My mother lived but a few months after that flight of ours; but at
least she knew before she died that Bertha was safe. What the old
nurse had foreseen had come to pass. The half-Danish and Danish
folk of the East Angles owned Swein as king, though not willingly,
and a housecarle from Wormingford made his way to us with word from
Gunnhild that set our minds at rest. Truly our hall and Osgod's had
been burnt by parties from the Danish host, and for a time the
danger was great, for Swein's vengeance for his sister's death was
terrible.
Now the land was poorer, but in peace. Yet Hertha would keep in
hiding till we might see how things went, for the Danes might be
forced back, and when a Danish host retreats it hinders pursuit by
leaving a desert in its wake. Many a long year will it be before
those Danish pathways are lost to sight again. They seem to be
across every shire of our land.
So I lived on in Ethelred's court now in one town and now in
another, as the long struggle bade us shift either to follow or fly
the Danes; and presently the memory both of my mother and Hertha
grew dim, for wartime and new scenes age and harden a youth very
quickly. Soon I might ride at the side of Eadmund the Atheling to
try to stay the march of Swein through England; and many were the
fights I saw with him, until I was the only one left of all the
youths who had been my comrades at first, and Eadmund had won his
name of "Ironside" in bravest hopeless struggle.
I grew to be a close and trusted friend of his, and so at last
amidst the trouble that was all round us in those heavy times the
remembrance of Hertha became but as part of a childhood that was
long gone, and I thought of her but as of the little one with whom
I had played in the old days beside the quiet Stour. There were
none left to remind me of her, for one by one my few Bures men had
fallen, and Edred, who had been my servant at the court, gave his
life for mine in my first battle. Into Swein's East Anglia our
levies never made their way.
What need for me to say aught of those three years of warfare?
Their tale is written in fire over all the fair face of England.
For nothing checked Swein Forkbeard until step by step the Danish
hosts closed on London, and at last even the brave citizens were
forced to yield to him. Then Ethelred our king must needs fly from
his throne, and leave the land to its Danish master.
Yet it was true, as Eadmund the Atheling said, that the Dane was
but master of the land, and not of the English people. Even today
my mind is full of wondering honour for those sullen Saxon levies
of ours who for three years bore defeat after defeat at the hands
of the trained and hardened veterans of the north, uncomplaining
and unbent. What wonder if at last we were wearied out and must
hold our hands for a while?
So now when I was nineteen, and looking and feeling many years
older by reason of the long stress of warfare and trouble, I was at
Rouen, in Normandy, at the court of our queen's brother, Richard
the Duke. To him Ethelred had fled at the last and there, too, were
the queen and the athelings, good Abbot Elfric of Peterborough, and
a few more of the court, besides myself. Ethelred had hoped to gain
some help from the duke; but he could only give us shelter in our
need, for he had even yet to hold the land that Rolf, his
forefather, had won against his neighbours, and could spare us not
one of his warriors.
So in Rouen we waited and watched for some new turn of things that
might give us fresh hopes of regaining our own land. Yet it was a
weary waiting for one knew not what; and Ethelred the king grew
moody and despairing as the days went on, and there seemed to be no
help.
But Eadmund was ever planning for return, and was restless, riding
down to each ship that came into the river to hear what news might
be, until the winter set in, and we must needs wait until
springtime brought the traders again from the English shores.
Only Elfgiva the queen, whom her own people call Emma, was well
content to be in her own land again for a while, though one might
easily see that she sorely grieved for the loss of her state as the
queen of England. And Eadward the Atheling loved to be among the
wondrous buildings of the Norman land, spending long hours with the
learned men, and planning many good things to be wrought in England
when times of peace should come once more. And in these plannings
Elfric the abbot was ever ready to help him, and the more, as I
think, that to hear of their thoughts of return to England, and of
happier times, would cheer our king. For Elfric would never allow
but that we were here for a short while only, saying that England
would yet rise up refreshed, and sweep the Danes into the sea, from
whence they came.
"Else why should I have given all that I have--even five hundred
pounds--for St. Florentine his body (wanting the head, in truth,
but I might not have that), if I were not sure that I should take
it home for the greater glory of St. Peter's church at Medehamstede
{4} presently? Answer me that, lord king, and be not so
downhearted."
This he said one day, being full of his purchase, and I think that
the cheerfulness of the good man helped our king.
"Verily, Redwald, my son," the abbot said to me, "if I get not St.
Florentine home, I think my money is not lost. The king waxes more
hopeful when he sees the shrine waiting to be taken overseas."
