THE WAR SUMMONS.
"There!" thought Ned, as he re├źntered the great central hall of Vebba's
house. "One of those other buildings that are stuck on to this is their
kitchen."
He saw several of the women coming in with dishes through an open
doorway near him, and he stepped forward for a look at the place from
which they came. He saw no cooking stove or range, but there was a
charcoal fire in the middle of the floor. Around this were the cooks
with kettles, gridirons, and saucepans of entirely familiar shapes.
There was no smoke, and instead of it there was an unpleasant smell of
burning charcoal. He noticed particularly that some of the cooking
utensils had a brassy look, and he soon afterward discovered that his
new friends knew how to do a great many things with copper and bronze
as well as with iron and steel.
Almost everybody was now hastening toward the dinner-table on the dais.
If, under ordinary circumstances, noon might be the dinner-hour, upon
this occasion there was a variation. Not only the fishermen of the
family, but several other persons, had but just arrived, and this late
meal was to be something of an affair.
Sitting down at the table appeared to be a matter of particular
ceremony, and it quickly aided Ned in understanding how minute and
sharp were the distinctions of social position and rank among the
Norsemen. They were a free people, but for all that any man's ancestry,
his wealth, and his achievements in war had much to do with the esteem
in which he was held and the place he might sit in. Vebba himself was
evidently of high degree, and he took his seat in the high-backed
middle chair behind the table with great dignity. At his right was
Madame Vebba, as Ned called her, or Wiltna, and at his left was a
short, black-haired woman who wore a gold bracelet and a high cap. She
might be a guest of rank. After these, on either hand, were seated men
and women with evident precision according to some rule. Lars and Ned
and other youths, not yet considered especially distinguished, were at
the left end of the table, and a number of young women and girls were
at the right end. There were many servants to fetch and carry dishes.
"The plates are wooden!" said Ned. "They won't break if you drop
'em. Some of the cups and pitchers are of wood. Made with hoops like
little pails. They make all sorts of pails. Horn cups, crockery, green
glass,--why don't they make window glass, too?"
He had taken his seat by Lars, and the first entirely thoughtless thing
that he did was to speak to one of the men waiters, saying:
"Knife and fork, please."
"Oh!" exclaimed Lars. "I see! He hath no cutter. Bring him a good
blade."
Ned's cheeks were blazing. He had almost forgotten that he was not at
home. There was not one solitary fork in the hall of Vebba the chief.
"No!" he said aloud. "Nor a napkin, nor a table-cloth, nor a potato!"
"I hear thee!" came suddenly in the deep tones of Vebba. "Thou hast
also been taught other tongues. It is well. Thy father is wise with
thee. When the priest cometh he shall talk with thee in Latin, for we
understand him not very well."
"That's it!" thought Ned. "I spoke in English. What'll I do with Latin?"
Then he replied to Vebba:
"I will be glad to see the priest."
"We like him well," said Wiltna. "He is from Ireland, where there are
many such as he, and he cometh here to teach against the old gods of
the North. Most of the people swear by Wodin and Thor to this day. They
change not easily."
Ned did not say anything aloud about their being heathen, but he
blurted out in Norwegian:
"It is just so among us; we have ever so many preachers, and most of
the people do not go by what they say any too well."
Vebba nodded, as if that were understood to be a matter of course
everywhere, and the dinner went on.
"How they do drink beer!" thought Ned. "Nothing else. Every fellow uses
his own sheath-knife and his fingers. Salt, but no pepper. Fair butter.
Pretty good bread. This is goat mutton, is it? I like it pretty well. I
guess there won't be any pie. Fingers were made before forks, as Uncle
Jack says."
Nevertheless, the table manners were very good, and the food was
abundant, fish, flesh, and fowl. The fish, especially, were all that
could be asked for, and the poultry was wild game of several kinds.
Now and then a remark from Vebba or Wiltna came to Ned, politely, but
he was left to Lars and the other youngsters most of the time. It was
manifestly against the rules of good Norse society to ask too many
questions of a guest. Strangers were welcome to come and go, and would
simply be treated according to their degree while there. In fact, much
of the respect with which Ned was now regarded by his new friends
belonged to the fact that he had learned so much from his American
fencing-master,--and he, too, had been French.
The dinner ended for the aristocratic part of the household, all of
lower degree getting their provision afterward, or in other houses or
outer rooms.
