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Title: King Alfred's Viking
       A Story of the First English Fleet

Author: Charles W. Whistler

Release Date: November 13, 2004 [EBook #14034]
[Date last updated: July 28, 2006]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING ALFRED'S VIKING ***




Produced by Martin Robb




King Alfred's Viking
A Story of the First English Fleet
by Charles W. Whistler.



Preface.


The general details and course of events given in this story are, so
far as regards the private life and doings of King Alfred, from his
life as written by his chaplain, Asser. One or two further incidents
of the Athelney period are from the later chroniclers--notably the
sign given by St. Cuthberht--as are also the names of the herdsman
and the nobles in hiding in the fen.

That Alfred put his first fleet into the charge of "certain
Vikings" is well known, though the name of their chief is not
given. These Vikings would certainly be Norse, either detached from
the following of Rolf Ganger, who wintered in England in 875 A.D.
the year before his descent on Normandy; or else independent rovers
who, like Rolf, had been driven from Norway by the high-handed
methods of Harald Fairhair. Indeed, the time when a Norse
contingent was not present with the English forces, from this
period till at least that of the battle of Brunanburh in 947 A.D.
would probably be an exception.

There are, therefore, good historic grounds for the position given
to the hero of the story as leader of the newly-formed fleet. The
details of the burning of his supposed father's hall, and of the
Orkney period, are from the Sagas.

Much controversy has raged over the sites of Ethandune and the
landing place of Hubba at Kynwith Castle, owing probably to the
duplication of names in the district where the last campaign took
place. The story, therefore, follows the identifications given by
the late Bishop Clifford in "The Transactions of the Somerset
Archaeological Society" for 1875 and other years, as, both from
topographic and strategic points of view, no other coherent
identification seems possible.

The earthworks of the Danish position still remain on Edington
hill, that looks out from the Polden range over all the country of
Alfred's last refuge, and the bones of Hubba's men lie everywhere
under the turf where they made their last stand under the old walls
and earthworks of Combwich fort; and a lingering tradition yet
records the extermination of a Danish force in the neighbourhood.
Athelney needs but the cessation of today's drainage to revert in a
very few years to what it was in Alfred's time--an island, alder
covered, barely rising from fen and mere, and it needs but little
imagination to reproduce what Alfred saw when, from the same point
where one must needs be standing, he planned the final stroke that
his people believed was inspired directly from above.

It would seem evident from Alfred's method with Guthrum that he
realized that this king was but one among many leaders, and not
directly responsible for the breaking of the solemn peace sworn at
Exeter and Wareham. His position as King of East Anglia has gained
him an ill reputation in the pages of the later chronicles; but
neither Asser nor the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle--our best authorities--
blames him as they, for his contemporaries knew him to be but a
"host king," with no authority over newcomers or those who did not
choose to own allegiance to him.

Save in a few cases, where the original spelling preserves a lost
pronunciation, as in the first syllable of "Eadmund," the modern
and familiar forms of the names have been used in preference to the
constantly-varying forms given by the chroniclers. Bridgwater has
no Saxon equivalent, the town being known only as "The Bridge"
since the time when the Romans first fortified this one crossing
place of the Parret; and the name of the castle before which Hubba
fell varies from Cynuit through Kynwith to Kynwich, whose
equivalent the Combwich of today is. Guthrum's name is given in
many forms, from Gytro to Godramnus. Nor has it been thought worth
while to retain the original spelling AElfred, the ae diphthong
having been appropriated by us to an entirely new sound; while our
own pronunciation of the name slightly broadened as yet in Wessex,
is correct enough.

The exact relationship of St. Neot to Alfred, beyond that he was a
close kinsman, is very doubtful. He has been identified with a
brother, Athelstan of East Anglia, who is known to have retired to
Glastonbury; but there is no more than conjecture, and I have been
content with "cousinship."

C. W. Whistler

Stockland, 1898.



Chapter I. The Seeking of Sword Helmbiter.


Men call me "King Alfred's Viking," and I think that I may be proud
of that name; for surely to be trusted by such a king is honour
enough for any man, whether freeman or thrall, noble or churl.
Maybe I had rather be called by that name than by that which was
mine when I came to England, though it was a good title enough that
men gave me, if it meant less than it seemed. For being the son of
Vemund, king of Southmereland in Norway, I was hailed as king when
first I took command of a ship of my own. Sea king, therefore, was
I, Ranald Vemundsson, but my kingdom was but over ship and men, the
circle of wide sea round me was nought that I could rule over, if I
might seem to conquer the waves by the kingship of good seaman's
craft.

One may ask how I came to lose my father's kingdom, which should
have been mine, and at last to be content with a simple English
earldom; or how it was that a viking could be useful to Alfred, the
wise king. So I will tell the first at once, and the rest may be
learned from what comes after.

If one speaks to me of Norway, straightway into my mind comes the
remembrance of the glare of a burning hall, of the shouts of savage
warriors, and of the cries of the womenfolk, among whom I, a
ten-year-old boy, was when Harald Fairhair sent the great Jarl
Rognvald and his men to make an end of Vemund, my father. For
Harald had sworn a great oath to subdue all the lesser kings in the
land and rule there alone, like Gorm in Denmark and Eirik in
Sweden. So my father's turn came, and as he feasted with his ninety
stout courtmen, the jarl landed under cover of the dark and fell on
him, surrounding the house and firing it. Then was fierce fighting
as my father and his men sallied again and again from the doors and
were driven back, until the high roof fell in and there was a
sudden silence, and an end.

Then in the silence came my mother's voice from where she stood on
the balcony of the living house across the garth {i}. I mind
that she neither wept nor shrieked as did the women round her, and
her voice was clear and strong over the roaring of the flames. I
mind, too, the flash of helms and armour as every man turned to
look on her who spoke.

"Coward and nidring art thou, Rognvald, who dared not meet Vemund,
my husband, in open field, but must slay him thus. Ill may all
things go with thee, till thou knowest what a burning hall is like
for thyself. I rede thee to the open hillside ever, rather than
come beneath a roof; for as thou hast wrought this night, so shall
others do to thee."

Then rose a growl of wrath from Rognvald's men, but the great Jarl
bade them cease, and harm none in all the place. So he went down to
his ships with no more words and men said that he was ill at ease
and little content, for he had lost as many men as he had slain, so
stoutly fought my father and our courtmen, and had earned a curse,
moreover, which would make his nights uneasy for long enough.

Then as he went my mother bade me look well at him, that in days to
come I might know on whom to avenge my father's death. After that
she went to her own lands in the south, for she was a jarl's
daughter, and very rich.

Not long thereafter Harald Fairhair won all the land, and then
began the trouble of ruling it; and men began to leave Norway
because of the new laws, which seemed hard on them, though they
were good enough.

Now two of Jarl Rognvald's sons had been good friends of my father
before these troubles began, and one, Sigurd, had been lord over
the Orkney Islands, and had died there. The other, Jarl Einar, fell
out with Rognvald, his father, and we heard that he would take to
the viking path, and go to the Orkneys, to win back the jarldom
that Sigurd's death had left as a prey to masterless men and
pirates of all sorts. So my mother took me to him, and asked him
for the sake of old friendship to give me a place in his ship; for
I was fourteen now, and well able to handle weapons, being strong
and tall for my age, as were many of the sons of the old kingly
stocks.

So Einar took me, having had no part in his father's doings towards
us, and hating them moreover. He promised to do all that he might
towards making a good warrior and seaman of me; and he was ever
thereafter as a foster father to me, for my own had died in the
hall with Vemund. It was his wish to make amends thus, if he could,
for the loss his folk had caused me.

Of the next five years I need speak little, for in them I learned
the viking's craft well. We won the Orkneys from those who held
them, and my first fight was in Einar's ship, against two of the
viking's vessels. After that we dwelt in Sigurd's great house in
Kirkwall, and made many raids on the Sutherland and Caithness
shores. I saw some hard fighting there, for the Scots are no babes
at weapon play.

Then when I was nineteen, and a good leader, as they said, the
words that my mother spoke to Jarl Rognvald came true, and he died
even as he had slain my father.

For Halfdan and Gudrod, Harald Fairhair's sons, deeming that the
Jarl stood in their way to power in Norway, burned him in his hall
by night, and so my feud was at an end. But the king would in
nowise forgive his sons for the slaying of his friend, and outlawed
them. Whereon Halfdan came and fell on us in the Orkneys; and that
was unlucky for him, for we beat him, and Jarl Einar avenged on him
his father's death.

Now through this it came to pass that I saw Norway for the last
time, for I went thither in Einar's best ship to learn if Harald
meant to make the Orkneys pay for the death of his son--which was
likely, for a son is a son even though he be an outlaw.

So I came to my mother's place first of all, and full of joy and
pleasant thoughts was I as we sailed into the well-remembered fiord
to seek the little town at its head. And when we came there, nought
but bitterest sorrow and wrath was ours; for the town was a black
heap of ruin, and the few men who were left showed me where the
kindly hands of the hill folk had laid my mother, the queen, in a
little mound, after the Danish vikings, who had fallen suddenly on
the place with fire and sword, had gone. They had grown thus bold
because the great jarl was dead, and the king's sons had left the
land without defence.

There I swore vengeance for this on every viking of Danish race
that I might fall in with; for I was wild with grief and rage, as
one might suppose. I set up a stone over the grave of my mother,
graving runes thereon that should tell who she was and also who
raised it; for I was skilled in the runic lore, having learned much
from one of Einar's older men who had known my father.

Thereafter we cruised among the islands northwards until we learned
that Harald was indeed upon us, and then I saw my last of Norway as
we headed south again, and the last hilltop sank beneath the sea's
rim astern of us. I did not know that so it would be at that
time--it is well that one sees not far into things to come--but
even now all my home seemed to be with Einar; and that also was not
to last long, as things went. How that came about I must tell, for
the end was that I came to Alfred the king.

When we came back to Kirkwall, I told the jarl all that I had done
and learned; and grieved for me he was when he heard of my mother's
death. Many things he said to me at that time which made him dearer
to me. Then after a while he spoke of Harald, who, as it seemed,
might come at any time.

"We cannot fight Norway," he said, "so we must even flit hence to
the mainland and wait until Harald is tired of seeking us. It is in
my mind that he seeks not so much for revenge as for payment of
scatt from our islands. Now he has a reason for taking it by force.
He will seek to fine us, and then make plans by which I shall hold
the jarldom from him for yearly dues."

So he straightway called the Thing {ii} of all the Orkney folk,
who loved him well, and put the matter before them; and they set to
work and did his bidding, driving the cattle inland and scattering
them, and making the town look as poor as they might.

Then in three days' time we sailed away laughing; for none but
poor-looking traders were left, and no man would think that never
had the Orkneys been so rich as in Einar's time. And he bade them
make peace with the king when he came, and told them that so all
would be well, for Harald would lay no heavy weregild on so poor a
place for his son's slaying.

Southward we went to Caithness, and so westward along the
Sutherland coast; for we had taken no scatt there for this year,
and Einar would use this cruise to do so, seeing that we must put
to sea. We were not the first who had laid these shores under rule
from the Orkneys, for Jarl Sigurd had conquered them, meeting his
death at last in a Sutherland firth, after victory, in a strange
way.

He fought with a Scottish chief named Melbrigda of the Tusks, and
slew him, and bore back his head to the ships at his saddle bow.
Then the great teeth of the chief swung against the jarl's leg and
wounded it, and of that he died, and so was laid in a great mound
at the head of the firth where his ships lay. After that, the
Orkneys were a nest of evil vikings till we came.

So it had happened that, from the time when it was made over him,
Jarl Sigurd's mound had been untended, for we ourselves had never
been so far south as this firth before. Indeed, it had been so laid
waste by Sigurd's men after his death that there was nought to go
there for. But at this time we had reason for getting into some
quiet, unsought place where we should not be likely to be heard of,
for the king had over-many ships and men for us to meet. So after a
week's cruising we put into that firth, and anchored in the shelter
of its hills.

There is no man of all our following who will forget that day,
because of what happened almost as soon as the anchor held. It was
very hot that morning, and what breeze had been out in the open sea
was kept from us now by the hills, so that for some miles we had
rowed the ships up the winding reaches of the firth; and then, as
we laid in the oars and the anchorage was reached, there crept from
inland a dim haze over the sun, dimming the light, and making all
things look strange among the mountains. Then the sounds of the
ships seemed to echo loudly over the still water and when all the
bustle of anchoring was over, the stillness seemed yet greater, for
the men went to their meals, and for a while spoke little.

Einar and I sat on his after deck under the awning, and spoke in
low voices, as if afraid to raise our tones.

"There is a thunderstorm about," I said.

"Ay--listen," the jarl answered.

