Chapter 2: Men Of Three Kingdoms.
Chapter 3: The Ship Of Silence.
Chapter 4: By Sea And Fire.
Chapter 5: Vision And Pursuit.
Chapter 6: A Sea Queen's Champions.
Chapter 7: The Treasure Of The King.
Chapter 8: Storm And Salvage.
Chapter 9: The Isle Of Hermits.
Chapter 10: Planning And Learning.
Chapter 11: The Summons Of The Beacons.
Chapter 12: With Sail And Oar.
Chapter 13: Athelstane's Foster Son.
Chapter 14: Dane And Irishman.
Chapter 15: The Torque And Its Wearer.
Chapter 16: In Old Norway.
Chapter 17: Homeward Bound.
Chapter 18: A Sea Queen's Welcome.
Notes.
Preface.
Few words of introduction are needed for this story, excepting such
as may refer to the sources of the details involved.
The outfit of the funeral ship is practically that of the vessel
found in the mound at Goekstadt, and now in the museum at
Christiania, supplemented with a few details from the ship
disinterred last year near Toensberg, in the same district. In both
these cases the treasure has been taken from the mound by raiders,
who must have broken into the chamber shortly after the interment;
but other finds have been fully large enough to furnish details of
what would be buried with a chief of note.
With regard to the seamanship involved, there are incidents
recorded in the Sagas, as well as the use of a definite phrase for
"beating to windward," which prove that the handling of a Viking
ship was necessarily much the same as that of a square-rigged
vessel of today. The experience of the men who sailed the
reconstructed duplicate of the Goekstadt ship across the Atlantic
to the Chicago Exhibition bears this out entirely. The powers of
the beautifully designed ship were by no means limited to running
before the wind.
The museum at Christiania has a good example of the full war gear
of a lady of the Viking times.
Hakon, the son of Harald Fairhair, and foster son of our
Athelstane, took the throne of Norway in A.D. 935, which is
approximately the date of the story therefore. The long warfare
waged by Dane and Norseman against the Irishman at that time, and
the incidental troubles of the numerous island hermits on the Irish
coast, are written in the Irish annals, and perhaps most fully in
"the wars of the Gaedhil and the Gaill."
Chas. W. Whistler.
Stockland, 1906.
Chapter 1: The Old Chief And The Young.
The black smoke eddied and wavered as it rose over my father's
burning hall, and then the little sea breeze took it and swept it
inland over the heath-clad Caithness hills which I loved. Save for
that black cloud, the June sky was bright and blue overhead, and in
the sunshine one could not see the red tongues of flame that were
licking up the last timbers of the house where I was born. Round
the walls, beyond reach of smoke and heat, stood the foemen who had
wrought the harm, and nearer the great door lay those of our men
who had fallen at the first. There were foemen there also, for it
had been a good fight.
At last the roof fell in with a mighty crash and uprush of smoke
and sparks, while out of the smother reeled and staggered half a
dozen men who had in some way escaped the falling timbers. I think
they had been those who still guarded the doorway, being unwounded.
But among them were not my father and brothers, and I knew that I
was the last of my line by that absence.
It was not my fault that I was not lying with them under our roof
yonder. I had headed a charge by a dozen of our best men, when it
seemed that a charge might at least give time for the escape of the
few women of the house to the glen. My father had bidden me, and we
went, and did our best. We won the time we fought for, and that was
all. Some of us got back to the hall, and the rest bided where they
fell. As for me, I had been stunned by an axe blow, which my helm
had turned, and came to myself to find that I was bound hand and
foot, and set aside under the stable wall with two others of our
men, captives also. Thence I must watch all that went on,
helplessly, and after the roof fell I cared no more what should be
done with me, for I was alone and desolate.
Nor did I know who these foemen were, or why they had fallen on us.
In the gray of the morning they had come from inland, and were
round the hall while we broke our fast. We had snatched our weapons
as best we might, and done what we could, but the numbers against
us were too great from the first.
They had come from inland, but they were not Scots. We were at
peace with all the Caithness folk, and had been so for years,
though we had few dealings with them. My father had won a place for
himself and his men here on the Caithness shore in the days when
Harald Harfager had set all Norway under him, for he was one of
those jarls who would not bow to him, and left that old Norse land
which I had never seen. Presently, he handselled peace for himself
here by marriage with my mother, the daughter of a great Scots lord
of the lands; and thereafter had built the hall, and made the
haven, and won a few fields from the once barren hillside. And now
we had been well to do, till this foe came and ended all.