Nor could I say for myself that I was not pleased with the stay in
Rouen. For I had never known the fierce joy of victory, and the
rest from the long tale of defeat was good to me. Yet I set myself
to learn all that I could of the splendid weapon craft of the
Norman warriors, for I thought that I should yet need in England
all I could learn. And the new life and scenes pleased me well, for
I was young enough to let the cares of our poor land slip from my
mind for a while.
So the long winter wore away, and at last the season came when we
might look for the first ships of the year, and with them news from
England. Then Eadmund would go to the haven at the mouth of the
great river Seine that runs to Rouen, so that he should be at hand
to hear the first tidings that came. Glad enough was I to go with
him, and we took up our quarters in a great house that belonged to
the duke at the town they call "The Haven," and there waited, ever
watching the long gray sea line for a coming sail.
But none came until the first week in March, when the wind blew
steadily from the northeast, and the sky was clear and bright with
promise of open weather. Then at last we saw eight ships together
heading for the haven, and that sight was more welcome than I can
say.
When they came near we knew that they were no traders, but long
dragon ships, and at first we thought they were Danish vikings; and
the townsmen armed in haste and mustered along the wharves to
prevent their landing, if they came on their wonted errand of
plunder. And eagerly enough did Eadmund and I join them, only
hoping for another blow at our foes, and having no thought in our
minds that the ships we watched were bringing us more hope than we
dared long for.
Next I knew that these ships were like no Danish vessels that I had
ever seen, but were far more handsome, both in build and fittings.
Nor did they fly the terrible raven banner as most Danes were wont.
Then it was not long before the lines of armed townsmen broke up
their ranks and crowded down to the wharves to greet the ships in
all friendliness, for they were Norse, as it would seem, and the
Norse viking is ever welcome in the land that Rolf Ganger, the
viking, won for himself.
So the ships came into the harbour, brave with gilded dragon heads
and sails striped with bright colours, all fresh from their winter
quarters, and Eadmund turned away, for he thought that they would
be Swein's men, of the host of Thorkel the Norseman, his great
captain, and foster father of Cnut his son. For Swein held Norway
as well as Denmark, and many Norsemen followed him. Thorkel's host
was that which slew Elfheah, the good archbishop of Canterbury,
whom his monks called Elphege, but last year.
That, too, was the thought of the seamen to whom I spoke when the
ships were yet distant, and so we went back to the hall heavy and
disappointed. We would not speak to these men, knowing that from
Thorkel's folk we should but hear boasting of Swein's victories.
But presently the steward came into the hall, where we sat silently
listening to the shouts of the men as they berthed the ships, and
he said that the leader of the vikings would see and speak with
Eadmund himself.
"Is he Thorkel, or Thorkel's man?" answered the atheling, "for if
he be, I will not see him."
"No, lord," said the steward, "he is one who has no dealings with
the Danes. He will not tell me his name, but I think that he is a
great man of some kind."
"Not a great man, but thick," said a kindly voice of one who stood
without. "If hatred of Danes will pass me into Eadmund's presence,
I may surely enter."
And then there came into the doorway a man who was worth more than
a second look. Never had I seen one to whom the name of king seemed
to belong so well by right as to this man, whatever his rank might
be. He stood and looked round for a moment, as if the dim light
from the high windows was not enough to show him where we were at
first, and I could not take my eyes from him.
He was not tall, but very square of shoulder and deep of chest,
with mighty arms that were bare, save for their heavy gold
bracelets, below the sleeves of his ring mail, and his hair and
beard were golden red and very long. He wore a silvered helm,
whereon was inlaid a golden cross above a narrow gold circlet that
was round its rim, and his hand rested on the hilt of such a
priceless sword as is told of in the old tales of the heroes. But I
forgot all these things as I looked into his pleasant weatherbeaten
face, and saw the kindly look in the gray eyes that I knew would
flash most terribly in fight. He was twenty-five years old, as I
thought; but therein I was wrong, for he was just my own age,
though looking so much older.
"I am Olaf Haraldsson--Olaf Digri, the Thick, as men call me," he
said. "Some call me king, though I rule but over a few ships, as a
sea king. Which of you thanes is Eadmund the Atheling?"
Then Eadmund rose up from his place, and went towards the king. His
seat had been in shadow, else there had been no need to ask which
was he.
"I have heard of you, King Olaf," he said, "for your deeds are sung
in our land already. And you are most welcome. Have you news from
England?"