Then I heard among the hills, far up the firth beyond us, a strange
sound that seemed to draw nearer, like and yet unlike thunder,
roaring and jarring ever closer to us, till it was all around us
and beneath us everywhere, and our very hearts seemed to stop
beating in wonder.

Then of a sudden the ship was smitten from under the keel with a
heavy, soundless blow, and the waters of the firth ebbed and flowed
fiercely about us; and then the sound passed on and down the firth
swiftly and strangely as it had come, and left us rocking on the
troubled waters that plashed and broke along the rocks of the
shore, while the still, thick air seemed full of the screams of the
terrified eagles and sea birds that had left them.

"Odin defend us!" the jarl said; "what is this?"

I shook my head, looking at him, and wondering if my face was white
and scared as his and that of every man whom I could see.

Now we waited breathless for more to come, but all was quiet again.
The birds went back to their eyries, and the troubled water was
still. Then presently our fears passed enough to let us speak with
one another; and then there were voices enough, for every man
wished to hear his own again, that courage might return.

Then a man from the Orkneys who had been with Jarl Sigurd came aft
to us, and stood at the break of the deck to speak with Einar.

"Jarl," he said, almost under his breath, "it is in my mind that
Sigurd, your brother, is wroth because his mound has been untended
since we made it."

Then Einar said:

"Was it so ill made that it needs tending?"

"It was well made, jarl; but rain and frost and sun on a new-made
mound may have wrought harm to it. Or maybe he thinks that enough
honour has not been paid him. He was a great warrior, jarl, and
perhaps would have more sacrifice, and a remembrance cup drunk by
his own brother at his grave."

Now this man's name was Thord, the same who taught me runes--a good
seaman and leader of men, and one who was held to be wise in more
matters than most folk. So his word was to be listened to.

"You know more of these matters than I, Thord," Einar answered. "Is
it possible that Sigurd could work this?"

"Who knows what a dead chief of might cannot work?" Thord said. "I
think it certain that Sigurd is angry for some reason; and little
luck shall we have if we do not appease his spirit."

Then the jarl looked troubled, as well he might, for to go near the
mound that held an angry ghost was no light matter. It lay far up
the firth, Thord said, and the ships could not go so far. But Einar
was very brave, and when he had thought for a little while he said:

"Well, then, I will take boat and go to Sigurd's mound and see if
he ails aught. Will any man come with me, however?"

I liked not the errand, as may be supposed, but I could not leave
my foster father to go alone.

"I will be with you," I said. "Will not Thord come also?"

"Ay," the grim Orkney man answered.

Now all our crew were listening to us, and I looked down the long
gangways by chance, and when I did so no man would meet my eye.
They feared lest they should be made to go to this haunted place,
as it seemed--all but one man, who sat on the mast step swinging
his feet. This was Kolgrim the Tall, the captain of the fore deck,
a young man and of few words, but a terrible swordsman, and knowing
much of sea craft. And when this man saw that I looked at him, he
nodded a little and smiled, for he had been a friend of mine since
I had first come to Einar.

"Two men to row the boat will be enough, jarl," I said. "Kolgrim
yonder will come with us."

"Well," the jarl answered, "maybe four of us are enough. We shall
not fright Sigurd with more, and maybe would find it hard to get
them to come."

So he called Kolgrim, and he said that he would go with us, and
went to get the boat alongside without more words.

Then the jarl and I and Thord armed ourselves--for a warrior should
be met by warriors. The men were very silent, whispering among
themselves, until the jarl was ready and spoke to them.

"Have no fear for us," he said. "Doubtless my brother needs
somewhat, and calls me. I am going to find out what it is and
return."

So we pushed off, Thord and Kolgrim rowing. It was strange to look
back, as we went, on the ships, for not a soul stirred on board
them, as it seemed, so intently were we watched; and the water was
like a sheet of steel under them, so that they were doubled.

Presently they were hidden as we rounded a turn in the firth, and
we were alone among the hills, and the lonesomeness was very great.
There was no dwelling anywhere along the shores, nor in the deep
glens that came down to them, each with its noisy burn falling
along it. Once I saw deer feeding far up at the head of a valley
that opened out, but they and the eagles were the only living
things we could see beside the loons that swam and dived silently
as we neared them.

The silence and the heat weighed on us, and we went for a mile or
more without a word. Then we turned into the last reach of the
water, and saw Sigurd's mound beside its edge at the very head of
the firth, where the hills came round in a circle that was broken
only by the narrow waters and the valley that went beyond them
among the mountains. It was a fitting resting place for one who
would sleep in loneliness; but I thought that I had rather lie
where I could look out on the sea I loved, and see the long ships
pass and the white waves break beneath me.

Now all seemed very peaceful here in the hot haze that brooded over
the still mountains, and there seemed to be nought to fear. We drew
swiftly up to the mound, with the plash of oars only to break the
silence, and there was nought amiss that we could see. They had
made it on a little flat tongue of land that jutted from the
mountain's foot into the deep water, so that on two sides the mound
was close to its edge. So we pulled on softly round the tongue of
land, being maybe about fifty paces from the mound across the
water. And when we saw the other side of Sigurd's resting place,
the oars stayed suddenly, and the jarl, who held the tiller, swung
the boat away from the shore, and I think I knew then what fear
was.

The mound was open. There was a wide, brown scar, as of
freshly-moved earth, across its base, reaching from the level to
six or eight feet of its height, as though half the grass-grown
side had been shorn away by a sword cut; and in the midst of that
scar was a doorway, open to the grave's heart, low and stone built.
Some of the earth that had fallen lay before it on the water's
edge, but the rest was doubtless in the water, for there was but a
narrow path between bank and mound.

At that sight we stared, thinking we should surely see the grim
form of Sigurd loom gigantic and troll-like {iii} across the
doorway; and the jarl half rose from his seat beside me, and cried
out with a great voice:

"Sigurd--my brother!"

I think he knew not what or why he cried thus, for he sank back
into his place and swayed against me, while his cry rang loud among
the hills, and the eagles answered it.

And I grasped my sword hilt, as one does in some sudden terror,
staring at the open mound; while old Thord muttered spells against
I know not what, and Kolgrim looked at me, pale and motionless.

Then came the sharp, mocking cry of a diver, that rang strangely;
and at once, without order. Thord dug his oar blade into the water
and swung the boat round, and when once Kolgrim's back was towards
that he feared, he held water strongly and then the boat was about,
and we were flying from the place towards the ships, before we knew
what was being done, panic stricken.

But Einar said never a word, and the two rowers slackened their
pace only when the bend of the firth hid the mound from our sight.

Then said I, finding that Einar spoke not:

"What are we flying from? there was nought to harm us."

For I began to be ashamed. Thereat Kolgrim stopped rowing, and
Thord must needs do likewise, though he said:

"It is ill for us to stay here. The dead jarl is very wroth."

"I saw nought to fray us; the cry we heard was but that of a loon."

But Thord shook his head. The silence of the place had made all
things seem strange, with the dull light that was over us, and the
great heat among the towering hills.

"The mound was freshly opened," he said. "I saw earth crumbling
even yet from the broken side. The blow we felt was that which
Sigurd struck when he broke free."

Then at last Einar spoke, and his voice was strange:

"I have left my brother unhonoured, and he is angry. What must be
done?"

Now I cannot tell what hardiness took hold of me, but it seemed
that I must needs go back and see more of this. I was drawn to do
so, as a thing they fear will make some men long to face it and
know its worst, not as if they dared so much as when they must.

"I think we should have waited to ask Sigurd that," I said; and
Einar looked strangely at me.

"Would you have us return?" he asked.

"Why not?" said I. "If the great jarl has called us as it seems,
needs must that we know what he wills."

Then said Thord:

"I helped to lay him in that place, and I mind how he looked at
that time. Somewhat we left undone, doubtless. I dare not go back."

Einar looked at the hills, leaning his chin on his hand, and said
slowly, when Thord had done:

"That is the first time Thord has said 'I dare not.' Now I would
that I had stayed to fight Harald and fall under his sword before.
I too must say the same. I have left my brother unhonoured, and I
dare not go back."

Pale and drawn the jarl's face was, and I knew he meant what he
said. Nevertheless it seemed to me that some one must know what
Sigurd willed.

"Jarl Einar," I said, "this is a strange business, and one cannot
tell what it means. Now Sigurd was my father's close friend, and I
have had nought to do with him. I will go back, therefore, and
learn what I can of him. I think he will not harm me, for he has no
reason to do so. Moreover if he does, none will learn what he
needs."

"I have heard," said Thord, "that a good warrior may ask what he
will of a dead hero, so that he shows no fear and is a friend. If
his courage fails, however, then he will be surely destroyed."

Then I said:

"I have no cause to fear Sigurd, save that he is a ghost. I do not
know if I fear him as such; that is to be seen."

Now Einar laid his hand on mine and spoke gravely:

"I think it is a hero's part to do what you say. If you go back and
return in safety, the scalds will sing of you for many a long day.
Go, therefore, boldly; this is not a matter from which you should
be held back, as it has come into your mind."

Then said Thord:

"It will be well to ask Sigurd for a token whereby we may know that
he sends messages by you."

And Einar said on that:

"In Sigurd's hand is his sword Helmbiter. I think he will give that
to the man who dares speak to him, for he will know that it goes
into brave hands. Ask him for it bravely."

"Put me ashore, therefore, before my courage goes," I said; and
they pulled the boat to the bank where I could step on a rock and
so to shore. And when I was there, Kolgrim rose up and followed me
without a word.

"Bide here for two hours, jarl, and maybe I will return in that
time," I said. "Farewell."

So I turned away as they answered me, thinking that Kolgrim held
the boat's painter. But he came after me, and I spoke to him:

"Why, Kolgrim, will you come also?"

"You shall not go alone, Ranald the king's son; I will come with
you as far as I dare."

"That is well," I answered, and with that wasted no more words, but
climbed the hillside a little, and then went steadily towards where
the mound was, with Kolgrim close at my shoulder, and the jarl and
Thord looking fixedly after us till we were out of sight.



Chapter II. The Gifts of Two Heroes.


I will not say that my steps did not falter when we came to whence
we could see the mound. But it was lonely and still and silent; no
shape of warrior waited our coming.

"Almost do I fear to go nearer," said Kolgrim.

"Put fear away, comrade," said I; "we shall fare ill if we turn our
backs now."

"Where you go I go," he answered, "though I am afraid."

"The next best thing to not being afraid is to be afraid and not to
show it," I said then, comforting myself also with a show of wisdom
at least. "Maybe fear is the worst thing we have to face."

So we went on more swiftly, and at last were on the tongue of land
on the tip of which the mound stood. Still, since we could not see
the open doorway, which was towards the water, the place seemed not
so terrible. Yet I thought that by this time we should have seen
Sigurd, or maybe heard his voice from the tomb. So now I dared to
call softly:

"Jarl Sigurd, here is one, a friend's son, who will learn what you
will."

My voice seemed to fill all the ring of mountains with echoes, but
there was no answer. All was still again when the last voice came
back from the hillsides.

Then I went nearer yet, and passed to the waterside, where I could
look slantwise across the doorway. And again I called, and waited
for an answer that did not come.

"It seems that I must go even to the door, and maybe into the
mound," I said, whispering.

"Not inside," said Kolgrim, taking hold of my arm.

But I had grown bolder with the thought that the hero seemed not
angry, and now I had set my heart on winning the sword of which the
jarl had told me, and I thought that I dared go even inside the
tomb to speak with Sigurd.

"Bide here, and I will go at least to the door," said I.

So I stepped boldly before it, standing on the heap of newly-fallen
earth that had slipped from across it. The posts and lintel of the
door were of stone slabs such as lay everywhere on the hillsides,
and I stood so close that I could touch them. The doorway was not
so high that I could see into it without stooping, for it was
partly choked with the fallen earth, and I bent to look in. But I
could only see for a few feet into the passage, as I looked from
light to darkness.

"Ho, Jarl Sigurd! what would you? Why have you opened your door
thus?"

Very hollow my voice sounded, and that was all.

"Sigurd of Orkney--Sigurd, son of Rognvald--I am the son of Vemund
your friend. Speak to me!"

There was no answer. A bit of earth crumbled from the broken side
of the mound and made me start, but I saw nothing. So I stepped
away from the door and back to my comrade, who had edged nearer the
place, though his face showed that he feared greatly.

"I think that the mound has been rifled," I said. "Sigurd would
have us know it and take revenge."

"No man has dared to go near that doorway till you came, Ranald
Vemundsson," Kolgrim answered. "Now I fear that he plans to lure
you into the mound, and slay you there without light to help you.
Go no further, maybe you will be closed up with the ghost."

That was not pleasant to think of, but I had seen nought to make me
fear to go in. There was no such unearthly light shining within the
mound as I had heard of in many tales of those who sought to speak
with dead chiefs.