They were not Norsemen either. The Orkney jarls were our friends,
and for us Harald cared not. Norsemen on the Viking path we knew
and welcomed, and being of that brotherhood ourselves, we had
nothing to fear from them. It is true that we owned no king or
overlord, but if the Scots king asked for scatt we paid it,
grumbling, for the sake of peace. My father was wont to call it
rent for the hillsides we tilled.
Yet it would have been better to be swept out of the land by the
Scots we won it from, than to be ruined thus for no reason but that
of wanton savagery and lust of plunder, as it seemed. At least they
would have given us fair warning that they meant to end our stay
among them, and take the place we had made into their own hands.
Well, no doubt, I should find out more presently. Meanwhile, as I
have said, I cared for naught, lying still without a word. Then the
men from out of the hall were brought and set with us; for, blinded
as they were with the smoke, it had been easy to take them. That
one who was set down next me was black from head to foot and
scorched with the burning, but he tried to laugh as his eyes met
mine. It was Dalfin of Maghera, the Irish guest who was with us. He
had taken a passage in a Norse ship from Belfast, meaning to see
lands across the sea, and had bided here when he found that we
could show him hunting such as he had never heard of. The mighty
aurochs still fed on our hills, and we told tales in hall when
guests wondered at the great heads that were on the walls, of how
this one and that had been won. The ship had put in here to wait
for wind, and of course we were glad to see her crew and hear what
news they had of the greater world.
"Friend," I said, "it is hard that you should be brought to this
pass."
"It has been the best fight I ever knew," he answered. "The only
pity is that it has gone the wrong way. But yonder is a grand
funeral pile for the brave men who have fallen. Surely the smoke
will bring down the whole countryside on these ruffians?"
I shook my head. What happened to us was the affair of no Scot.
Rather they would be setting their own places in order in case
their turn came next.
"Well," said Dalfin, "whom are we fighting, then?"
One of our men answered him. He was a Norseman, named Sidroc.
"Red hand, wandering Vikings. Wastrels from every land, and no
man's men. Most of them are Danes, but I have heard the tongues of
Frisian and Finn and Northumbrian amongst them. We are in evil
case, for slavery is the least we have to fear."
"Nay," said Dalfin; "death is a lesser evil than that."
"A man may make shift to escape from slavery," answered the other,
and both were silent.
Then for a moment I had half a hope that help was at hand for us,
if too late. Round the westward point crept two longships under
their broad, brown sails, making for our haven. But a second glance
told me that they were the ships belonging to this crew. Doubtless,
they had landed the force somewhere along the coast beyond our ken,
and now were coming to see how the raid had fared. The matter was
plain enough to me now.
Half a dozen men came toward us at this time, leaving the rest to
sort the piles of plunder they had brought from the village. I was
glad, in a sort of dull way, that none of it came from the hall,
for at least no one of them might boast that he wore my father's
weapons and war gear. The foremost of these men were a gray-haired
old chief and a young man of about my own age, who was plainly his
son; and I thought it certain that these two were the leaders of
the foe. They were well armed at all points, and richly clad
enough, and I could but think them of gentle birth. The men who
followed them were hard-featured warriors, whose dress and weapons
were strange to me.
We sat still and stared back at them, as they stood before us,
wondering little and caring less, so far as I was concerned, for
what they thought or would say. The old chief ran his eye down our
wretched line, stroking his long beard as if noting our points,
while the young man seemed to have a sort of pity for us written on
his face.
"Well," said the old chief at last, "you have made a good fight, if
foolish. You shall have your chance. Which of you will join me?"
"Tell us who you are first," said Dalfin; "that is only fair."
"I am Heidrek the Seafarer, and this is Asbiorn, my son. Mayhap you
have heard of us before."
I had done so. One of the men in our group had fled to us from
Banff a year ago, after just such a raid as this. I heard him groan
as the name was spoken.
Heidrek heard also, and laughed shortly.
"It seems that I am known," he said. "Well, make your choice. The
other choice is death, of course. I can leave no one to say that I
am collecting goods from this shore."
