ALWIN'S BANE
Much goes worse than is expected.
Ha'vama'l
The light of the short day had faded, but the wind had not gone down
with the sun. Powdery snow choked the air in a blinding storm. One could
not distinguish a house, though it were within a foot of his eyes.
"If I do not come to the gate before long," Alwin observed to the shaggy
little Norwegian pony along whose neck he was bending, "I shall believe
that the fences have been snowed under."
He had been sent out to find another of Biorn's sailors who chanced to
be visiting in the neighborhood, to invite him to come to Brattahlid and
tell what else he might know concerning his chiefs voyage,--a subject in
which Leif had become strangely interested. Alwin had accomplished his
errand, and was returning half-frozen and with a ravenous appetite that
made him doubly impatient over their slow progress.
"If we do not get there before long," he repeated to the pony, with a
dig into his flanks, "I shall get afraid that the drifts have covered
the houses also, and that we are already riding over the roofs without
knowing it."
But as he said it, a tall gate-post rose on either side of him; and the
pony turned to the left and began groping his way across the courtyard
to his stable.
The windows of the great hall glowed with light, and warmth and jovial
voices and fragrant smells burst out upon the storm with every swing of
the broad door. As soon as he had stabled his horse, Alwin hurried
toward it eagerly, and, stamping and shaking off the snow, pushed his
way in through the crowd of house-thralls, who were running to and from
the pantry with bowls and trenchers and loads of food. He hoped that
Leif was there, so that he should not have to go back across the snowy
courtyard to the sleeping-loft to make his report. Stopping just inside
the threshold, he looked about for him, blinking in the strong light and
shaking back the wet fur of his collar.
It seemed as though every member of the house-hold except Leif were
lounging along the benches, waiting for the evening meal. Eric leaned
against one arm of his high-seat, talking jovially with Thorhall the
steward, who had returned that morning from seal-hunting. Thorhild bent
over the other arm, and gesticulated vigorously with her keys, as she
gave her housekeeper some last directions regarding the food. Further
along, Sigurd and Helga sat at draughts. Near at hand, a big fur ball,
which was the outward and visible sign of Tyrker, was rolled up close to
a chess-board. Only Leif's cushioned seat was empty.
With petulant force, Alwin jammed his bearskin cap down upon his head
and turned to retrace his steps. Turning, his eye fell upon an object
that Eric had just taken from the steward and held up to the light to
examine. The flames caught at it eagerly, flashing and sparkling, so
that even at that distance Alwin had no difficulty in recognizing the
brass-hilted knife. Eric burst into a mighty roar of laughter. His
voice, never greatly subdued, penetrated to every corner of the room. "I
could stake my head that it is Leif's! I myself gave it to him for a
name-fastening. And you found it in Skroppa's den? Oh, this is worth a
hearing! Here is mirth! In Skroppa's den,--Leif the Christian! Ho,
Flein, Asmund, Adils, comrades,--listen to this! No jester ever invented
such a jest."
He got on his feet and beckoned them with both arms, stamping with
laughter. Catching sight of Alwin's white face at the door,--for it was
ashen white,--he beckoned him also, with a fresh burst of malicious
laughter.
"And you, you little priest-robed puppet, come nearer, so you shall not
lose a word. Oh, it will be great fun for you! And for you, my
Thorhild,--and the haughty-headed Helga! And gray old Tyrker too! Listen
now, Graybeard, and learn, even with one foot in the grave. Saw you
never such a game as this foster-son of yours has played with unchanging
face!" He choked with his laughter, so that his face grew purple; and
the household waited, leaning from the benches, nudging and whispering;
the servants gaping over the dishes in their hands; Alwin standing by
the door, motionless as the dead; Sigurd sitting, still as the dead, in
his place.
Stamping and rocking himself back and forth, and banging on the arm of
his seat, the Red One got his breath at last, and bellowed it out. "Leif
the Christian in the den of Skroppa the Witch! His knife proves it;
Thorhall found it among the rocks at her very door. Saw I never such
slyness! Think of it, comrades; he is driven to ask help of Skroppa,--he
who feigns to scowl at her very name!--he who would have us believe in a
god that he does not trust in himself! Here is an unheard-of
two-facedness! Never was such a fraud since Loki. Here is merriment for
all!"
He continued to shout it over and over, roaring with mocking laughter;
his men nudging each other, sniggering and grinning and calling gibes
across the fire. Leif's men sprang up, burning with rage and
shame,--then stood speechless, daring neither to deny nor resent it.
Alwin made a quick step forward to where the firelight revealed him to
all in the room, and cried out hoarsely: "Here is falsehood! My hand,
and no other, took Leif Ericsson's knife to the den of Skroppa the
Witch."
Motion and sound stopped for a moment,--as though the icy blast, that
came just then through the opening door, had frozen all the life in the
room. Then a voice called out that the thrall was lying to cover his
master; and Eric's laughter burst out anew, and the jeering redoubled.
But Alwin's voice rose high above it. "Fools! Is it worth while for me
to give my life for a lie? Ask Sigurd Haraldsson, if you will not
believe me. He knows that I went there on Yule Eve, to ask concerning my
freedom. The knife slipped from my belt as I was climbing the rocks.
Leif knew of it no more than you. Ask Sigurd Haraldsson, if you will not
believe me."
Sigurd rose and tried to speak, but his tongue had become like a
withered leaf in his mouth, so that he could only bow his head.
Yet from him, that was enough. Such an uproar of delight broke from
Leif's men as drowned all the jeering that had gone before, and made the
rafters ring with exulting. Alwin knew that, whatever else he would have
to bear, at least that lie was not upon him, and he drew a deep breath
of relief. All the light did not die out of his face, even when Leif
stepped out of the shadow of the door and stood before him.
She had not spoken falsely who had said that the fire of Eric burned in
the veins of his son. In his white-hot anger, the guardsman's face was
terrible. Death was in his stern-set mouth, and death blazed from his
eyes. Rolf, Sigurd, Helga, even Valbrand, cried out for mercy; but Alwin
read the look aright, and asked for nothing that was not there.
While their cries were still in the air, Leif's blade leaped from its
scabbard, quivered in the light, and flashed down, biting through fur
and hair and flesh and bone. Without a sound, Alwin fell forward
heavily, and lay upon his face at his master's feet.
That all men might know whose hand had done the deed, Leif flung the
dripping sword down beside its victim, and without speaking, strode out
of the room.
Then a strange thing happened. Helga ran over to where the lifeless heap
lay in a widening pool of blood, and raised the wounded head in her
arms, and rained down upon the still white face such tears as no one had
ever thought to see her shed. When Thorhild came to take her away, she
cried out, so that every one could hear:
"Do you not understand?--I loved him. I did not find it out until now. I
loved him with all my heart, and now he will never know! I--loved him."