"Well, I am going in," I said stoutly; "but do you hide here, and
make some noise that I may know you are near me. It is the silence
that frays me.

"What can I do?" he said. "I know no runes that are of avail. It
would be ill to disturb this place with idle sounds."

That seemed right, but I thought I could not bear the silence--silence
of the grave. I must know that he was close at hand. Then a thought
came to me, and I unfastened the silver-mounted whetstone that hung
from my belt and gave it him.

"Whet your sword edge sharply," I said. "That is a sound a hero
loves, for it speaks of deeds to be done."

"Ay, that is no idle sound," he said, and drew his sword gladly.
The haft of the well-known blade brought the light into his eyes
again. I drew my own sword also.

"If you need me, call, and I think I shall not fail you," he
whispered. "It shall not be said that I failed you in peril."

"I know it," I answered, putting my hand on his shoulder.

Then I went boldly, and stepped into the passage. The whetstone
sang shrill on the sword edge as it kissed the steel behind me, and
the sound was good to hear as I went into darkness with my weapon
ready.

I half feared that my first step would be my last, but it was made
in safety. Very black seemed the low stone-walled passage before
me, and I had to stoop as I went on, feeling with my left hand
along the wall. The way was so narrow that little light could pass
my body, and therefore it seemed to grow darker as I went deeper
into the mound's heart.

Five steps I took, and then my outstretched hand was on the post
that ended the passage, and beyond that I felt nothing. I had come
to the inner doorway, and before me was the place where Sigurd lay.
Yet no fiery eyes glared on me, and nothing stirred. The air was
heavy with a scent as of peat, and the sound of the whetstone
seemed loud as I stood peering into the darkness.

I moved forward, and somewhat rattled under my foot, and I started.
Then my fear left me altogether, for I had trodden on dry bones,
and shuddered at the first touch of them in that place. I had faced
fear, and had overcome it; maybe it was desperation that made me
cool then, for it was certain now that I must be slain or else
victor over I knew not what.

So I took one pace forward into the chamber, and stood aside from
the doorway; and the grey light from the passage came in and filled
all the place, so that it fell first on him whom I had come to
seek--Jarl Sigurd of Orkney.

And when I saw, a great awe fell upon me, and a sadness, but no
terror; and in my heart I would that hereafter I might rest as
slept the hero where the hands that had loved him had placed him.

Into the silent place came once more with me the clank of mail and
weapons that he had loved, and from without the song of the keen
sword edge whispered to him; but these could not wake him.
Peacefully he seemed to sleep as I stood by his side, and I thought
that I should take back no word of his to the jarl, his brother,
whom both he and I loved.

They had brought the great carven chair on which he was wont to sit
on his ship's quarterdeck, and thereon had set the jarl, as though
he yet lived, and did but sleep as he sat from weariness after
fight, with helm and mail upon him. Shield and axe rested on either
side of him, ready to hand, against the chair; and behind him,
along the wall, were his spears, ashen shafted and rune graven.

His blue, fur-trimmed cloak was round him, and before him was a
little table, heavy and carved, whereon were vessels for food,
empty now save for dust that showed that they had been full. And
across his knees was his sword, golden hilted, with a great yellow
cairngorm in the pommel, and with gold-wrought patterns from end to
end of the scabbard--such a sword as I had never seen before. His
right hand held the hilt, and his left rested on the shield's rim
beside him; and so Sigurd slept with his head bowed on his breast,
waiting for Ragnaroek and the last great fight of all.

The light seemed to grow stronger as I looked, or my eyes grew used
to it, and then I saw that the narrow chamber was full of things,
though I minded them afterwards, for now I was as in a dream,
noting only the jarl himself. Costly stuffs were on the floor, and
mail and helms and more weapons. Gold work there was also, and in
one corner lay the dried-up body of a great wolf hound, coiled as
in sleep where it had been chained. Another had been tied by the
passage doorway, where I had stepped on it; and below a spar that
stood across a corner lay a tumbled heap of feathers that had been
a falcon.

Many more things there were maybe, but this I saw at last--that the
jarl's right foot rested on the skull of a man whose teeth had been
long and tusk-like. It was the head of the Scot whose teeth had
been his death.

Now the sword drew my eyes, for Einar bade me ask for it, else I
think I had gone softly hence without a word, so peaceful seemed
the dead. And as I looked again, I saw that the hand holding the
hilt was dry and brown and shrunken, so that one might see all the
bones through the skin, and at first I was afraid to ask.

At last I said, and my mouth was dry:

"Jarl Einar, your brother, bids me ask for sword Helmbiter, great
Sigurd. Let me take it, that he may know how you rest in peace."

But Sigurd stirred not nor spoke; and slowly I put out my hand on
the sword to take it very gently, but his grasp was yet firm on it.
Then, as I bent to see if it had tightened when I would draw the
sword away, I could see beneath the helm the face of the dead,
shrunken indeed and brown, but as of one at rest and beyond anger.

Once more then I took the jarl's sword in my right hand, and raised
his hand with my left, putting my own weapon by against the wall.
And then the hilt slipped from the half-open fingers, and the sword
was mine, and my hand held the jarl's. And it seemed to me that he
gave it me, and that I must thank him for such a gift. The sword
though it was sheathed, was not girt to him, and its golden-studded
belt was twisted about it, and it was no imperfect giving.

So I spoke in a low voice:

"Jarl Sigurd, I thank you. If my might is aught, the sword will be
used as you would have used it. Surely I will say to Einar that you
rest in peace, and we will come here and close your mound again in
all honour."

I set back his hand then, and it seemed empty and helpless, not as
a warrior's should be. So I ungirt my own weapon--a good plain
sword that I had won from a viking in Caithness--and laid it in the
place of that he had given me. And as I put the thin fingers on its
hilt, almost thinking that they would chose around it, a ring
slipped from them into my hand, as if he would give that also, and
I kept it therefore.

Then for a minute I stood before Jarl Sigurd, waiting to see if he
had any word; but when he spoke not, I lifted the sword and saluted
him.

"Skoal to Jarl Sigurd; rest in peace, and farewell."

Then I went forth softly, and came out into sunshine; for the wind
was singing round the hilltops, and the dun mist had gone. Then I
was ware that the sound of the stone on the sword edge had long
ceased, and I looked for Kolgrim.

He was lying on the grass in the place where I had left him, but he
was on his face, and the sword and whetstone were flung aside from
him. At first I feared that he had been in some way slain because
of his terror; but when I came near, I saw that his shoulders
heaved as if he wept. Then I stood over him, treading softly.

"Kolgrim," I said.

At that he looked up, and a great light came into his face, and he
sprang to his feet and threw his arms round me, weeping, yet with a
strong man's weeping that does but come from bitter grief.

"Master," he cried, "O master I thought you lost--and I dared not
follow you."

"I have met with no peril," I said, "nor have I been long gone."

"More than two hours, master, have you been in that place--two long
hours. See how the sun has sunk since you left me!"

So indeed it seemed, though I knew not that I had been so long. I
had stayed still and gazed on that strange sight without stirring
for what seemed but a little while. Yet I had thought long thoughts
in that time, and I mind every single thing in that dim chamber,
even to the markings on the stones that made its walls and roof and
floor.

"See," I said, "Jarl Sigurd has given me the sword!"

Kolgrim gazed in wonder. There was no speck of dust on the broad
blade as I drew it, and the waving lines of the dwarf-wrought steel
and gold-inlaid runes were clear and bright along its middle for
half its length. For the mound was very dry, and they had covered
all the chamber with peat before piling the earth over it.

"Let us go back to Jarl Einar; he will fear for us," I said,
sheathing the sword and girding it to me.

So we went across the meadow, and even as we went a blast of cold
wind came from, over the mountains, and with it whirled the black
thunderclouds of the storm that had been gathering all day. We ran
to an overhanging rock on the hillside and crept beneath it, while
the thunder crashed and the lightning struck from side to side of
the firth, and smote the wind-swept water that was white with foam.

"Master," said Kolgrim, "the Jarl Sigurd is wroth; he repents the
sword gift."

But I did not think that he had aught to do with this. For, as any
hill-bred man could tell, the storm had been brewing in the heat,
and was bound to come, and would pass to and fro among the hills
till it was worn out.

Nevertheless, when it passed away in pouring rain that swept like a
hanging sheet of moving mist down the glens from the half-hidden
mountains, and the sun shone out brightly again over the clear-cut
purple hillsides and rippling water, I looked at the mound in
wonder. For it was closed. We had sought shelter in a place near
that whence we saw the mound in coming, and could see the fallen
side, though not the doorway, looking across its front. And now the
slope of the bank seemed to have been made afresh, as on the day
when Sigurd had been closed in, years ago. None could say, save
those who had seen it, where the opening into the grave-chamber
might be.

Now both the opening and closing of Sigurd's grave mound seem very
strange to me. Thord and the scalds will have it that he himself
wrought both. As for me, I know not. In after days I told this to
Alfred the king when he wondered at my sword, and he said that he
thought an earthquake opened and washing rain closed the mound, but
that it happened strangely for me. I cannot gainsay his wise words,
and I will leave the matter so.

Thereafter Kolgrim and I went back to Einar, who yet waited for us.
Glad was he to see us return in safety; but both he and Thord were
speechless when they saw the jarl's sword girt to me and the jarl's
golden ring on my hand. Neither they nor any one else will believe
that I met with no peril; and the tale that the scalds made
hereafter of the matter is over wonderful, in spite of all I may
say. For they think it but right that I should not be over boastful
of my deeds.

But Jarl Einar looked on sword and ring, and said:

"Well have you won these gifts. My brother is in peace in his
resting place now. I hold that he called for you."

So we went back to the ships, and there for many days the men
stared at Kolgrim and me strangely. They say I was very silent for
long, and it is likely enough. Moreover, Einar was wont to say that
I seemed five years older from that day forward.

We went no more to the place of the mound, for it seemed to need no
care of earthly hands. Nor were any wishing to go to so awesome a
place, and we left the firth next day, for the men waxed uneasy
there.

But on that day Einar gave me the great ship that we had taken from
Halfdan, the king's son, saying that he would add to Sigurd's
giving. Also he bade me choose what men I would for her crew,
bidding me thank him not at all, for I was his foster son, and a
king by birth moreover.

So when I knew that this would please him, I chose Thord for my
shipmaster, and Kolgrim for marshal, as we call the one who has
charge of the ordering of the crew. And I chose a hundred good men
whom I knew well, so that indeed I had the best ship and following
in Norway, as I thought. At least there were none better, unless
Harald Fairhair might match me.

Now there was one thing that pleased me not at this time, and that
was that Kolgrim, my comrade, never called me aught but "master"
since I came from Sigurd's presence--which is not the wont of our
free Norsemen with any man. Nor would he change it, though I was
angry, until I grew used to it in time.

"Call me not 'master,' Kolgrim, my comrade," I said; "it is
unfittinq for you."

At last he answered me in such wise that I knew it was of no more
use to speak of it.

"Master of mine you are, Ranald the king, since the day when you
dared more than I thought man might, while I lay like a beaten
hound outside, and dared not go within that place to see what had
become of you. Little comradeship was mine to you on that day, and
I am minded to make amends if I can. I think I may dare aught
against living men for you, though I failed at that mound. I will
give life for you, if I may."

I told him that what he had done was well done, and indeed he had
had courage to go where none else had dared; for I had ties of
friendship that made me bold to meet Jarl Sigurd, and might go
therefore where he might not. It was well that he did not come into
the presence of the dead.

"Therefore we are comrades, not master and man," I said.

"Nay, but master and man--lord and thrall," he answered.

So I must let him have his way, but he could not make me think of
him as aught but a good and brave comrade whom I loved well.

They hailed me as king when I went on board my ship for the first
time with my own men, as I have said. Then our best weapon smith
asked for gold from the men, and they gave what they had--it was in
plenty with us of Einar's following--and made a golden circlet
round my helm, that they might see it and follow it in battle.

It was good to wear the crown thus given willingly, but in the end
it sent me from north to south, as will be seen. That, however, is
a matter with which I will not quarrel, for it sent me to Alfred
the king.

We had left the firth two days, cruising slowly northward, when one
ship came from the north and met us, not flying from our fleet, but
bearing up to join us. And when she was close, there came a hail to
tell Einar that she bore a messenger from Harald the king in peace,
and presently we hove to while this messenger went on board the
Jarl's ship.

Then it seemed that Einar had been right, and that Harald would lay
a fine on the islands for Halfdan's slaying, and so give them back
to Einar to hold for him. The messenger was Thiodolf, Harald's own
scald, and he put the matter very plainly before the jarl, so that
he thought well of the offer, but would nevertheless not trust
himself in the king's power before all was certain, and confirmed
by oath. Whereon Thiodolf said that one must see the king on the
Jarl's part, and so I seemed the right man to go, as the jarl's
foster son and next in command to him.