"Kill me, then," said Dalfin, while I made no answer.
Two of our men cried that they would join him, and their bonds were
cut by Heidrek's followers. One of them set himself by my side and
spoke to me at once.
"There are worse things than going on the Viking path, Malcolm, son
of my jarl," he said earnestly. "Blame me not."
I turned my head from him. Maybe I was wrong, but it seemed like
treachery. Yet, after all, save myself there was not one left of
our line, and he was deserting no one. Both these two were single
men.
Young Asbiorn heard the man name me, and he came a pace nearer.
"So you are the son of the chief here," he said quietly. "What is
your name and rank? Will anyone ransom you?"
"I am the youngest son--I am worth nothing to any man," I said.
"He is Malcolm, the jarl's best-loved son," said that man of ours
who had asked my pardon. "Maybe his mother's folk will ransom him.
His grandfather is Melbrigda, the Scots jarl over yonder."
He pointed across the hills where the smoke hung among the heather,
and at that old Heidrek laughed, while the men at his heels
chuckled evilly. For some reason of their own, which, maybe, was
not far to seek, they were certain that Melbrigda could find ransom
for no one at this time, if he would. Asbiorn turned to our guest,
seeing, no doubt, that he was not of the house carles. The great
gold torque on his neck seemed to shine all the more brightly by
reason of the blackened mail and cloak that half hid it.
"My name?" said Dalfin, with a flash of pride in his gray eyes. "It
is Dalfin, prince of Maghera, in Ireland, of the line of the Ulster
kings. Kill me, and boast that once you slew a prince. No need to
say that I was bound when you did it."
He spoke the Danish of Waterford and Dublin well enough.
Asbiorn flushed, with some sort of manly shame, as I believe, and
even old Heidrek frowned uneasily. To have the deed they threatened
set in all its shame before them was a new thing to them.
"Let the prince go, chief," I said, seeing this look. "He is a
guest, and if this is some old feud with my father of which I have
not heard, he does not come into it. He is a guest of the house."
"Faith," answered Heidrek savagely, "he has made it his own affair.
He has been the bane of three of my best men. Aye, I have a feud
here, and with all who dwell at ease. I am Heidrek the Seafarer."
He turned away, and left us with some sign to his men; but Asbiorn
stood still and spoke again to us.
"You bear a Scottish name," he said. "Have you no Scottish kin
besides Melbrigda?"
I shook my head, whereon Dalfin spoke for me.
"Here," he said, "if it is just a matter of ransom, let us both go;
and come to Belfast in a year's time, or six months' time, an you
will. Then my father will pay chief's ransom for the two of us. My
word as a prince on it."
"It is a new thing with us to take ransom, or the word of any man,"
answered Asbiorn doubtfully, yet as if the plan seemed good to him.
One of the men who followed him broke in on that,
"No use, Asbiorn. We cannot put into any Irish port in safety. And
over there princes are thick as blackberries, and as poor as the
brambles that bear them."
"Aye, and as prickly," said Dalfin. "Have you learned that also?"
The men laughed. One of them said that the Irishman's Danish speech
was not bad, and that it was a pity--
"So it is," Asbiorn put in hastily. "I will speak to my father."
The old chief was back with his crew, settling the sharing of the
plunder. His son took him aside, and their talk was long; and, as
it seemed, not altogether peaceful. Soon the men began to gather
round them, and those with us went to hear what was going on. So we
were left alone for a moment.
"Men," I said, "save your lives as this chief bids you. Join him
now, and leave him when you may."
"Do you join him?" said one in answer.
Not I."
"Neither do we. We live or die with you. What else should courtmen
of the jarl's do?"
So said one of our Norsemen; but the eyes of the Scots were on the
bleak hills, and for them the choice was harder, I think. They had
no ties to us but those of common work and life together, and it
was the old land that they must think of leaving. They said
nothing, for until he has made up his mind a Scot will not answer.
They would have to decide directly, for now Heidrek was coming back
to us. After him were a score or more of his men, and the rest were
loading themselves with the plunder and starting one by one towards
the haven, into which the two ships were just bearing up. They
would be alongside the little wharf by the time the men reached it.
Our own good longship lay there also, and I wondered what they
would do with her. She was too good to burn.
