at prayer, with a book open before
her, in the shrine with glass-work and golden bars?”--Hereupon the
good old chaplain slowly shook his head, with its snow-white locks,
and answered,--“In truth it sounds strange and unwonted to one of
us, to hear such questions from an anxious-hearted worldling; and
yet I shall willingly answer you:--If the young birds, which come
forth in spring-tide, fly eagerly from tree to tree, as if wondering,
and in quest of knowledge, wherefore should not man, when he is yet
youthful and unweaned from this life, have the same desires?--Know
then, sir knight, that the devout lady, after whom you inquire, did
indeed come to prayers in our church; moreover, she appeared within
the most adorned and magnificent shrine which it affords; for this
place was chosen by the warrior who came with her. On yonder side of
the hill, under magnificent tents, they passed some time for rest and
refreshment after their long journey. Thou should’st not dream that
they were but a procession of ghosts; for it was a real prince of this
world, with his train, who passed here on the road before you.”--“But
who then is the devout lady?” said Sir Otto; “and who is her warlike
protector?”--“To these questions,” said the priest, “I cannot give
you an answer. We know, indeed, that they are profuse in their gifts
to all convents and shrines of the saints; moreover, to all those who
are in poverty and distress; so that the greatest emperors and princes
have not equalled, far less excelled them. Moreover, the hearts of all
who come into their presence are refreshed, and strengthened, by their
mild words and devout exhortations. Wheresoever they come the voice of
dissension is hushed, and peace smiles around them; but as to their
names and true rank I know nothing, nor could any one in this country
give you better intelligence. Many believe that they and their train
have come hither from India; that the leader is the grand priest
John, of whose wealth, power, and conversion to the Christian faith,
travellers have already told us. As to the beautiful damsel, they
believe that she is his daughter or niece; adding, that she is already
betrothed to one of the wealthiest and most powerful of our European
princes.”
The priest carried in his hand a small box, in which he collected alms
for the poor; and Sir Otto, in token of gratitude, placed a gold coin
therein. With shame and embarrassment, however, he perceived, when the
monk lifted up the lid, that the casket was already almost filled with
gold, pearls, and diamonds,--the gifts, no doubt, of the mysterious
lady and eastern warrior.
Now, when he had mounted his horse, Swerker came riding up, and said,
in a low faultering voice,--“Farewell,--perhaps for ever,--my noble
conqueror and teacher!--The Swedish eagle must straightway wing his
flight back to his own mountains of the north.”--Sir Otto looked
on him with astonishment, and the Swede continued,--“Mark you, Sir
Arinbiorn cannot bear to look on me since I have put to death his young
cousin, Sir Kolbein. Revenge, I well know, is a passion that should
never be cherished by a Christian against his fellow-mortal. In the
hearts of our northern heroes, however, this passion is deeply planted,
so that it becomes a destructive poison, destroying even our own lives
when we are denied the fulfilment of justice on him by whom we have
been injured. The sea-monarch, believe me, would die of vexation if I
were to be longer in his presence. Moreover, to what purpose should
we, Christian warriors, assemble in your castle?--Wherefore should we
meet there only to revel at your banquet-table, when perhaps there is
need that we should again unite together on the battle-field, and that,
by our endeavours, a gleam of the true light should be made to shine
forth on the dark regions of Finland. Farewell!--When I have once more
arrived in the north, I shall not fail to make known to the noble race
of Swerker how deeply I love and honour thee; moreover, how truly I
confide in the religion of the Christians.”
So it came to pass, that, after cordial embraces, and many kind words,
Swerker mounted his horse, and disappeared swiftly as an arrow among
the mountains. Ere Sir Otto had time to explain to Hildiridur and his
comrades wherefore the Swede had resolved to leave them, he was already
far remote, and separated from them for ever.