It could be seen that this day was of some unusual interest. Other men
were arriving, one by one, and they came in armour, bringing weapons
with them. While they were being welcomed by their hosts, Ned had a
good opportunity for his proposed examination of the ornaments of the
walls of the hall.
Great antlers, fastened here and there, served as hooks on which to
hang things, and all were heavily loaded. There were helmets of many
patterns; shields of all sorts; coats of mail; pieces of armour; coats
of thick leather, with or without plates of metal before and behind;
short-handled and long-handled battle-axes, with single-edged and
double-edged blade-heads of curious shapes; spears, heavy and light,
and swords, some of which seemed as if they were made for giants, for
they were almost as long as a man. In one corner lay several bundles
or sheaves of arrows, and there were plenty of bows.
"I don't believe I could bend some of those bows," thought Ned. "I'd
rather have a revolver, anyhow, or a repeating rifle that would carry a
mile. It would send a bullet through one of those coats of mail, or a
shield, either."
He was called away from his tour of observation by a sudden sound
of music. He whirled upon his feet to see, and there in front of
the table, on the dais, sat four old men with harps, which they
were tuning, getting ready to play. At the same time the hall was
growing lighter. It had been somewhat dusky, but now a strong glare
was reddening over the walls and the black rafters of the roof. The
servants had brought in upright, three-legged cressets of iron-work.
That is, at the top of the upright stem of each of these tripod
cressets was an iron basket, into which fragments and knots of pine
and fir were fed, as they burned. These were the chandeliers of the
dwelling of Vebba, and they answered remarkably well.
"No candles to snuff," thought Ned, "but I'd rather have electric
light, or coal gas, or kerosene. Hullo! They're going to work at the
forge. I wonder if every man around here has a blacksmith shop in his
own house."
Probably not, considering how very costly a thing an anvil and a lot of
hammers and chisels and files might be. Only a rich chief could afford
such an affair as was that forge in the house of Vebba. There was a
charcoal fire upon its masonry now, however, and a brawny, grimy man
in a leather coat was holding a piece of steel in it with tongs, while
another man worked the bellows.
Then the four harpers struck up, and at once the smith began to sing.
Out came his white-hot piece of steel to the anvil, up went a hammer in
his strong right hand, and the thudding blows that he struck kept time
with the music and with the cadences of his anvil-song:
"I forge a sword;
I hammer steel;
It shall cleave shields,
Going through mail.
By it shall men fall.
Hammer! Hammer! Hammer! So do
I shape the steel for the battle."
The smith had a rich, deep, musical voice, and the hall was filled with
a great roar of song when all the other voices in it joined in the
hammer chorus at the end of each stanza. Somewhat slowly the meaning
of it all began to dawn upon the mind of Ned, the son of Webb. This
was not mere forge-work; not the manufacture of one blade more at this
time; it was part of the entertainment of the evening, and there was an
increasing excitement among the Vikings as the singing and harping and
hammering went on.
"It is grand!" thought Ned. "Something else is coming, I know there
is. Hullo! What's that?"
Instantly all the great chorus died away, and every face was turned
toward the open outer door of the hall. Through this doorway had come
a fiercely ringing blast of a powerfully blown war-horn, and now,
striding forward three paces into the hall, was a broad-shouldered,
splendidly armoured warrior, carrying shield and ax.
"Ho, Vebba, son of Bjorn!" he shouted. "Hearken thou and thine to the
summons of Harold Hardrada the King! All is ready for Britain, save
this last of thy keels. Let it follow thee. Be thou at the seaside
the third day hence, and bring with thee every sword and spear of thy
house."
"Hail!" shouted back Vebba, joyfully. "Hail to thee and to thy message
from Harold Hardrada! Bide thou with me this night, O messenger of the
king."
"Not I, Vebba the chief," loudly responded the warrior at the door.
"One horn of ale I will drink, for thy welcome. Then go I onward,
for the summons is hasty, and the steeds of the sea are already
harnessed. I am bidden to say to thee and to all, that the hosts of
the Northland and the lithsmen of Tostig Godwinson the Earl must be in
England to claim the land for their own before the muster of William
of Normandy can cross the sea to land in south Britain. It is to be
ours, and not theirs, to cut down the Saxons of Harold the King. Hail
to Harold Hardrada! Hail to the winning of England by the heroes of the
Northland! My message is done."