Now Heidrek stood before me and looked at me, glowering, for a
moment.
"Well," he said curtly, "do you join me? Mind you, I would not give
every man the chance, but you and yours are men."
Before I could say aught, and it was on my mind to tell the pirate
what I thought of him, if I spent my last breath in doing it, the
courtman who had spoken with me just now answered for himself.
"We do what the young jarl does," he said; "we follow him."
"The choice was whether you would follow me or not," answered
Heidrek coldly; "I will have no leader but myself."
Some of his wilder followers cried out now that we were wasting
time, and that an end should be made, while a sword or two were
drawn among them. It was the way in which Heidrek's crew were wont
to deal with captives when they had no hope of ransom from them.
That I and my men should join such a crew was not to be thought of,
if for a moment I had half wondered if I ought to save the lives of
these courtmen of ours by yielding. Both I and they would be
shamed, even as Dalfin had said.
So I made no answer, and Heidrek was turning away with a shrug of
his broad shoulders, while the men were only waiting his word to
end the affair. Then Asbiorn, whose face was white and pitying as
he looked at us, gripped his father by the arm and faced him.
"I will not have it thus," he said hoarsely. "The men are brave
men, and it were shame to slay them. Give them to me."
Heidrek laughed at him in a strange way, but the men yelled and
made a rush at us, sword in hand. Whereon Asbiorn swung his round
shield into place from off his shoulder, and gripped his light axe
and faced them. It was the lightness of that axe which had spared
me; but the men knew, and feared it and the skill of the wielder,
and they shrank back.
"What, again?" said Heidrek. "I thought we had settled that
question. What would you with them?"
"That is to be seen. Let me have them."
"Pay for them, then," shouted one of the men. "They are over and
above your share of plunder."
"Aye," said Asbiorn at once, "I claim them for my share. Have them
down to the new ship, and set them in the forepeak till I need
them."
Then old Heidrek laughed harshly.
"Faith, I thought the lad a fool," he said. "Now I know that he
will not be so short-handed as I thought. Some of you who are his
crew will have an easier time at the oar with these slaves to pull
for you."
The men laughed at that, and I knew that the danger was past. I
minded what our man had said at first, how that one might escape
from slavery. And I think that the nearness of death--though, in
truth, not one of us would have shrunk from the steel that was so
ready--had taught me how good a thing life might be even yet.
Most of the men went away, the matter being settled. Heidrek went
also, without another word to his son, and we were left to Asbiorn
and a few men of his own crew. The young chief smiled a little as
he looked again at us, but even Dalfin could not smile back again.
"Now," said Asbiorn, "cast off the lashings from their feet, and
let them walk to the ship. See that they all get there, and set a
watch over the place where they are stowed."
"Are we sailing at once?" a man asked.
"Yes, as usual. The chief has some new plan on foot already."
The end of it was that in a short time we were on board our own
ship, and safely stowed forward, still bound. Heidrek had added her
to his force, and manned her from the other two vessels; but before
we reached the ship I saw that Heidrek's men had piled their slain
into an outhouse, set the fagot stack round it, and fired it to
windward. There was no more honour for their fallen comrades than
that.
So I saw the last of my home in Caithness, and before me was the
life of a slave. They had stripped us of our mail and weapons, of
course, and had handled us roughly, but that might be borne. The
low door of the cramped sail room under the fore deck closed, and
we were in darkness, and then Dalfin set into words the thought of
us all, with a sort of dull groan:
"This morning I woke and thought it good to be alive!"
Almost at once the ship was warped out of the haven, and went to
sea. The last hope I had that the Scots might yet gather and fall
on these pirates left me at that time, and a sort of despair fell
on me. I think I swooned, or slept at that time, for thereafter I
can remember no more until the day was almost spent, and a man came
and opened the low door that he might bring us food--oaten loaves,
and ale in a great jug. Asbiorn stood outside.
"You may as well loose the men," he said carelessly; "we can mind
them well enough."
"More likely to have them out on us in some sort of berserk rage,"
said the man, growling. "I ken what I would do in their place well
enough."
Asbiorn stooped and looked in on us. The light was behind him, and
I could not see his face; but he spoke evenly, and not unkindly.