"Nevertheless," said Thiodolf, "I would not advise you to sail in
Halfdan's ship, for that might wake angry thoughts, and trouble
would come especially as Halfdan took her without leave when he was
outlawed."

So I took the Jarl's cutter, manning her with enough men of my own
crew; and Kolgrim came with me, and we sailed to Kirkwall in
company with Thiodolf the scald.

Then when Thiodolf took me into his presence, I saw Harald Fairhair
for the first time, as he sat to receive Einar's messenger in the
great hall that Sigurd had built and which we had dwelt in. Then I
thought that never before could have been one more like a king.
Hereafter, when sagamen will sing of a king in some fancied story,
they will surely make him like King Harald of Norway. I myself have
little skill to say what he was like beyond this--that never had I
seen a more handsome man, nor bigger, nor stronger. King-like he
was in all ways, and his face was bright and pleasant, though it
was plain that it would be terrible if he was angry, or with the
light of battle upon it.

The hair, whence he had his name, was golden bright and shining,
and beard and eyebrows were of the same colour. But his eyes were
neither grey nor blue altogether, most piercing, seeming to look
straight into a man's heart, so that none dared lie to him.

I think that it is saying much for King Harald that, though his
arms and dress were wonderfully rich and splendid, one cared only
to look on his face; and that though many men of worth were on the
high place with him, there seemed to be none but he present.

When the scald told the king who I was, and what was my errand,
with all ceremony, he looked fixedly at me, so that I was ashamed,
and grew red under his gaze. Then he smiled pleasantly, and spoke
to me. His voice was as I thought to hear it--clear and steady, and
yet deep.

"So, Ranald Vemundsson, you are worthy of your father. It may be
that you bear me ill will on his account, but I would have you
forget the deeds done that Norway might be one, and the happier
therefor."

"Had my father been slain in fair fight, lord king," I said, "no
ill will had been thought of. It has not been in my mind that you
bade Rognvald slay him as he did. And that Jarl is dead, and the
feud is done with therefore. Jarl Einar is my foster father,
moreover."

"That is well said," answered Harald. "But I thought Sigurd must
have fostered you; he was ever a close friend of Vemund's."

I did not know why the king thought this, though the reason was at
my side; so I only said that my mother had given me to Einar's
keeping, and the king said no more at that time about it.

After that I gave the Jarl's messages, and the king heard them well
enough, though it seemed to Einar that the weregild to be paid was
over heavy, and he had bidden me tell Harald that it was so.
Therefore the king said that he would give me an answer on the
morrow, and I went away into the town well pleased with his kindly
way with me.

There was a feast made for me that night, and after it I must sit
still and hear the scalds sing of the deeds of Harald the king,
which was well enough. But then Thiodolf rose up and sang a great
saga about the winning of Sigurd's sword, wherein it seemed that I
had fought the dead jarl, and bale fires, and I know not what. He
had heard strange tales from Einar's men, if they told him all that
he sang.

Some men may be pleased to hear their own deeds sung of, with more
added thus; but I was not used to it, and the turning of all eyes
to me made me uncomfortable. But Harald had paid no sort of heed to
what they sang of him, and so I tried to look at my ease, and gave
the scald a bracelet when he ended.

"Overmuch make you of that matter, scald," said I quietly.

He laughed a little, and answered:

"One has to fill in what a warrior will not tell of himself."

Now the men shouted when I gave Thiodolf the bracelet, and Harald
looked quickly at me. Then I thought that maybe I had overdone the
gift, though Einar had ever told me that a good scald deserved good
reward, and Thiodolf was well known as the best in Norway. It was a
heavy ring, silver gilt, and of good design, that I took from the
same viking whose sword I gave to Sigurd.

"Overpaid am I," the scald said, putting it on his arm.

"You are the first who has ever sung of me," I answered; "and the
voice and tune were wonderful, if the saga was too strong for me."

Then Harald smiled again, and praised Thiodolf also, and I thought
no more of the matter. The feast was pleasant enough in the hall,
full of Harald's best men and chiefs, though it seemed strange to
sit as a guest in Einar's house.

Now on the next morning I was to speak with the king about Einar's
business, and I went to him unarmed, as was right, save for helm
and Sigurd's sword. He was in the jarl's own chamber, and with him
were Thiodolf and a young scald named Harek, who sat with things
for writing before him, which was what I had never seen before.

We talked for some time, and all went well for peace; but one more
message was to go and come between the king and Einar, and so I
said I would sail at once.

"Not so much need for haste but that you can bide here for a day or
two," Harald said. "I will not have you complain of my hospitality
hereafter. And Thiodolf and Harek here want to learn more about
Sigurd's sword and its winning."

"If I tell them the truth, I shall spoil their saga, lord king!" I
said, laughing.

"Trust the scalds to mind you do not," he answered. "There are
times when I have to ask them which of my own doings they are
singing about now. But is there no wonder in the tale?"

So I told him just how the matter was. And when he heard of the
noise, and the stroke with which the ships were smitten, he said,
looking troubled, as I thought:

"Sigurd is stronger now that he is dead than when he lived. We felt
that stroke even here."

But when I told how I had seen the dead jarl, his face grew
thoughtful, and at last he said:

"So shall I lie some day in a grave mound. It is passing strange to
think on. I would that if one comes to my side he may step gently
as you, Ranald Vemundsson."

"Else will that comer fare ill," said Thiodolf.

The king glanced up at him, and his face changed, and he said,
smiling grimly:

"Maybe. I think none will win my sword from me."

Then he had Kolgrim sent for, and Thord, and they told him truly
what they had seen, and how they had fared in the matter.

"You are a truth teller, Kolgrim the Tall," Harald said. "Now if
you will leave Einar's service and come and be of my courtmen, I
will speak to the jarl and make matters right with him, and it
shall be worth your while."

Then my comrade answered plainly:

"I am no jarl's man now, King Harald; I belong to King Ranald here,
and I will not leave him."

"So," said Harald, knitting his brows suddenly, "we have two kings
in the room, as it seems; and you dare choose another instead of
me."

"Not so, King Harald," Kolgrim answered, with all respect; "I chose
between the jarl and my king. If there is peace between you and the
jarl, I suppose we are all your men."

Now Harald's face was growing black, and I could see that his anger
was rising. But he stayed what words he was about to speak, and
only said:

"Jarl Einar is well served when he has a king in his train."

Then he rose up and turned to Thiodolf, who was looking anxious.

"Bid King Ranald to the feast tonight. He knows my words to Einar
his foster father, and I have no more to say."

So I was dismissed, and was not sorry to be outside the hall.

"Let us get down to the ship," said Thord. "Here is trouble
brewing, as I think."

So we went on board, and I wished that we might go. Yet the king
had bidden me stay, and I had no reason for what would be
discourteous at least, if it did not look like flight. What the
trouble was we could hardly understand.

In an hour's time or so I saw Thiodolf and the young scald Harek
coming along the wharf and towards our ship, which lay clear of
Harald's vessels, and next the harbour mouth. They came over the
gang plank, and I welcomed them, but I saw that they had somewhat
special to say to me.

They sat down under the after awning with me, and at once Thiodolf
said:

"That was an unlucky speech of your comrade's just now. No man
dares name himself king in Harald's presence--not even his own
sons. It is the one thing that he will not bear."

"So it seemed," said I; "and, in truth, he had enough trouble with
under kings not long since. But he knows what a sea king is--no
king at all, so to speak. He need not grudge the old title."

"That is not all," Thiodolf said. "It is in his mind that he has to
guard yet against risings of men of the old families of the kings,
and thinks you are likely to give him trouble. Maybe the portent of
the blow that spread from Sigurd's tomb to us has seemed much to
him. 'Here,' he says, 'is one who will gather masterless men to him
in crowds because he wears Sigurd's sword and ring, and has gained
with them the name of a hero. Already he has two of Einar's best
men at his heels. Yet I like him well enough, and I have no fault
to find with him, save that he puts a gold circle round his helm
and is called king--as he would have been but for me. Go to him,
therefore, and tell him to keep out of my way. I will not have two
kings in Norway.'"

"Well," I said, "that is plain speaking. But I cannot help what the
men call me. The king makes overmuch of the business. I am not
foolish enough to try to overturn Harald Fairhair."

"Maybe," said Thiodolf, "but those are his words. I rede you get
away quickly on the next tide."

"Ay," said Harek. "Harald is mild of mood now, because you made no
secret of what men call you. Five years ago you would not have
escaped hence at all."

"Then," said I, "I will go. I think you are right. Vemund's son
troubles Harald;" and I laughed, and added, "I have to thank you
for kindly counsel, scalds, as I think. Farewell. Tide serves at
any time now, and I will get my men and be gone."

"That is wise," they answered. "Einar must find some other
messenger, if he comes not himself, after you return."

They went, and I called two or three men and sent them into the
town for their comrades who were at friends' houses and in the
guest house where we were lodged, while Kolgrim made ready for
instant sailing.

The next thing that I was ware of was that there was a fight on the
wharf end next the town, and men were running to it. Then I heard
my own name shouted on one part, and that of Eric, the king's young
son, on the other. So I was going to lead down twenty men to quiet
the scuffle, when my people had the best of the matter, and broke
through the throng, cheering, and came on to me. The rest did not
follow them, for they saw that I was coming, and the wharf was
clear behind them but for three of their foes who stayed where they
had fallen.

Then another man broke away from the crowd, and came running after
my folk. It was Harek the scald, with his head broken.

"Here are fine doings," said Kolgrim, as the men swarmed on board.
"What is on hand now?"

"It is not done with yet," said a man: "look at yon ship."

Then came Harek, out of breath, and pale.

"Let me on board, King Ranald, or I am a dead man," he cried.

"Come, then!" I answered; and he ran across the plank, and Kolgrim
pulled it in after him. All my men were come.

Then I looked at the ship spoken of. Men were swarming into her,
and were making ready to sail. But if she meant to stay our going,
she was too far up the harbour, and we were already casting off the
shore ropes.

"Hold on," said Thord; "here come the other scald and two men."

The crowd that was yet round the fallen men had parted to let
Thiodolf pass, and he came quickly. One of the men bore a chest,
and the other a bale of somewhat. They gave these over the gunwale
to my people, and Thiodolf spoke to me from the wharf.

"These are gifts from Harald to Einar's foster son," he said. "He
bids me say that you have done your errand well, and that this is
to prove it. Also he says that Ranald, son of Vemund, may need mail
to keep his kingship withal, and so he has sent you a suit."

"That is a hard saying," I answered; "is it insult?"

"Nay, but a broad hint only. The gift is most goodly."

"Well," said I, "it is plain that he will warn me from Norway. I
will leave you, good friend, to say for me what should be said.
Maybe if I sent a message it would go wrongly from my lips."

Thiodolf laughed, and bade me farewell. He paid no heed to Harek,
who sat on the deck with his back to him.

Then Kolgrim whistled shrill to his men, and we began to move down
to the harbour mouth. I heard a sharp voice hurrying the men in the
other ship; but they could not be ready in time to catch us.

When we were well out to sea, I asked Harek what all this was
about.

"Your going has spoiled a plan that Eric, the king's son, had made.
He wanted your sword, and thought also that to rid himself now of
Vemund's son might save him trouble when the crown came to him, as
it will. You were to be set on as you came from the feast tonight
to the guest quarters, as if in a common broil between your men and
his. Then he found you were going, and tried to stay your men, and
next to take these gifts from Thiodolf and me, being very angry,
even to trying to cut me down. Lucky for me that his sword turned
in his hand. But he would have had me slain tonight, certainly, for
he says that it was our fault that you are getting away. He fears
Thiodolf, however. Now I must take service with you, if you will
have me."

It seemed to me that I was making friends with one hand and enemies
with the other, and that last rather more quickly than was well. So
I laughed, and answered:

"I suppose that if I have a scald of my own, King Harald will blame
me for overmuch kingship. However, he is angry enough already, and
maybe a good friend will balance that to me. So if you will indeed
cast in your lot with me, I am glad!"

So I took his hand, and more than friends have he and I been from
that day forward.

Now, when I looked at Harald's strangely-given gifts, I had reason
to say that he was open handed. The chest held two mail shirts, one
of steel rings, gold ornamented and fastened, and the other of
scales on deerskin, both fit for a king. There were two helms also,
one to match either byrnie {iv}, and a seax that was fit to
hang with Sigurd's sword. As for the bale, that held furs of the
best, and blue cloth and scarlet. If Harald banished me, it was for
no ill will; and it was handsomely done, as though he would fit me
out for the viking's path in all honour, that men might not deem me
outlawed for wrongdoing. So I have no ill word to say against him.
Five years later he would have troubled about me and my kingship
not at all; now he must be careful, for his power was not at its
full.

As for young Eric, I suppose that he boasted ever after that he had
put me to flight; but I do not know that it matters if he did.

