Frithiof's Inheritance
The two aged heroes died as they had hoped, within a short time of each
other, and were buried as King Bele had bidden, the two princes being
declared joint heirs to the throne by decree of the people; while
Frithiof took possession of his heritage, Framnas. His lands were on the
coast, and extended for three miles in each direction. Forests of birch
crowned the mountain tops, whose slopes were covered with golden barley
and waving rye, growing to the height of a man. Lakes teeming with fish
mirrored the wooded heights. Through the forests, threaded with rushing
streams, roamed noble stags, proud and stately as kings. On the rich
meadows herds of cattle with sleek glossy hides cropped the green sward;
while here and there roved flocks of sheep, like fleecy cloudlets slowly
drifting across the blue vault of heaven. Ranged in two rows, twelve
pairs of fiery coursers pawed impatiently in their stalls; shod with
shining steel were their hoofs, their manes knotted with red.
The great drinking-hall was so spacious that six hundred guests would
scarcely fill it. Round the wall extended a table of polished oak, and
on either side of the high-seat images of the gods were skilfully carved
from elm wood, one representing the All-Father Odin, the other Frey, who
rules over the rain and sunshine. Over the high-seat where Thorsten had
sat for so many years a glossy black bearskin, with scarlet jaws and the
claws tipped with silver, was thrown. Midway of the hall was the great
hearth of smoothly polished stone, whence the dancing flames shot
ceaselessly upward; and suspended around the walls, helm and shield and
sword glittered in the reflection of the blaze. Rich indeed was the
dwelling: abundance everywhere met the eye,--crowded presses,
well-filled cellars and store-rooms; while many a jewel, spoil of many a
conquest, lay hidden in close-locked chests.
But the three most precious possessions of the house were famed
throughout the land. Of these the first was a sword, called Angurvadel,
or Brother of Lightning. Forged by dwarfs in some far Eastern land,
Frithiof's ancestors had wrought with it many heroic deeds. The hilt was
of hammered gold, and the blade was covered with strange runes, the
meaning of which was unknown save to those who forged it in the distant
Orient. When Frithiof drew it from the sheath, it flashed like the
lightning or the streaming Northern Lights. Moreover, a magic power
belonged to this wondrous heirloom: so long as peace ruled the land the
runes on the blade gleamed dull and pale, but when war prevailed they
burned red as the comb of a fighting cock.
Next to this sword in renown was an arm-ring of pure gold, the work of
halting Vaunlund, the Vulcan of the North. Graved on it were the names
of the holy gods and their castles, with the signs of the changing
seasons, while crowning the circlet, as the sun crowns the heavens, was
a splendid ruby. This ring had long been an heirloom of the house and
had once been stolen by the robber Sote, who roved the seas pillaging
and destroying. News came at last to Thorsten that Sote had caused
himself to be buried with all his treasures in a walled-up mound on the
shores of Britain; yet there his spirit found no rest, but haunted the
place as a spectre. Forthwith Thorsten resolved to seek this ghostly
visitant, and with Bele, who offered to accompany him, took ship and
sailed away to the shore of Britain, where they soon found Sote's place
of burial. Like a sunken palace was the grave-mound, over which lay
piled up vast heaps of earth and ruined stonework. Thorsten and Bele
peered through a chink of the doorway into the vaulted depths. There
stood the black viking ship, and high up on the mast squatted a grisly
shape wrapped in a blue flaming mantle, its staring eyeballs rolling,
while it vainly endeavored to scour the blood stains from a rusty sword.
All about lay heaps of gold, and on the arm of the phantom gleamed
Thorsten's precious heirloom, the stolen arm-ring.
Bele whispered to Thorsten, "Let us go down together and fight with this
fiery spectre!"
But half angrily Thorsten answered, "Nay, one against one was the custom
of our fathers; alone will I strive with it."
Long they contended as to which should first encounter that ghastly foe,
but the lot fell to Thorsten. One blow of his spear burst in the door,
and he descended into the vault, while, shield before him and sword in
hand, King Bele listened without. Wild chantings he heard at first, like
some magic spell, then loud clashing sounds, as of swords crossed in
conflict. Then came a horrible scream, followed by instant silence, and
out staggered Thorsten, pale and distraught; but on his arm he bore the
ring. Never in after days would he relate what had passed in those awful
depths, and when questioned would turn away shuddering. But he was often
wont to say, "Truly, 'twas dearly bought, this arm-ring. But once in my
life have I trembled, and that was when I took it!"
Last of the three family treasures was the good ship "Ellida."
Frithiof's ancestor, Wiking, so it was said, returning once from a
foray, discovered on his own shores a shipwrecked man. Tall he looked
and nobly formed, with an open countenance, whose expression was
constantly changing like the glancing of waves in the sunlight.
Sea-green floated his hair, white as wave-foam his beard. A blue mantle
enveloped his form, and the golden belt he wore was set with corals.
Steering directly to the spot, Wiking rescued the unfortunate, took him
to his home, and feasted him right nobly. But when at night the stranger
was offered a bed he shook his head, smiling:
"Fair is the wind and my ship a good one," he said, "and many a mile I
hope to leave behind me ere the break of day. Naught but thanks have I
to offer thee in return for thy hospitality, for my wealth lies deep
beneath the ocean wave. Yet in the morning it may be thou wilt find some
gift from me upon the shore."
At daybreak Wiking hastened to the shore, and lo! with the swiftness of
the sea-eagle darting upon its prey there came flying into the haven one
of the warships commonly known as dragons. Not a soul was to be seen on
board, neither steersman nor rowers; yet unerringly the rudder guided
its winding course amid rocks and shoals. As it neared the land, the
sails furled themselves, the anchor fell, and the slender vessel rested
quietly upon the sandy beach. As Wiking stood gazing in astonishment at
all this, voices sounded from the dancing waves. They chanted:
The man thou didst rescue and shelter
Was Ægir, the lord of the sea;
He forgets not his debt. See--yon dragon
He sendeth as token to thee.
Royal, indeed, was the gift of the sea-god. The solid beams of the ship
were not joined in the usual way, but grown together. Long and
dragon-shaped it lay upon the water, the head reared high, wide jaws
gleaming red with gold, the body speckled with blue and gold, and ending
at the rudder in a coiling tail covered with silver scales. Black were
the sails, with edgings of gold, and when each was full stretched, the
ship flew like the storm wind, swifter than the sea-eagle.
With all these treasures and more besides, Frithiof, next to the two
kings, was the richest man in all the land. Kingly of nature was he, if
not by birth, and gentle and noble in word and deed. Twelve mighty
champions had he ever beside him, tried comrades of his dead father.
Among these graybeards, like a rose set in a wreath of withered leaves,
was a youth called Bjorn, joyous as a child, yet with the strength of
manhood and the wisdom of age. Frithiof had grown up with him, and
together they had sworn blood-brotherhood.
Sorrowfully amid these heroes sat Frithiof in the high-seat draining the
mead horn at his father's grave-feast, after the custom of his
ancestors, while with a heavy heart he listened to the thundering
hero-songs sounded in praise of the departed.