"Will your men bide quiet if I unbind you all?" he said.
"Aye," I answered. "Why not?"
"Good reason enough why you should," he said.
"Let them loose."
One by one we were unbound, some more men coming forward and
watching us, with their weapons ready, in case we tried to fall on
them. I dare say some old happening of the sort had taught them
caution.
"There are thirty of us on board, mind you," the man who set us
free said, as he gathered the loose cords and went his way. "Better
join us offhand, and make the best of the business."
"Good advice that, maybe," said Dalfin, stretching himself. "Pass
along yon ale pot. I have a mighty thirst on me."
"That is better," said the man, and laughed.
I heard him tell another that the Irishman would come round first;
but Dalfin's foot had warned me that he spoke in no earnest.
Whether my friend had any plan in his mind I could not say, but at
all events there was no use in making our bondage worse than it
might be by sullenness.
It was good to be free from the lashings that had galled us so
sorely, if we were still captives indeed, and had no mind to pass
from the cramped cabin, if one may call the forepeak so much, to
the deck where the foemen sat and made merry with the stores they
had taken from us. The wind was steady and light, and they had
naught to do but rest and eat their supper. Asbiorn steered, and
was alone on the after deck. The two other ships were not to be
seen, and I suppose that they outsailed ours, for she had never
been of the swiftest, though staunch and seaworthy in any weather.
We were heading due north as if we would make the Faroe Islands,
leaving the Orkneys to the starboard.
I wondered if Heidrek had his lair in that far-off spot, whence we
should have not the slightest chance of escape in the days to come;
but I could say nothing to my comrades. Men of the crew sat just
outside the low doorway, with their backs against the bulkhead, as
if set there to overhear what we might say.
I looked among them for those two men of ours who had been ready to
join Heidrek as their one chance of life, but I could not see them.
Perhaps this was no wonder, as it is likely that they were drafted
to the other ships in order to keep them apart from us. It was
certainly the safest thing to do.
Asbiorn himself seemed to have some thought of this sort with
regard to us seven presently. Before sunset, he called some of the
men and bade them bring Dalfin and myself and shut us into the
after cabin, under his own feet, as he sat at the steering oar. Two
of my men were to be left in the fore peak, for they were unhurt
and could be shut in safely, while the other three were set
amidships, with men of the crew round them. These three had some
slight hurts, and a man set about caring for them, roughly but
skilfully enough.
But what I chiefly noticed as we were led aft, was that the ale was
passing freely, and, as I should have thought, too often for good
seamanship. That, however, was not my business, if it did seem to
explain why Asbiorn separated us. Seven desperate men might do much
among a helpless crowd, once they had snatched the arms they could
reach from those who had forgotten to guard them.
The young chief paid no heed to us as we passed into the darkness
of the low cabin. The door was closed and barred after us, and we
were left to our own devices, though in a few minutes some man on
the after deck took off the little square hatch cover which let the
light into the place. It was half full of plunder of all sorts, and
there was barely room, if soft stowage, for us.
"Well," I said to Dalfin, "if we can sleep, let us do so. I know
that every word we speak can be heard on deck."
Whereon he answered me in Erse, and I could understand him well,
for the old tongues of Scot of Ireland and Scot of Caithness are
the same, if ages have wrought some changes in the way of speaking
them here and there.
"Let these Danes make what they can of that," he said. "It will
take a man born to the Gaelic to catch aught of it through yon
hole, if he thinks he understands it in the open."
So in the Erse we spoke for a little while, and it was a hopeless
talk at best. Only we agreed that we would stand by one another
through whatever might come, and that the first chance of escape
was to be taken, be it what it might.
All the while that we talked thus the noise of the men who drank
grew wilder and more foolish. It was a cask of our old heather ale
which they had broached, and that is potent, if to the unwary it
seems harmless enough. Once or twice Asbiorn called to the noisiest
to be still, but they heeded him little.
Soon, however, the noise ceased, and we thought that most of the
men slept. After that was no sound but the wash of the waves, and
the hum of the sail, and the creak of the great steering oar as
Asbiorn met the luff of the ship across the long, smooth sweep of
the waves.
We, too, grew drowsy, for the cabin was close and warm beneath the
sunny decks. All that could be said was said, and so we slept, if
it were but uneasily.