So I came back to Durness, where I was to meet with Einar; and
peace was made between him and the king, and he thought it well to
go and speak with him. Then he and I must part, and that was hard.

"Now must you go your own way, son Ranald, for Harald is too strong
for us. Maybe that is best for you, for here shall I bide in peace
in Orkney; and that is not a life for a king's son--to sit at a
jarl's table in idleness, or fight petty fights for scatt
withholden and the like. Better for you the wide seas and the lands
where you may make a name, and maybe a kingdom, for yourself. Yet I
shall miss you sorely."

So he said, and I knew that he was right. Maybe the spirit of the
sword I had won got hold of me, as they say will happen; for I had
waxed restless of late, and I had tried to keep it from Einar. Now
I hated myself for it, seeing at hand what I had longed for.

So he went north to meet Harald, and of our parting I will not say
more. I could not then tell that I should not see him again, and
that was well: but I know that when I saw the last flicker of his
sails against the sky, I felt more lonely even than at the
graveside in Southmere.

Yet I was in no worse case than were many nobly-born men at that
time; for whosoever would not bow to Harald and his new laws must
leave Norway, and her bravest were seeking new homes everywhere.
Some had gone to far-off Iceland, and some to East Anglia; some to
the Greek emperor, or Gardariki, and more yet to Ireland. But the
greatest viking of all, Rolf, the son of Rognvald, Einar's young
brother, had gone to France or England, with a mighty following;
for Harald had outlawed him among the first who broke his law by
plundering on the Norway coasts. A good law it was, but it was new,
and so went against the grain at first. Rolf had sworn to make a
new kingdom for himself, and why should not I do the same?

So when I was in the open sea again, with all the world before me,
as the long sea-miles passed I grew lighthearted, and many were the
thoughts of great deeds to come that filled my mind.



Chapter III. Odda, the Ealdorman of Devon.


Now I steered eastward from Sutherland, and sailed down the east
coasts of Scotland and England; and there is nothing to say about
such a cruise, that had nought more wonderful in it than the
scaring of the folk when we put in for food. I had made up my mind
to go to Ireland for the winter, where, as every Northman knew,
there were kingdoms to be won--having no wish to be Rolf's
follower, seeing he was but a jarl's son; and finding that England
had no overlord, seeing that even now Alfred of Wessex and Guthrum
of East Anglia were fighting for mastery, so that the whole land
was racked and torn with strife.

Maybe I thought too much of myself at that time, but I was in no
haste to do aught but cruise about and find where I might best make
a name. I had but my one ship and crew, and I would not throw them
away on some useless business for want of care in choosing.

Now, when we came into the English Channel, a gale began to blow up
from the southwest; and we held over to the French shore, and there
put into a haven that was sheltered enough. The gale strengthened,
and lasted three days; but the people were kindly enough, being of
Saxon kin, who had settled there under the headland they call
Greynose, since Hengist's times of the winning of England across
the water. And when the gale was over, we waited for the sea to go
down, and then came a fair wind from the eastward, as we expected.
So we got provisions on board, and sailed westward again, taking a
long slant over to the English coast, until we sighted the great
rock of Portland; and then the wind came off the land, and in the
early morning veered to the northwest.

The tide was still with us as the light strengthened; then as the
day broke, with the haze of late summer over the land, we found
that we were right in the track of a strange fleet that was coming
up fast from the westward--great ships and small, in a strange
medley and in no sort of order, so that we wondered what they would
be.

"Here comes Rolf Ganger back from Valland," said Kolgrim. "He has
gathered any vessels he could get together, and is going to land in
England."

"We will even head out to sea from across their course," I said.
"Maybe they are Danes from Exeter, flying from the Saxons."

So we headed away for the open channel until at least we knew more.
The fleet drew up steadily, bringing the tide with them; and
presently we fell to wondering at the gathering. For there were
some half-dozen ships that were plainly Norse like ourselves, maybe
twenty Danish-built longships, and about the same number of heavy
trading vessels. There were a few large fishing boats also; but
leading the crowd were five great vessels the like of which none of
us had ever seen or heard of before. And even as we spoke of them,
two of these shook out reefs in their sails, and drew away from the
rest across channel, as if to cut us off.

"Ho, men," I said, when I saw that, "get to arms; for here they
come to speak with us. Maybe we shall have to fight--and these are
no easy nuts to crack!"

Whereat the men laughed; and straightway there was the pleasant
hustle and talk of those who donned mail shirt and helm and set the
throwing weapons to hand with all good will.

"Let us keep on our course," I said to Kolgrim. "We will see if we
cannot weather on these ships, and anyway shall fight them better
apart from the rest. It is a fine breeze for a sailing match."

So we held on; and the two great ships to windward of us began to
gain on us slowly, which was a thing that had never been done by
any ship before. I do not know that even Harald Fairhair had any
swifter ship than this that Halfdan had taken in his flight from
home. Kolgrim waxed very wroth when it became plain that these
could outsail us.

"There is witchcraft about those great hulks," he growled. "They
are neither Norse, nor Frisian, nor Danish, but better than all
three put together."

"I have sailed in ships, and talked of ships, and dreamed of them
moreover, since I could stand alone," said Thord, "but I never so
much as thought of the like of these. If they belong to some new
kind of viking, there are hard times in store for some of us."

"Faith," said I, "I believe they have swept up and made prizes of
all that medley astern of them."

So we held on for half an hour, and all that time they gained
steadily on us; and we neared them quickly at last, for we tried to
hold across their bows and weather on them. That was no good, for
they were as weatherly as we.

Now we could see that their decks were covered with armed men, and
it seemed certain that they meant to make prize of us. The leading
ship was maybe half a mile ahead of the other, and that a mile from
us--all three close-hauled as we strove to gain a weather berth.
Then the leading ship put her helm up and stood across our course,
and the second followed her.

"We must out oars now if we are to weather on them," said Kolgrim
at last.

Then the men shouted; and I looked at the second ship, to which
they were pointing. Her great sail was overboard, for the halliards
had gone--chafed through maybe, or snapped with the strain as she
paid off quickly. Then a new hope came to me.

"Men," I said, "let us take the other vessel, and then come back on
this; they are worth winning."

They cheered. And now the fight seemed to be even--ship to ship at
least, if our foe was larger and higher and swifter than ours; for
I thought that he would hardly have a crew like mine.

We up helm and stood away on the new course the foe had taken,
leaving the crippled ship astern very fast. And now we began to
edge up towards the other vessel, meaning to go about under her
stern, and so shoot to windward of her on the other tack. But then
I thought of a plan which might help us in the fighting. There had
seemed little order and much shouting on board the ship we had left
when her sail fell, and maybe there was the same want of discipline
here.

"Out oars, men! Keep them swinging, but put no weight on them. Let
them pull after us and tire themselves. I have a mind to see how
our dragon looks on yonder high stem head."

The men laughed grimly, and the oars were run out. One called to
me:

"Maybe they beat us in sailing, king; we can teach them somewhat in
weapon play."

"See how they get their oars out," said Kolgrim, with a sour grin;
"a set of lubbers they are."

One by one, and in no order, the long oars were being got to work.
The great ship was half as long again as ours, pulling twenty-eight
oars a side to our twenty. But while ours rose and fell as if
worked by one man, theirs were pulled anyhow, as one might say.

"Better are they at sailing than rowing," said Thord.

Nevertheless they flew down on us, and that because we only made a
show of rowing.

Then we laid on the oars, and came head to wind. The sail rattled
down, and was stowed on deck; and silently we waited, arrows on
string, for the fight that was now close at hand.

Then the great ship hove up, head to wind, right ahead of us, and a
loud hail came from her.

"Who knows what tongue he talks?" I said. "I cannot make him out
rightly."

"'Tis West Saxon," said an old warrior from the waist. "He asks who
we are and what is our business."

"Tell him therefore, if you can speak in his way," I answered; "and
ask the same of him."

So a hail or two went backwards and forwards, and then:

"Says he is Odda, jarl or somewhat of Devon in Wessex, and bids us
yield to Alfred the king."

"In truth," said I, "if he had not spoken of yielding, I had had
more to say to a king who can build ships like these. Now we will
speak with him on his own deck. Tell him he will have to fight us
first."

The old warrior sent a mighty curt hail back in answer to Odda's
summons; then our war horns blew, and the oars rose and fell, and
we were grinding our bows alongside the great ship's quarter before
they knew we were there. Alfred's men had yet somewhat to learn of
fighting in a sea way, as it seemed, for we were on their deck aft
before they had risen from their oar benches. There were but one or
two men on the quarter deck, besides the steersman, to oppose us.
Odda thought we should lay our ship alongside his towering sides if
we fought, as I suppose, for he was amidships.

So we swept the decks from aft forward without any hurt to
ourselves: for the Saxons were hampered with the oars, and fell
backward over them, and hindered one another. It was strange to
hear my men laughing in what seemed most terrible slaughter; for
their foes fell before they were smitten, and lay helpless under
the oars, while their comrades fell over them.

So we won to the foot of the mast, and then found that there were
some on board who were none so helpless: for as we came they swung
the great yard athwart ships, and that stayed us; while over the
heap of canvas glared those who would make it hard for us to win
the ship altogether.

But before we came to stern fighting, I had a word to say; so I
called for Odda.

A square built, brown-bearded man with a red, angry face pushed his
way to the front of his men, and frowned at me.

"What will you? here am I," he said shortly.

One could understand his words well enough when face to face, for
he spoke in the mixed tongue that any Northman understands, the
plain words of which all our kin have in common.

"I am no foe of Alfred's," I said; "I do not know, therefore, why I
should fight you."

"Are you not for the Danes?" he said.

"I hate them more or less, and I have no traffic with them."

"Well, then, what will you?"

"You bade me yield, and therefore I am here. Now I think it is a
matter to be seen whether of us does so."

"It seems that you have slain about half my men," he said.
"Nevertheless, I do not give up without fighting for the rest of my
ship that you have not won."

"That is well said," I answered.

But the men were laughing, for Kolgrim had stooped, and, reaching
under an oar bench, had dragged out a rower by the neck. The man
swore and struggled; but Kolgrim hove him up, and lifted him over
the yard to Odda's feet.

"They are all like that, Saxon," he said cheerfully. "Maybe there
is a head or two broken; 'tis mostly what we call seasickness,
however."

Odda looked at the man, who seemed wretched enough, but had no
hurt; then he stared at our laughing faces, and his own brow began
to clear.

"It comes into my mind," he said, "that maybe you would listen to
me if I owned first that you have the best of us, and then asked
you to fight for Alfred of Wessex. We need the help of such men as
you just now; and if you hate Danes, we have work enough for you."

"One may certainly listen to that," I answered, laughing.

"What say you, men? Shall we cast in our lot with Alfred for a
while?"

"We follow you, Ranald the king," Kolgrim answered for all. "If it
seems good to you, it is good for us. There will be fighting
enough, I trow, if all we have heard is true."

Then said Odda:

"And that before long. There is a Danish fleet in Poole Harbour
that is to bring Danes from Wareham to the help of those whom
Alfred holds in Exeter. We have to meet this fleet and scatter it."

"Then," said old Thord, "your men must be better handled, for Danes
are no new swordsmen or seamen either."

Now the men stood listening to our talk, and this sort of saying
was not good for them to hear, if they were to meet the foe soon
with a good hope of victory. So Odda said quickly:

"If you will indeed fight for us, you must trust to Alfred to give
you fitting reward. I do not know what I might say about that,
having thought of no such chance as this. But there is no man who
can complain of him."

I had heard that the king was ever open handed, but also that at
this time he had little to give. Maybe, however, we might help him
to riches again. I had the men to think of, but I will say for
myself that I had not thought of asking what reward or pay should
be given.

I sheathed my sword, and held out my hand to Odda across the yard
that was between us; and he grasped it honestly, while the men on
either side cheered.

"Stay here and speak with me," Odda said. "Now we must get back to
the fleet."

Then went back to our ship, all but Thord and half a dozen
warriors, whom he kept as guard for me, I suppose; and the
grappling lines were cast off. Then we made sail again, and headed
to rejoin the rest of the Saxon vessels. Odda's crippled ship had
repaired her damage at this time, and went with us. But first it
was plain that she thought we had taken her consort, for she
prepared to fight us, and Odda had to hail her once or twice before
she was sure of what had happened. Then her crew cheered also.

Now Odda took me aft, and we sat together on his quarter deck.
Thord came also, and leaned on the rail beside us, looking with
much disfavour at the crew, who were plainly landsmen at sea for
the first time, if they were stout fighting men enough. Maybe there
were ten seamen among the hundred and fifty, but these had handled
the ship well under canvas, as we knew.

"You have come in good time, King Ranald," Odda said. "You see what
state we are in; can you better it for us?"