So those two grasped each other's hands, and I think there were no
two other such men living at that time. It was good to see them
together.
"Aye," said the king, "I have been in England, and therefore I have
come to find you. Swein is dead, and your chance has come. Let me
help you to win your land again."
That was plain speaking, and for the moment Eadmund held his
breath, and could not speak for sheer surprise and gladness. But I
could not forbear leaping up and shouting, tossing my helm in the
air as I did so, so wondrous was all this to me, and so full of
hope.
At that Olaf laughed, and leaving Eadmund to his thoughts, turned
to me.
"Which of the athelings are you?" he asked. "I have heard of
Eadmund's brothers," and he held out his strong hand to take mine.
"I am but the atheling's comrade--his servant, rather," I said,
growing red as I did so, for I had surely forgotten myself in my
gladness.
"Redwald is no servant, King Olaf," said Eadmund quickly. "He is my
closest comrade here, and has fought well at my side. Thane of
Bures in East Anglia he is--but now the Danes hold his place."
"Why then," said Olaf, "Thoralf's grandson surely?"
"Aye, king," I answered, wondering; "my grandfather was named
Thoralf. He was one of Olaf Tryggvesson's chiefs."
"Then have I found a cousin," laughed the king. "Give me your hand,
kinsman," and he looked me over from head to foot, but very kindly.
I took the king's hand gladly, but somewhat dazed in my mind at
being thus owned. And Olaf saw that I was so, and told me more.
"Asta, my good mother, was this Thoralf's cousin, and we Norsemen
do not lose count of our kin. So I knew well that Thoralf found an
English home and wife when Olaf Tryggvesson was first in England,
and that he was Thane of Bures by some right of his lady. So I
knew, when I heard your name and place, that I had found a kinsman.
And I have so few that I am glad."
Now I knew that this was true, but we had never thought much of
Thoralf, rather priding ourselves on his wife's long descent from
King Redwald. I wished for the first time now that I knew more of
this Norse grandfather of mine.
"Presently we will find Rani, my foster father, who is with the
ships," said Olaf; "he knew Thoralf well. You and I must see much
of one another, cousin."
Then he turned to Eadmund, who was, as it seemed, well pleased that
I had found so good a friend. And he said:
"Forgive me if I have forgotten greater matters for a moment. But I
cannot greet a kinsman coldly, and it is in my mind that Redwald is
a cousin worth finding, if I may judge by the way in which he
hailed my news."
"Truly," said Eadmund, "I am minded to do as he did, now that I
have taken all the wonder of it in. But it seems over good to be
true--Swein dead--and your offered help!"
Then they both laughed, well content, and so Eadmund called the
steward, and wine and meat were set for the king, and they sat down
and talked, as he ate with a sailor's hunger. But I listened not to
their talk, my mind being over full of this good fortune of my own.
I had none left of my own kin, and till today I had been as it were
alone.
Presently, however, I heard an East Anglian name that was dear to
me. Eadmund asked how it was that Swein Forkbeard had died, for
none thought that his end was yet to be thought of as near. Now it
would seem that he had gone suddenly.
"He was at Gainsborough," said Olaf, "and he was about to make his
way south to Eadmund's burg. Whereon men say that to save his town
and shrine the holy martyr, King Eadmund, whom Ingvar slew, thrust
Swein through with an iron lance. Some say that he slew him
otherwise, but all agree as to his slayer. And now I think that
England will rise."
"What of Cnut, Swein's son?" asked Eadmund.
"He is but a boy. What he may be in a few years' time I know not.
With him it will be as with myself. I was given a ship when I was
twelve years old, and thereafter all that my men did goes to my
credit in the mouths of the scalds. Yet my men and I know well that
Rani, my foster father, whom you will soon know, was the real
captain and leader for the first three or four years."
Then said Eadmund:
"Cnut is of no account."
Olaf laughed a little, and answered:
"Cnut's own arm may be of little strength, but his name is on the
lips of every Dane. There are three chiefs who will hold the
kingdom in his name, and they are the men whom you must meet:
Thorkel the High, his foster father; Ulf Sprakalegsson the jarl,
his brother-in-law; and Eirik the jarl, whose brother Homing holds
London even now. Good men and loyal they are, and what they do Cnut
does."
"I have three chiefs in my mind who can match these," said our
atheling. "Olaf the king, and Ulfkytel of East Anglia, and Edric
Streone, my foster father."
Then Olaf looked in the face of Eadmund, as it seemed to me in
surprise, and made no answer.
