Frithiof comes to King Ring's Court
On his high-seat sat King Ring, celebrating the great Yule tide feast
that fell on the winter solstice, and beside him Ingeborg, his wife,
like chilly Autumn with the youthful Spring. The mead-horn went round,
and joyous shouts and laughter filled the hall. Suddenly through the
doorway entered an old man, tall of stature and wrapped from head to
foot in a great bearskin. In his hand he bore a staff and walked as if
bowed with age. None knew him, and he quietly took his place on the
bench near the door, reserved for the poor. The courtiers smiled to one
another and pointed jeeringly at the shaggy figure, while one playfully
approached with intent to make sport of him for the amusement of the
others. With flashing eyes the stranger seized the rash youth, whirled
him about in the air, and set him again on his feet unharmed; whereat
the courtiers' smiles deserted them, and they fell straightway silent.
"What noise is that down yonder?" cried Ring sternly.
"Come hither, old man, who thus disturbest our kingly peace! Who art
thou? What brings thee here? Whence comest thou?"
"Much dost thou ask, O King," replied the stranger, "yet all will I tell
thee save my name,--that concerneth none but me. In Penitence was I
reared; Want was my inheritance; my latest bed a Wolf's lair. Astride my
dragon, with its mighty wings, I flew swiftly hither from afar; now my
good ship lies frozen in upon thy shores. I came to hear thy words of
wisdom, famed through all the land. When thy people just now sought to
mock me, I seized a vain fool and swung him round about--but I did him
no harm. Forgive me, King!"
"Truly," the monarch cried,--"thou speakest well, and wisdom's teachings
bid us honor age. Come, sit at the board. But first, I pray thee, doff
thy strange disguisement and show thyself in thy true form, for
deception is ever wont to be the foe of gladness."
At this the stranger let fall his hairy covering, and there, in place of
an old man, appeared a youth of noble stature, his loft brow shaded with
bright flowing locks. A blue mantle hung from his mighty shoulders, and
his tunic was held in place by a wide silver belt, on which, with
cunning skill, beasts of the forest were embossed. Heavy gold armlets
encircled his arm; at his left side hung a sword that gleamed like
lightning. Fair as Balder, like to the mighty Thor in strength of limb,
he stood before the King and his astonished court. For a moment his keen
glance wandered about the hall, then he seated himself calmly at the
board. The blood rushed to the cheeks of the Queen till she glowed as
crimson as the ice-fields lit by flaring Northern lights.
But now the trumpets sounded the signal for silence. It was the hour of
the vow, and the crowned boar was borne into the hall on a silver
charger and placed upon the board. Touching the head of the boar, Ring
said:
"Hearken, ye warriors, to my vow! I swear to conquer Frithiof, howsoever
stout a champion he be; so help me Odin, Thor, and Frey!"
The stranger rose with a frown and dashed his sword upon the board with
such a clang that all the warriors sprang from their seats.
"Hear thou me likewise, good Sir King," he cried: "That Frithiof whom
thou namest is my friend and kinsman: and him I swear to guard with life
and limb, so help me Norns and my good sword!"
The King smiled. "Thou speakest boldly," he answered, "but words are
free in Northland's royal halls. Fill for him, Queen, yon horn with
draught of welcome. I hope he'll tarry with us as our guest till Spring
returns."
This horn was a precious heirloom of the house, broken from the forehead
of the urus. Its feet were of silver wonderfully wrought, while the
golden rings about it were carven with strange runes. With downcast eyes
Ingeborg handed it to the guest, but she trembled so that the wine was
spilled, and red drops gleamed on her white hand like evening's purple
blushes on a lily.
Unmoved, the hero took the mighty horn, lifted it to his lips and at one
draught drained it to the honor of his host. Then at a sign from the
King, the scald smote on his harpstrings and chanted many a
heart-stirring song and legend. In lofty words he sang of love and
friendship, of freedom and the country's glory, of the high gods and
Valhalla's wonders, till fire shot forth from every eye, and
involuntarily each warrior grasped the handle of his sword.
Deeply they drank throughout the night, and many a champion, like a
tower of strength in battle, was vanquished by the sweetly foaming mead.