"Many things I can see that need strengthening," I answered. "But
you seem to take me into your counsels over soon, seeing that I
have just fallen on you sword in hand."

"Why," said Odda frankly, "it is just your way of speaking to me
sword in hand that makes me sure that I can trust you. I cannot
deny that you had this ship at your mercy, and that the other would
have been yours next; and you knew it, and yet spoke me fair. So it
is plain that you mean well by us."

"Ay," said I, "but for your bidding me to yield, there would have
been no fighting at all, when I knew to whom the ships belonged."

"You have put a thought in my mind, and I am glad you did board us,
seeing there is no harm done," Odda answered. "I will tell you what
it is. Send me some of your men to order my people and tell them
how to prepare for battle. Here am I sent to sea for the first
time, with good warriors enough who are in like case, and a few
seamen who can sail the ship and know nought else."

"You have some Norsemen yonder, if I mistake not," I said, looking
at the fleet which we were nearing.

"Ay--wandering vikings who care nought for what I say. They were
going to Rolf, and the king persuaded them to take this cruise
first. If you can make them follow you, there will be another
matter for which I shall be more than thankful."

Thereat Thord growled: "They will follow Ranald Vemundsson well
enough; have no care about that."

Then said I:

"These are the finest ships I have ever seen. Where did they come
from?"

"Alfred, our king, planned them," said Odda, with much pride; "and
they were built by our own men, working under Frisian shipwrights,
in Plymouth."

"How will you like to command one of these, Thord?" I asked then.

"I like the ship well enough. The crew is bad. And then, whose
command is the fleet under?"

"Take the ship, Thord, and lick my crew into shape; and Ranald,
your king, shall command the fleet," Odda said plainly.

"Fair and softly," said Thord bluntly. "I can do the two things you
ask me; but will your men follow Ranald?"

"Faith," said Odda, "if I say they are to do so, they must."

So in the end I left Thord and my seamen with Odda; but I would not
take his place, only saying that I would lead the Norsemen, and
that he could follow our plans. I would put more good men into each
of his five ships, and they should do what they could. At least
they could teach the Saxons how to board a ship, and how to man
their own sides against boarders from a foe.

Those Norsemen said they would gladly follow the son of King Vemund
and foster son of Einar the jarl; and so we led the strange fleet,
and held on eastward with a light breeze all that day, making
little way when the tide turned, and held back by the slower
vessels. Men in plenty there were, but ill fitted for aught but
hand fighting; though I had more Norsemen sent into the larger
ships, such as those that had been taken from the Danes and the
better trading vessels. One might soon see the difference in the
trim and order on board as the vikings got to work and the Saxons
overcame their sickness.

Now we might meet the Danes at any time, and I could not tell how
matters would go. One thing was certain, however, and that was that
they looked for no gathering of ships by Alfred. We should
certainly take them by surprise, and I hoped, therefore, that they
would be in no trim for fighting.

There was a very swift cutter belonging to the Norsemen, and as
night fell I sent her on to keep watch along the shore for the
first coming of the Danes, while we shortened sail; for the mouth
of Poole Harbour was not far distant, and if we passed that we
should be seen, and perhaps it would be guessed that we were not a
friendly fleet. Towards evening, too, the wind shifted, and blew
more off the shore, and that might bring them out from their haven.
Kolgrim, who was weather wise, said that a shift of wind to the
southward was coming presently.

When morning came, the high cliffs of Swanage were on our bow, the
wind was yet steady from off shore, and beyond the headland lay
Poole Harbour, at whose head is Wareham, where the Danes were. It
is a great sea inlet with a narrow mouth, and one must have water
enough on a rising tide to enter it. Now the ebb was running, and
if the Danes came this morning, it would be soon.

They came, as it seemed, for the cutter was flying back to us under
sail and oars; and before she reached us, the first Danish ships
were clear of the Swanage headlands, making for the offing. Then I
got my ships into line abreast, and Thord worked up Odda's five
alongside us to seaward; and all the while the Danish sails hove
into sight in no sort of order, and seeming so sure that none but
friends could be afloat that they paid no heed to us.

Soon there were full a hundred vessels of all sorts off Swanage
point, and the cutter brought word that there were but twenty more.
Then I ran up my fighting flag, and everywhere along our line rose
a great cheering as we hoisted sail and sped down on the foe. It
was long since the seas had borne a fleet whence the Saxon war cry
rang.

The leading Danes were ahead of us as we gathered way, and their
long line straggled right athwart our course. We should strike
their midmost ships; and at last they saw what was coming, and
heard the din of war horns and men's voices that came down wind to
them, and there were confusion and clamour on their decks, and
voices seemed to call for order that did not come.

Then one or two longships from among them struck sail and cleared
for action, and on these swooped Alfred's great ships. Odda's
crashed upon and sank the first she met, and plunged and shook
herself free from the wreck, and sought another. And beyond her the
same was being wrought; and cheers and cries were strangely mixed
where those high bows went forward unfaltering.

Now a ship crowded with men was before me. As we boarded, her crew
were yet half armed, and struggling to reach the weapon chests
through the press, even while our dragon head was splintering the
gunwale; and I leaped on board her, with my men after me and Harek
beside me.

Then sword Helmbiter was let loose for the first time since Sigurd
wielded her; and though a great and terrible cry came from over the
water as one of Alfred's ships sank another Dane, I could look no
more, for there was stern fighting before me.

What a sword that was! Hardly could my arm feel the weight of it as
it swung in perfect balance, and yet I knew the weight it had as it
fell. Helm and mail seemed as nought before the keen edge, and the
shields flew in twain as it touched them.

Forward I went, and aft went Harek the scald, and there was soon an
end. The Danes went overboard, swimming or sinking, as their fate
might be, and only the slain bided before us. The ship was ours,
and I looked round to see what should be next. No other ship had
come to help our prey.

Then I saw a wonderful sight. Panic terror had fallen on the Danes,
and not one ship of all that great fleet was not flying down the
wind without thought of fighting. Among them went our vessels,
great and small, each doing her work well; and the Saxon shouts
were full of victory.

So we must after them, and once more we boarded a longship, and had
the victory; and then we were off the haven mouth, and with the
flood tide the wind was coming up in gusts from the southeast that
seemed to bode angry weather. By that time no two Danish ships were
in company, and the tide was setting them out to sea.

"Here is a gale coming," said Kolgrim, looking at the sky and the
whitening wave crests. "We had best get our ships into this haven
while we can."

It seemed that Thord was of the same mind, for now he was heading
homeward, and the other Saxons were putting about and following
him. So I got men into the best of the ships we had taken, and
waited till Thord in Odda's ship led the way, and so followed into
Poole Harbour.

Well it was for us that we had refuge so handy. For by noonday the
gale was blowing from the southwest, and two Danish ships were
wrecked in trying to gain the harbour--preferring to yield to us
rather than face the sea, with a lee shore, rocky and hopeless,
waiting for them.

We went into the Poole inlet, which is on the eastern side of the
wide waters of the haven, and there found good berths enough. The
village was empty, save for a few Saxon fishermen, who hailed us
joyfully. And then Odda made for us as good a feast as he might in
the best house that was there, bidding every shipmaster to it.
Merry enough were all, though we had but ship fare; for the Saxons
had great hopes from this victory.

Now Odda made much of what I had done--though it was little
enough--saying that I and my men deserved well of Alfred, and that
he hoped that we should stay with him for this winter, which would
perhaps see the end of the war.

"Why," said I, "things would have been much the same if I had not
been here."

"That they would not," he answered. "I should have blundered past
this place in the night, and so lost the Danes altogether; or if I
had not done that, they would soon have found out what state my men
were in. You should have heard old Thord rate them into order; it
is in my mind that he even called me--Odda the ealdorman--hard
names in his broad Norse tongue. But at least he gave us somewhat
more to think of than the sickness that comes of heaving planks
that will by no means keep steady for a moment."

He laughed heartily at himself, and then added:

"Good King Alfred thought not at all of that matter. Now I can
shift the whole credit of this victory to your shoulders, and then
he will not believe that I am the born sea captain that he would
have me think myself."

"I will not have that," I said, "for I have not deserved it."

"Ay; but, I pray you, let me put it from myself, else shall I be
sent to sea again without any one to look to for advice," he said
earnestly, and half laughing at the same time. "I did but take
command of this fleet because the king could find no one else at a
pinch. Heaven defend me from such a charge again!"

"Now you have only the Exeter Danes to deal with," I said.

"How many men might these ships have held?" he asked.

"Maybe five thousand," I answered.

Thereat his face changed, and he rose up from his seat at the high
table, and said that he would go down to see that the ships were
safe, for the gale was blowing heavily as the night fell.

So we went outside the house, and called a man, telling him to find
one of the Poole fishermen and bring him to speak to us.

"There were twelve thousand Danes in Wareham," he said, "for more
have come lately. I thought they would all have been in the ships."

"If that had been possible, not one would have seen the morning's
light," I answered, "for their ships are lost in this gale
certainly."

Now I will say that I was right. The wrecks strewed the shore of
Dorset and Hants next morning; and if any men won to land, there
waited for them the fishers and churls, who hated them. No Danish
fleet was left in the channel after that gale was spent.

When the fisher came, he told us that as many more Danes were left
in Wareham, and that those from Poole had fled thither when they
saw what had happened to the fleet.

"Shall you march on Wareham and scatter them, or will they fall on
us here?" I asked; for we had no more than two thousand men at
most.

"I would that I knew what they thought of this business," he
answered; "but I shall not move tonight. It is far by land, and I
suppose we could not get the ships up in the dark."

So he posted pickets along the road to Wareham, and we went back to
the house for a while. And presently, as it grew dark, a wild
thought came into my mind. I would go to Wareham with a guide, and
see what I could find out of the Danish plans. Maybe there were
fewer men than was thought, or they might be panic-stricken at our
coming in this wise; or, again, they might march on us, and if so,
we should have to get to sea again, to escape from double our
numbers.

Now the more I thought of this, the more I grew bent on going, for
I was sure that we must know what was going on. And at last I took
Odda aside while Harek sang among the men, and told him what I
would do.

At first he was against my running the risk; but I told him that a
Norseman might go safely where a Saxon could not among the Danes,
and at last I persuaded him. Then I called Kolgrim, and we went out
together into the moonlight and the wind, to find the fisherman we
had spoken with already and get him to act as guide. I think that
Odda did not expect to see either of us again; and when I came to
know more of Saxons, I learned that he trusted me most fully, for
many thanes would have thought it likely that I went on some
treacherous errand.



Chapter IV. Jarl Osmund's Daughter.


To my mind, no gale seems so wild as one that comes at the time of
full moon, when the clouds break up and fly in great masses of
black and silver against the deeper sky beyond, while bright light
and deepest shadow chase each other across land and sea beneath
them. Kolgrim and I stood under the lee of a shed, waiting for the
fisher to get his boat afloat, and looked out on bending trees and
whitened water, while beyond the harbour we could see the great
downs, clear cut and dark, almost as well as by day, so bright it
was.

It was low water now, which was good for us, for the winding
channels that lead up to Wareham were sheltered under their bare
banks. We could hear the thunder of the surf along the rocky coast
outside, when the wind ceased its howling for a moment; and at high
water the haven had been well nigh too stormy for a small boat. Now
we should do best to go by water, for wind was with us; though,
unless the gale dropped very quickly, we could not return in her,
for there would be a heavy sea and tide against us if we could get
away before it turned, while if we were long wind against tide
would be worse yet.

The fisherman was eager to help us against the Danes, who had made
him work for nought; and so in half an hour we were flying up the
haven on the first rise of tide, and the lights of Wareham town
grew plainer every moment. From the number of twinkling sparks that
flitted here and there, it would seem that many folk were waking,
even if some movement were not on hand.

Presently we turned into the channel that bends to the southwest
from the more open water, and the town was before us. The fisher
took to his oars now, lowering the scrap of sail that had been
enough to drive us very swiftly before the gale so far.

Wareham stands on the tongue of land between two rivers' mouths,
and the tide was setting us into the northward of these. That was
the river one would have to cross in coming to or from Poole, and
maybe we should learn as much there as anywhere.

There were three ships on the mud, but even in the moonlight it was
plain that they were not seaworthy. There were wide gaps in their
bulwarks, which none had tried to mend, and the stem head of one
was gone.

"These ships were hurt in the storm of lest week," the fisher said,
as we drifted past them; "there was hardly one that came in unhurt.
But the Danes were eager to go, and mended them as they could."

Perhaps that was partly the reason why we gained so easy a victory,
I thought at the time, and afterwards knew that I was right. They
had suffered very much, while we lay across channel in safety.

There loomed before us the timbers of a strong bridge that had been
over the north river, when we were fairly in it and under the
nearer houses of the town. But now it was broken down, and the gap
in its middle was too wide for hasty repair.