A huge silver-mounted horn cup, foaming with ale, was brought to him.
He drank it standing, and it appeared to be out of order to ask him
further questions. At the same time, however, all the excited warriors
present were loudly repeating to each other the substance of this war
news.
Away strode the messenger, whose name escaped the ears of Ned, the son
of Webb, and as he departed the harpers once more struck up a roaring
battle-song. The women were as excited as the men, and many of them had
excellent voices.
"This is splendid!" exclaimed Ned, and at that moment a heavy hand was
laid upon his arm.
"Come thou with me," said one of the older warriors. "It is by the
order of Vebba, the chief. I will show thee thy arms and armour, and
then thou wilt go to thy rest. We are to march in the morning."
"Horses for thee and me," interrupted Lars, at the side of the old
Viking. "It is but six leagues to ride. Then we take ship. There will
be many carts, also."
"All right!" exclaimed Ned, in English, and then he corrected himself
and replied in Norwegian, as he followed them to the house of arms.
Both of them carried pine-knot torches, and when Ned turned at the
doorway to look back upon the Vikings, the women, and the harpers, he
thought he had never seen anything else half so wonderful. The men had
caught weapons and shields from the antlers on the walls, and these, as
well as the anvil and hammer, were now clanging time to the music and
its choruses.
It was only a few steps farther, and then Ned, the son of Webb, was
feverishly examining his new metallic clothing. The helmet handed him
was of bronze. It was plainly made, without any crest, like one which
Lars showed him as his own, and it had a nose-piece in front as well as
a back neck-piece behind. He put it on, and it did not hurt, for it was
lined with padded deer-skin. Next Lars held up before him, to measure
his size, a beautiful coat of linked-steel mail, not too heavy, and
polished till it looked like silver.
"Thou and I must wear our mail at once," he said, "to get used to it.
Even old fighters need to harden a little, after a long peace. Put it
on, but first put on the leather shirt, for thy blue cloth is too thin."
"It would wear to holes in no time," said Ned, and he pulled on over
his outing shirt another of soft goat-leather.
It was a genuine pleasure, then, to find that his splendid mail hauberk
was a capital fit, and did not pinch him at any part. The belt by which
his sword-sheath was to be suspended had also a strap to go over his
right shoulder, the better to sustain the weight. It had a very good
buckle, too, and he wondered why they did not use better buckles on
their harness.
He drew his sword from the sheath to look at it, and was delighted. It
was a slightly curved short sabre, sharp on one edge and at the point,
with a steel cross-hilt that had no guard.
"Thou knowest how to use a sword," said the old Viking, pleasantly.
"Thou wilt be a jarl, some day. These are thy spears and thy shield
and thine ax. Fight thou well before the eyes of Harold Hardrada and
the sea kings, for thou and Lars are but young to face Saxons."
The two spears, longer and shorter, were of the best. The ax was
short-handled, but was heavy enough to need both of Ned's hands to
swing it well. The shield was round, steel-rimmed, of thick, hard-faced
hide, having thongs within for a left arm to pass through. The other
armour consisted of light steel leg and arm pieces, and shoulder-bars
that would stop a pretty strong sword-cut.
"Now we are ready," said Lars. "Thou and I have nothing to do with bows
and arrows. Neither thy arm nor mine can bend a battle-bow. Not one
man in ten can bend the bow of Vebba, the son of Bjorn, and the bow of
Hardrada the Sea King is as a bow of steel. It sendeth an arrow through
the side of a ship."
"I guess not," thought Ned. "Not, anyhow, if she were an American
ironclad. What is all this armour compared to our two-foot steel
plates? I'm glad I'm to have a horse, though. I don't believe Nanny
would let me mount her if I came up to her in this rig."
He was to take it all off now, however, and carry it with him to the
room in which he was to sleep. This was in a small house that opened
at one corner into the main dwelling or hall. In it, around the sides,
were four broad benches, upon each of which were wolf-skins and a straw
pillow. Two of these bench-bunks were already occupied by sleepers, and
down went Lars upon another, after putting out his torch.
"That's it, is it?" said Ned, to himself. "Well, it's bed enough for a
soldier, I suppose. I'll do just as he did."
His mail and arms were laid upon the floor, and his helmet was placed
upon them. Tired, exceedingly tired, he stretched himself upon his
wolf-skin, and the old Viking walked out, carrying his torch with him.