"Are we not equal then?" asked the atheling.
"I have heard that Edric Streone is on the Danish side," said Olaf.
"Cannot Utred of Northumbria be trusted?"
"Edric has but sought rest, from need," answered Eadmund. "I know
not what else he could do at last. He will join us again as soon as
we land. So also will Utred."
"Then we are equal," said the king, while a cloud seemed to pass
from his face, for Streone led all Mercia, and were he in truth on
our side things would go well. It was no very secret talk among
some of us that Edric the earl had made peace sooner than might
have been, but that angered Eadmund and the king sorely if so much
were even hinted.
"Then you will indeed help us?" said Eadmund, for Olaf had accepted
the place he had named for him as it were.
"I have a debt to England that I can never repay," answered the
king gravely. "She gave us our first teachers in the Christian
faith. And Swein has held Norway, my own land, with the help of the
heathen jarls who are yet there. I fight the fight of the Cross,
therefore, and when I go back to my own land, it will be to sweep
away the last worship of Odin and Thor. But the time has not come
yet," and his eyes shone strangely.
"When it comes I will help you," said Eadmund, "if it may be that I
can do so."
"I know it, and I thank you; but it is my thought that I shall need
no help," said the king, while the look on his face was very
wondrous, so that I had never seen the like. It minded me of the
pictures of St. Stephen that I saw in a great church here with
Abbot Elfric and Eadward. Then he spoke of the spread of the Faith
in Norway, and how that he would be the one who should finish what
Olaf Tryggvesson, his cousin, had begun; and one might see that he
longed for power and kingship only for that work.
Long did those two warriors talk before they turned to lighter
matters, and in the end they planned to ride to Rouen to see the
king himself on the next day. But before night fell there came more
news with another ship that came alone into the haven. And she was
English, bearing messengers from the great witan itself.
These thanes told Eadmund their news, and it was this:
That Cnut had been hailed as king by the Danish host at
Gainsborough, but that the English people begged Ethelred to return
to them, promising that a good force should be ready to meet him on
his landing. Already the London folk had planned a rising there and
in the great towns against the Thingmen, as the Danish paid
garrisons were called, and it was likely that this had by this time
come about.
So at once Eadmund went with these thanes to Rouen, and Olaf would
have me bide with him till word came from the king as to the next
doings.
That was a pleasant time to me, for I grew to love Olaf, and he was
never willing that I should be far from him. Then, too, I heard
many tales of my grandfather Thoralf from Rani, the old viking who
had fought beside him, and had been with Tryggvesson when he was
christened in England. And of all Olaf's men I liked best Ottar the
Black, the scald, who was but five years older than myself, but who
had yet seen much fighting with the king both by land and sea. We
sang much together, for I was willing to learn from him, and he to
teach me.
Now of this singing there is one thing that I will set down, for
the matter comes into my story again.
One day Ottar sang the saga of the sword of Hiorvard; how the
maiden warrior won it from the grave mound of her father, Angantyr,
in spite of terror of the dead hero, and of the unearthly fires.
That was a good saga, and when it was ended old Rani said:
"Thoralf had a sword that was won by his father from a chief's
grave mound in Vendland, It was the most wondrous sword, save only
Olaf's 'Hneitir' yonder, that I have ever seen. Silver and gold was
its hilt, and the blade was wrought in patterns on the steel, and
there were runes in gold close to the hilt. He would call it 'Foe's
Bane', and that in truth was what the sword was."
I knew only too well that that sword became my father's in his
turn, and now it was lost to me.
"My father fell with sword 'Foe's Bane' in his hand," I said sadly.
"Yet I know that the name was not belied ere he did so."
"Then the Danes have it," said Rani, "and it will come back to
you."
I remembered that Ethelred himself had spoken of the sword, and how
I had made his face fall when he heard that it was lost. Nor had I
been long at court before I heard words from one thane or another
that seemed to say that Edric Streone had made light of our defeat,
for some reasons of his own.
"I must win it back," I said.
"If there is aught in old sayings," answered Ottar, "the sword will
draw its holder to face you, unless he won it in fair fight hand to
hand."
Thereat Olaf laughed, and no more was said. But in years to come
there were told strange tales of the longing, as it were, of his
own sword 'Hneitir' to be back at its master's side.
So the time went quickly for me, but to Olaf the waiting seemed
long before Eadmund rode back from Rouen. And with him came those
thanes and his half-brother Eadward, but Ethelred himself was not
with them. He would not go to England, fearing treachery as it
seemed; but Eadward was to go over and meet the witan and speak
with them. Yet the thanes said that without the king no force would
move.