"When was this done?" I asked the fisherman.

"Since yesterday," he answered.

Now this seemed to me to indicate that the Danes meant to guard
against attack by land from Poole; also that they overrated our
numbers, which was probable in any case, seeing that a fleet had
fled from before us.

There were wharves on the seaward side of the bridge, but none were
beyond; and the houses stood back from the water, so that there was
a sort of open green between it and them. There were no people
about, but we could hear shouts from the town now and then.

"Let us go ashore and speak with some one," I said; "it is of no
use our biding here on the water."

Kolgrim and I were fully armed, and had boat cloaks with us which
covered us well, and we thought none would question who we were if
we mixed among the men in some inn or other gathering place. So we
bade the fisher wait for us, and found the stairs, and went to the
wide green along the waterside, and across it to the houses, which
were mostly poor enough here.

Many of them stood open, and in one a fire burned on the hearth,
but all were empty. So we turned into a street that led seemingly
from one bridge to the other across the town. Here men were going
hither and thither with torches, and groups were outside some of
the houses. To the nearest of these I went, as if I had all right
to be in the place.

They were bringing goods out of the house, and loading a cart with
them.

"Here is a flitting," said Kolgrim, "and another or two are on hand
yonder."

I stayed a man who came past me from out of a house.

"I have fled from Poole," I said. "What is in the wind here? Are we
to leave Wareham also?"

"If you come from Poole, you should know that it is time we did
so," he answered shortly. "I suppose you saw the whole business."

"So I did," I answered. "What are the orders?"

"Pack up and quit with all haste," said he. "You had better get to
work if you have aught to save."

"Shall we go to Exeter, or back to Mercia?" I said.

"Exeter they say; but I know not. Why not go and ask Jarl Osmund
himself--or follow the crowd and hinder no one with questions?"

He hurried on; but then some men began to question us about the
doings off Swanage, and Kolgrim told them such tales that they
shivered, and soon we had a crowd round us listening. Nor did I
like to hurry away, for I heard a man say that we were Northmen, by
our voices. But there were plenty of our folk among the Danes.

Then came a patrol of horsemen down the street, and they bade the
loiterers hurry. I drew Kolgrim into an open doorway, and stood
there till they passed, hearing them rate their fellows for delay.

"Wareham will be empty tomorrow," I said. "Now we can go; we have
learned enough."

Still I would see more, for there seemed no danger. Every man was
thinking of himself. So we went across the town, and as we came
near the western bridge the crowd grew very thick.

We heard before long that the army was as great as Odda had
thought, and that they were going to Exeter. Already the advance
guard had gone forward, but this train of followers would hardly
get clear of the town before daylight. They had heard great
accounts of our numbers, and I wished we had brought the ships up
here at once. There would have been a rout of the Danes.

But the place was strange to me, and to Odda also, so that we could
not be blamed.

We got back by the way we came, and then knew that we could in no
way take the boat to Poole. The gale was raging at its highest, and
thatch was flying from the exposed roofs. It would be dead against
us; and the sea was white with foam, even in the haven. So we must
go by road, and that was a long way. But we must get back to Odda,
for he should be in Wareham before the Danes learned, maybe, that
their flight was too hurried.

Now it seemed to me that to leave Wareham was not so safe as to
come into it, for no Dane would be going away from the place.
However, the bridge was down; and if it had not been done in too
great haste, any fugitives from the country would have come in. So
that maybe we should meet no one on the road that goes along the
shore of the great haven.

The fisherman ferried us over to the opposite shore, and then tied
his boat to the staging of the landing place, saying that he was
well known and in no danger. He would sleep now, and bring his boat
back when the wind fell. So we left him, thanking him for his
goodwill.

Grumbling, as men will, we set out on our long walk in the gale. We
could not miss the road, for it never left the curves of the shore,
and all we had to do was to be heedful of any meetings. There might
be outposts even yet, watching against surprise.

However, we saw no man in the first mile, and then were feeling
more secure, when we came to a large farmstead which stood a short
bowshot back from the road, with a lane of its own leading to the
great door. What buildings there were seemed to be behind it, and
no man was about; but there was light shining from one of the high
windows, as if some one were inside, and plain to be seen in the
moonlight were two horses tied by the stone mounting block at the
doorway.

"Here is a chance for us, master," said my comrade, coming to a
stand in the roadway. "I must try to steal these horses for
ourselves. If Danes are in the place, they have doubtless stolen
them; and if Saxons, they will get them back."

"There will be no Saxon dwelling so near the Danes," I said. "Maybe
the place is full of Danes--some outpost that is careless."

"Careless enough," said Kolgrim. "If they are careless for three
minutes more, they have lost their horses."

Then we loosened our swords in their sheaths, and drew our seaxes,
and went swiftly up the grassy lane. The wind howled round the
house so that none would hear the clank of mail, which we could not
altogether prevent. But the horses heard us, and one shifted about
and whinnied as if glad to welcome us.

At that we ran and each took the bridle of that next him, and cut
the halter that was tied to the rings in the wall, looking to see
the doors thrown open at any moment. Then we leaped to the saddles
and turned to go. The hoofs made a great noise on the paving stones
before the doorway, yet there was no sound from inside the house.

That seemed strange to me, and I sat still, looking back with the
horse's head turned towards the main road.

"Stay not, master," Kolgrim said. "'Tis some outpost, and the men
have slept over the farmhouse ale. Maybe the stables behind are
full of horses. Have a care, master; the door opens!"

He was going; but I waited for a moment, half expecting to see a
spear point come first, and my hand was on my sword hilt. But the
great heavy door swung slowly, as if the one who opened it had
trouble with its weight. So I must needs see who came. Maybe it was
some old man or woman whose terror I could quiet in a few words.

Then the red firelight from within shone out on me, and in the
doorway, with arms raised to post and door on either hand, stood a
tall maiden, white robed, with gold on neck and arm. The moonlight
on her seemed weird with the glow of the fire shining through the
edges of her hood and sleeves. I could see her face plainly, and it
was fair and troubled, but there was no fear in her looks.

"Father, is this you?" she said quietly.

I could make no answer to that, and she looked intently at me; for
the moon was beyond me, and both Kolgrim and I would seem black
against it, as she came from the light within, while the wind, keen
with salt spray, was blowing in her face.

"Who is it?" she said again. "I can scarcely see for moon and wind
in my eyes."

"Friends, lady," I said, for that at least was true in a way.

"Where are my horses? Have you seen aught of our thralls, who
should have left them?" she asked, looking to whence we had just
taken the beasts.

Now I was ashamed to have taken them, for she was so plainly alone
and helpless, and I could not understand altogether how it could be
so. I was sure that she was Danish, too.

"How is it that you have not fled, lady?" I asked. "Surely you
should have gone."

"Ay; but the thralls fled when they heard the news. Has not my
father sent you back for me?"

This seemed a terrible plight for the maiden, and I knew not what
to say or do. She could not be left in the way of our Saxons if
they came on the morrow, and I could not take her to Poole. And so,
lest I should terrify her altogether, I made up my mind even as she
looked to me for an answer.

"I think your father is kept in Wareham in some way. Does he look
for you there?"

"Ay, surely," she answered; but there was a note as of some new
fear in her voice. "Has aught befallen him? Have the Saxons come?"

"All is well in Wareham yet," I answered. "Now we will take you to
your father. But we are strangers, as you may see."

Then I called to Kolgrim, who was listening open eyed to all this,
and backed away from the door a little.

"What is this madness, master?" he whispered hoarsely.

"No madness at all. Ten minutes' ride to Wareham with the maiden,
give her to the fisherman to take to her friends, and then ride
away--that is all. Then we shall be in Poole long before any look
for us, for we are in luck's way."

Kolgrim laughed.

"Strange dangers must I run with you, master; but that is what one
might look for with Ranald of the Sword."

Then I got off the horse, which was very strong and seemed quiet,
and went to the maiden again.

"It will be best for you to come with us, lady," I said "we will
see you safely to Wareham."

The light fell on my arms now, and they were splendid enough, being
Harald Fairhair's gift, which I had put on for the fight, seeing
that the men loved to see their king go bravely, and being,
moreover, nowise loth to do so myself. She seemed to take
heart--for she was well nigh weeping now--when she saw that I was
not some wandering soldier of the great host.

"My horses, two of them should be here," she said. "I bade the
thralls leave them when they fled."

So she thought not that we had loosed them, and did not know her
own in the moonlight. Maybe she had no knowledge as to which of
many had been left, and I was glad of that, for so her fear was
less.

"You must ride with us," I said, "and I would ask you to come
quickly; even now the host is leaving Wareham."

"Ay, is that so? Then my father is busy," she said, and then she
faltered a little, and looked at me questioningly. "I cannot go
without my nurse, and she is very sick. I think she sleeps now. Men
feared her sickness so that we brought her here from the town. But
indeed there is nought to fear; there is no fever or aught that
another might take from her."

Then I grew fairly anxious, for this was more than I had looked
for. I knew that it was likely that she would soon be missed and
sought for; yet I could not think of leaving her to that chance,
with the bridge broken moreover.

I gave the bridle to Kolgrim then to hold.

"Let me see your nurse," I said gently; "I have some skill in these
troubles."

She led me into the house without a word. All the lower story was
in one great room, with a hearth and bright fire thereon in the
centre. Beyond that was a low bed, to which the maiden went. A very
old woman, happed in furs and heavy blankets, lay on it, and it
needed but one look to tell me that she needed no care but the
last. Past need of flight was she, for she was dead, though so
peacefully that her watcher had not known it.

"The sleep is good, is it not?" the maiden said, looking anxiously
into my face.

"It is good, lady," I answered, taking off my helm. "It is the best
sleep of all--the sleep that heals all things."

The maiden looked once at the quiet face, and once more at me, with
wide eyes, and then she knew what I meant, and turned quickly from
me and wept silently.

I stood beside her, not daring to speak, and yet longing to be on
the road. And so still were we that Kolgrim got off his horse and
came to the door and called me, though not loudly.

I stepped back to him.

"Come again in a few minutes and say one word--'Saxons'" I
whispered, "then we shall go."

He nodded and drew back. I think the maiden had not heard me move,
for she was bent over the bed and what lay thereon. It seemed very
long to me before I heard my comrade at the door.

"Saxons, master!" he said loudly.

"Say you so?" I answered, and then I touched the maiden's arm
gently.

"Lady, we must go quickly," I said. "The dame is past all help of
ours, and none can harm her. Come, I pray you."

She stood up then, still looking away from me, and I drew the
covering over the still face she gazed at.

"You must leave her, and I know these Saxons will not wrong the
dead," said I gently. "Your father will miss you."

"I am keeping you also in danger," she answered bravely. "I will
come."

"Loth to go am I," she said, as she gathered her wrappings to her
and made ready very quickly, "for it seems hard. But hard things
come to many in time of war."

After that she ceased weeping, and was, as I thought, very brave in
this trouble, which was indeed great to her. And when she was clad
in outdoor gear, she bent once more over the bed as in farewell,
while I turned away to Kolgrim and made ready the horses. Then she
came, and mounted behind me on a skin that I had taken from a chair
before the hearth.

Then we were away, and I was very glad. The good horse made nothing
of the burden, and we went quickly. Many a time had I ridden
double, with the rough grip of some mail-shirted warrior round my
waist, as we hurried back to the ships after a foray; but this was
the first time I had had charge of a lady, and it was in a strange
time and way enough. I do not know if it was in the hurry of
flight, or because they had none, but the horses had no saddles
such as were for ladies' use.

So I did not speak till we were half a mile from the house, and
then came a hill, and we walked, because I feared to discomfort my
companion. Then I said:

"Lady, we are strangers, and know not to whom we speak nor to whom
we must take you."

There was a touch of surprise in her voice as she answered:

"I am the Lady Thora, Jarl Osmund's daughter."

Then I understood how this was the chief to whom the man I spoke
with first had bidden me go for orders. It was plain now that he
was up and down among the host ordering all things, and deeming his
daughter in safety all the while. He had not had time to learn how
his cowardly folk had fled and left their mistress, fearing perhaps
the sickness of the old dame as much as the Saxon levies.

Now no more was said till we came to the riverside, where the flood
tide was roaring through the broken timbers of the bridge. The
fisher slept soundly despite the noise of wind and water, and
Kolgrim had some trouble in waking him.

"How goes the flight?" I asked him when he came ashore with the
boat's painter in his hand.

"Faith, master, I know not. I have slept well," he said.

Now by this time it seemed to me that I ought to take the lady into
a safe place, and I would go myself rather than leave her to the
fisherman, who was rough, and hated the Danes heartily, as I knew.
Moreover, I had a new plan in my head which pleased me mightily.
Then I thought that if I were to meet any man who suspected me,
which was not likely, the Lady Thora would be pass enough for me.
So I told Kolgrim to bide here for me, and he said at first that he
must be with me. However, I made him stay against his will at last,
telling him what I thought.