"Why does he not go?" said Olaf impatiently. "Here is time lost
when a sudden blow would win all."
"Because he is Ethelred the Unredy," answered Eadmund shortly, for
he was very angry at the delay.
Then was another waiting, but Eadward was very wise though he was
so young, being but twelve years old at this time, and he had
Elfric the abbot with him, and at last word came from him that all
was going well. Then Ethelred made up his mind and listened to
Olaf's counsel.
"Strike at London," he said. "We know that the citizens are ever
loyal."
They had risen, as it seemed, and had slain many of the thingmen,
and Heming, Thorkel's brother, himself. That had but brought on
them hardships and a stronger garrison, while Ethelred wavered and
would not come.
At last Ethelred gathered what few men would follow him from
Normandy and sailed to go to Southampton, and so to Winchester.
Richard the Duke gave him a few ships and men enough to man them.
Then Olaf, as it was planned, would sail up the Thames in such time
as to meet the king's land force at London on a certain day, and
thus take the city by a double attack. And Olaf asked that I might
sail with him.
That Eadmund gladly agreed to, saying that we should meet on London
Bridge shortly, and so I saw him set out full of hope, and then
waited with Olaf for the short time that he would yet stay before
sailing. He would not reach the Thames too early lest London should
be held in too great force for us, and it was his plan that we
should sail up the great river too suddenly for any new Danish
force to be gathered.
Now on the evening before we sailed Olaf the king was restless, and
silent beyond his wont at the feasting before departure, and he
seemed to take little pleasure even in the songs of Ottar the
scald, though the men praised them loudly. I thought it likely that
some foreboding was on him, and that is no good sign before a
fight.
So presently I spoke to Rani, asking him if aught ailed the king.
Whereat he answered, smiling:
"Nought ails him but longing to be sword to sword with these old
foes of ours. This is his way, ever. If he were gay as Biorn the
marshal yonder I might wonder at him maybe."
But presently Olaf rose up and bade Rani take his place, saying
that he would go down to the ships to see that all was well. And
then he beckoned me to follow him, and we went down the long hall
together. It would seem that this was no new thing that he should
leave the feast there, for the little hush that fell as we passed
the long tables lasted no long time, and the men seemed not
surprised. Indeed King Olaf had little love for sitting over the
ale cup, and no man was more careful to see to all things about his
ships and men than he.
The great doors closed after us, and we stood in the white
moonlight for a moment. The air was cold and sharp after the warmth
of the crowded hall. Down in the harbour the water was quiet
enough, but outside a fair breeze was blowing from the southwest.
"The wind will hold, and will serve us well," said Olaf. "Who of
all the Danish hosts will deem that such a wind is bringing fire
and sword on them from across the sea?"
Then he folded his cloak round him and we went down to the harbour,
where the long line of ships lay side by side along the wharf with
their bows shoreward. The great dragon stem heads towered over us,
shining strangely in the moonlight, and the gentle send of the
waves into the harbour made them sway and creak as though they were
coming to life.
"The dragons are restless as I," he said looking up at them.
"Tomorrow, hungry ones--tomorrow--then shall you and I be set free
to meet wind and wave and foe again."
Then one of the men on watch began to sing, and his song was an old
sea stave that had a swing and roll in its rough tune that was like
the broken surge of sea water, even while it was timed to the fall
of oar blades into the surf. One may not say how old those songs
are that the seamen sing.
"That is the dragon's answer," said the king to me. "Sing, Redwald,
and take your part."
So when the man came to the part where all should join, I took up
the song with him, and then many others of the men joined in--some
five or six in each ship.
"That is good," said Olaf, laughing softly. "Here are men whose
hearts are light."
The man who sang first came now and looked over the high bows of
the ship, and his figure was black against the moonlight.
"Ho, master scald!" he cried in his great voice, "now shall you
sing the rest. You have put me out of conceit with my own singing.
Why are you not at the feast, where I would be if I were not tied
here!"
"He is keeping the dragons awake," laughed the king. "Nor do I
think that even a feast would take you from the ship just as the
tide is on the turn."
"Maybe not, lord king," answered the man, lifting his hand in
salute. "But the dragons will be wakeful enough--never fear for
them."
So the king answered back cheerily, and other men came and
listened, and so at last he turned away, leaving the men who loved
him pleased and the happier for his coming thus.
Now I thought that we should have gone back to the hall; but Olaf
walked away from the town, going along the shore. The tide was just
out, and the flow would soon begin. Soon we lost sight of the last
lights from the houses, and still he went on, and I followed him,
not speaking, for I knew not what plans he was making.
At last we came to a place to which I had not been before, and it
was lonely enough. The forest came down to the beach, and the land
was low and sheltered between the hills. There the king stayed,
sitting down on a fallen tree and resting his chin on his hand, as
he looked out over the water with grave eyes that seemed to see far
beyond the tossing waves.
I rested beside him, and there we bided silent for an hour or more.
There was only the sound of the wind in the storm-twisted trees
behind us, and of the waves as they broke along the edge of the
bare sands, where a few waking sea birds ran and piped unseen by
us. Almost had I slept with those well-known sounds in my ears.
Then suddenly the king lifted his head, and spoke one word to me:
"Listen," he said.
I roused, but all that I could hear at first were the sounds that I
had forgotten--the song of the wind in the trees, the rush of the
breakers, and the cry of the sea birds across the sands.
Then my heart began to beat wildly, for out of these sounds, or
among them, began to come clearly, and yet more clearly the sound
of the tread of many armed feet--the passing of a mighty host--and
with that the thunder of the war song, and the cry of those who
bade farewell. And these sounds passed over us and around us, going
seawards; then they died away out towards the north, and were gone.
Yet still the king listened, and again came the tramp of the armed
thousands, and the war song, and the voices of parting, and they
passed, and came, and passed yet once more.
Then after the third time there was nought but the sound of wind
and wave and sea fowl, and I drew closer to Olaf and asked him:
"What is this that we hear?"
"Wait," he said, and pointed seaward.
Then I looked, and I saw all the northern sky glow red as glows the
light of a burning town on the low clouds when the host that has
fired it looks back on its work. And plain and clear in the silver
moonlight against the crimson sky sat the wraith of a king, throned
on the sand at the very water's edge, and round him stood shadowy
nobles, looking seaward.
And even as I saw it the first wave of the rising tide sent its
edge of foam shorewards, and it surged around the kingly feet and
sapped the base of the throne, and the stately wraith turned and
looked upon the nobles, and was gone.
Then faded the red light from the sky, and the waves washed over
the place where the throne and court had been, and Olaf rose up and
looked in my face. Nor was there fear of what he had seen and heard
written in his quiet look.
"What is this, my king?" I said, trembling with the fear that comes
of things beyond our ken.
"It is the fate of England that is falling on her," he said
quietly.
"Read it me, for I fear what I have heard and seen," I said.
"We have heard the going of mighty hosts to England, and we have
heard the sound of farewell. But we have heard no shout of victory,
or wailing for defeat. Little therefore will be gained or lost by
this sailing of ours. Yet all is surely lost if we sail not."
Then he ceased, but he had not yet spoken of what we saw, and I
waited for his words. Yet still he stood silent, and looked out
over the sea, until I was fain to ask him what the vision meant.
"Surely it was the wraith of a son of Swein that we saw," he said;
"but it will be long years ere Cnut bears that likeness, for that
was of a man full grown and mighty."
Now the reading of this was beyond me, for I have no skill in these
matters, as had Olaf. And he said nought for a little while, but
seemed to ponder over it.
"Now I know," said he at last. "What we have seen is the outcome of
the going of the hosts to England. There shall be a Danish kingdom
built upon sand. Cnut shall reign, but his throne shall fall. The
wave of English love for England's kings of her own race cannot be
stayed."
Then I was downcast, for hope that the Danes would be driven from
the land had filled all my mind, and I said:
"Surely the vision may mean that we shall sweep away the Danish
rule as the waves sapped the throne and swept over its place."
"Aye, may it be so," answered Olaf. "Often one may read these
visions best even as their bodings come to pass. Let us go back.
This is a lonesome place, and strange fancies weigh down a man's
mind when all he may hear is the wind singing to the surges. Maybe
these are but dreams. What matters it if Cnut reigns over the old
Danelagh as Guthrum reigned, if Ethelred is overlord? It will be
again as in Alfred's days, and once more an English king over the
English folk, when Cnut is gone."
So he turned, and led the way back towards the town, and when we
saw the lights close at hand, he bade me say nought of this to any
man.
"We have seen strange things, cousin," he said, taking my arm, "and
they will be better untold. You and I may see their meaning
hereafter, and maybe shall have a share in their working out. Now
let us sleep, and dream only of seeing England again tomorrow."