Then the fisher put us across quickly, and went back to the far
side to wait my return.

I asked Thora where I must take her to find the jarl.

"To his house, surely," she said.

"I do not know the way from here," I answered; "I fear you must
lead me."

"As you will," she said, wondering. "It is across the town
certainly."

That was bad for me, perhaps, but I should find that out presently.
So we went across the open, and came to the road through the town
along which I had been before. It was clearer, though there were
yet many people about.

Now when we were in the shadow of the first houses, Thora stopped
suddenly and looked hard at me.

"Will you tell me if I am heading you into danger?" she said.

"What danger is possible?" I answered. "There are no Saxons here
yet."

"Not one?" she said meaningly. "I may be wrong--it does seem
unlikely but I think you do not belong to us. Your speech is not
like ours altogether, and your helm is gold encircled, as if you
were a king."

"Lady," I said, "why should you think that I am not of your people?
Let us go on to the jarl."

"Now I know that you are not. Oh, how shall I thank you for this?"

Then she glanced at my helm again, and drew a sudden little quick
breath.

"Is it possible that you are Alfred of Wessex? It were like what
they say of him to do as you have done for a friendless maiden."

Then she caught my hand and held it in both of hers, looking half
fearfully at me.

"Lady," I said, "I am not King Alfred, nor would I be. Come, let us
hasten."

"I will take you no further," she said then. "Now I am sure that
you are of the Northmen that were seen with the Saxons. You are not
of us, and I shall lose you your life."

Then came the quick trot of horses, and I saw a little troop coming
down the street, their arms flashing in the streaks of moonlight
between the houses.

"I will see you in good hands, Lady Thora," I answered. "Who are
these coming?"

"It is my father," she said, and drew me back deeper into shadow.

After the horsemen and beside them ran men who bore planks and
ropes, and it was plain that the jarl had found out his loss, and
hastened to bridge the gap and cross the river.

I saw that I could keep up the pretence no longer.

"Let me walk behind you as your servant," I said. "If any heed me,
I pray you make what tale you can for me."

"What can I say to you in thanks?" she cried quickly, and letting
go my hand which she yet held. "If you are slain, it is my fault.
Tell me your name at least."

"Ranald Vemundsson, a Northman of King Alfred's," I said. "Now I am
your servant--ever."

Then Thora left my side suddenly, and ran forward to meet the
foremost horseman--for they were close to us--calling aloud to
Osmund to stay. And he reined up and leaped from his horse with a
cry of joy, and took her in his arms for a moment.

I got my cloak around me, pulling the hood over my helm, and stood
in the shadow where I was. I saw the jarl lift his daughter into
the saddle, and the whole troop turned to go back. The footmen cast
down their burdens where each happened to be, and went quickly
after them; and I was turning to go my way also, when a man came
riding back towards me.

"Ho, comrade," he said, "hasten after us. Mind not the things left
in the boat. There is supper ere we go."

I lifted my hand, and he turned his horse and rode away, paying no
more heed to me. That was a good tale of things left that Thora had
made in case I was seen to be going back to the boat.

Then I waxed light hearted enough, and thought of my other plan.
Kolgrim saw me coming, and the boat was ready.

"Have you flint and steel?" I said to the fisher as I got into the
boat.

"Ay, master, and tinder moreover, dry in my cap."

"Well, then, take me to those ships we saw. I have a mind to scare
these Danes."

It was a heavy pull against the sea to where they lay afloat now,
though it was not far. I fired all three in the cabins under the
fore deck, so that, as their bows were towards the town, the light
would not be seen till I was away.

Then we went swiftly back to Kolgrim, and as I mounted and rode
off, the blaze flared up behind us, for the tarred timbers burned
fiercely in the wind.

"That will tell Odda that the Danes are flying. And maybe it will
save Wareham town from fire, for they will think we are on them. So
I have spoiled Jarl Osmund's supper for him."

Then I minded that this would terrify the Lady Thora maybe, and
that put me out of conceit with my doings for a moment. But it was
plain that she was brave enough, for there were many things to fray
her in the whole of this matter, though perhaps it was because
Kolgrim stayed beyond the river that she made so sure that I was a
man of King Alfred's and no friend to the Danes.

So we rode away, pleased enough with the night's work, and reached
Poole in broad daylight, while the gale was slackening. Well
pleased was Odda to see me back, and to hear my news.

Then he asked me what I would do next. There seemed to be no more
work at sea, and yet he would have me speak with King Alfred and
take some reward from him. And I told him that the season grew
late, and that I would as soon stay in England for this winter as
anywhere.

"What will you do next in the matter of these Danes, however?" was
my question.

Then he said:

"I must chase them through the country till they are within the
king's reach. He has the rest pent in Exeter, and there will be
trouble if they sail out to join these. I must follow them,
therefore, end send men to Alfred to warn him. Then he will know
what to do. Now I would ask you to take the ships back into the
river Exe and join us there."

I would do that willingly, and thought that if the wind held fair
after the gale ended, I might be there before he joined the king by
land. But I should have to wait for a shift to the eastward before
sailing.

So Odda brought his men ashore, and marched on Wareham and thence
after the Danes, not meaning to fight unless some advantage showed
itself, for they were too many, but to keep them from harming the
country. And I waited for wind to take me westward.

Then the strange Norsemen left us. They had gained much booty in
the Danish ships, for they carried what had been won from the
Saxons, and what plunder should be taken was to be their share in
due for their services. They were little loss, for they were
masterless vikings who might have given trouble at any time if no
plunder was to be had, and I was not sorry to see them sail away to
join Rolf Ganger in France.

Now these men would have followed me readily, and so I should have
been very powerful at sea, or on any shore where I cared to land.
But Odda had made me feel so much that I was one in his counsel,
and a friend whom he valued and trusted, that I had made this
warfare against the Danes my own quarrel, as it were in his
company. Already I had a great liking for him, and the more I heard
of Alfred the king, the more I wished to see him. At the least, a
man who could build ships like these, having every good point of
the best I knew, and better than any ever heard of before, was
worth speaking with. I thought I knew somewhat of the shipwright's
craft, and one thinks much of the wisdom of the man who is easily
one's master in anything wherein one has pride.

Moreover, Alfred's men were wont to speak of him with little fear,
but as if longing for his praise. And I thought that wonderful,
knowing only Harald Fairhair and the dread of him.



Chapter V. Two Meetings in England.


It was not long before the shift of wind that I looked for came,
and at once I took all the ships round to the river Exe. Odda had
left me all the seamen he had, and they were enough for the short,
fair passage. We came to the haven in the river, and there heard
what news there was, and it was good enough. Odda had sent
well-mounted men to reach the king by roads away from the
retreating Danes, and he had been ready for them. He drew off his
levies from before the walls of the town, and let his enemies pass
him; then he and Odda fell on their rear and drove them into
Exeter, and there was holding them. It was well done; for though
the host sallied from the town to meet the newcomers, they gained
nothing but a share in the rout that followed when Odda closed on
the rear guard and the king charged the flank.

Now we heard that as soon as we landed. And then I had my first
knowledge of the ways of a Saxon levy. For no sooner were the ships
berthed than their crews began to leave them, making for their
homes.

One or two men I caught in the act of leaving in the early morning,
and spoke sharply to them, for it seemed that soon there would be
ships enough and not a man to tend them. Whereon they answered:

"We have done what we were called up for, and more also. Now may
others take our places. What more would you have? We have won our
victory, and the ships are not needed for a while."

So they went, and nothing I could say would stay them. I waxed
angry on that, and I thought I might as well sail for Ireland as
not. There seemed no chance of doing aught here, where men would
throw away what they had won of advantage.

So I went back to my own ship and sat under the after awning, in no
good temper. Thord and Kolgrim were yet busy in and about the
vessels, making all secure, and setting men to work on what needed
repairing. Presently Harek the scald came and sat with me, and I
grumbled to my heart's content about this Saxon carelessness and
throwing away of good luck.

Many Saxons--men from camp, and freemen of the place, and some
thanes--came, as one might expect, to stare at the ships and their
prizes. I paid no heed to them as the day went on, only wishing
that Odda would come and speak to me about his doings, for I had
sent word to him that we were in the river. Sometimes a thane would
stay and speak with me from the wharf alongside which my own ship
was with one or two others, and they were pleasant enough, though
they troubled me with over many thanks, which was Odda's fault.
However, I will say this, that if every man made as little of his
own doings and as much of those of his friends as did the honest
ealdorman, it were well in some ways.

By and by, while we were talking, having got through my grumble,
Kolgrim came along the shore with some Saxon noble whom he had met;
and this stranger was asking questions about each ship that he
passed. I suppose that Kolgrim had answered many such curious folk
already; for when he came near and we could hear what he was
saying, I was fain to laugh, for, as sailors will, he was telling
the landsman strange things.

"What do we pull up the anchor with?" he was saying. "Why, with
yonder big rope that goes from masthead to bows." and he pointed to
the great mainstay of our ship. "One must have a long purchase, if
you know what that is."

"Ah, 'tis wonderful," said the Saxon.

Then he caught my eye, and saw that I was smiling. He paid no heed
to me, however, but looked long at the ship that lay astern of
ours--one of the captured Danes. Thord had set a gang of shore folk
to bend the sail afresh to a new yard, for the old one had been
strained in the gale that came before the fight.

"What are those men doing, friend?" he asked Kolgrim directly.

"Bending a sail," answered my comrade listlessly, trusting, as it
would seem, to the sea language for puzzlement enough to the
landsman.

"So," said the Saxon, quite quietly. "It was in my mind that when a
sail was bent to the yard it was bent with the luff to the fore end
thereof."

At which words Kolgrim started, in a way, and looked first at the
riggers and then back at the Saxon, who moved no muscle of his
face, though one might see that his eyes twinkled. And I looked at
the riggers also, and saw that the Saxon was right, and that the
men had the square-cut sail turned over with the leech forward and
the luff aft. The sail was half laced to the yard, and none but a
man who knew much of ships would have seen that aught was wrong.

Then Kolgrim's face was so red, and angry, and full of shame all at
once, that I had the best laugh at him that had come to me for many
a day. And he did not bide with the Saxon any longer, but went on
board the ship hastily, and said what he had to say to the riggers.
The Saxon stood, and looked after him with a smile breaking over
his pleasant face, and I thought that maybe I owed him some amends
for my comrade's rough jesting, though indeed he had his revenge.

So I came ashore and spoke to him. He was a slight, brown-haired
man of about thirty, bearded and long-haired after the Saxon
fashion, and I thought he seemed to be recovering from some wound
or sickness that had made him white and thin. He wore his beard
long and forked, which may have made him look thinner; but he
seemed active and wiry in his movements--one of those men who make
up for want of strength by quickness and mastery of their weapons.
Soberly dressed enough he was, but the cloth of his short cloak and
jerkin was very rich, and he had a gold bracelet and brooch that
seemed to mark him as high in rank.

"My comrade has been well caught, thane," I said; "he will be more
careful what tales he tells the next comer. But I think he was
tired of giving the same answers to the same questions to all who
come to see us."

"Likely enough," the Saxon answered, laughing a little. "I asked to
see the prizes and the vikings' ships, and he showed me more than I
expected."

Then he looked along the line of vessels that he had not yet
passed, and added:

"I thought there were more Norse ships with Odda."

I told him how the other vikings had left us with their plunder at
Wareham, saying that I thought they could well be spared at that
time.

"However," I said, "I did not count on the Saxons leaving their
vessels so soon."

"Then I take it that I am speaking with King Ranald, of whom Odda
has so much to say," he said, without answering my last words.

"I am Ranald Vemundsson," I said; "but this ship is all my kingdom
now. Harald Fairhair has the land that should have been mine. I am
but a sea king."

Then he held out his hand, saying that there was much for which
every Saxon should thank me, and I passed that by as well as I
could, though I was pleased with the hearty grip he gave me.

"So long as Odda is satisfied it is enough," I said. "If I have
helped him a little, I have helped a man who is worth it."

"Well," said the thane, "you seem to be pleased with one another.
Now I should like to see this ship of yours, of which he has so
much to say."

We went over her, and it was plain that this thane knew what he was
talking about. I wondered that the king had not set him in command
instead of Odda, who frankly said what was true--that he was no
sailor. I supposed that this man, however, was not of high rank
enough to lead so great a gathering of Saxons, and so I said
nothing to him about it.

By and by we sat on the after deck with Harek, and I had ale
brought to us, and we talked of ship craft of all sorts. Presently,
however, he said:

"What shall you do now--if one may ask?"

"I know not. When I sailed from Wareham, I thought to have seen
more sea service with Alfred your king. But now his men are going
home, and in a day or two, at this rate, there will be none left to
man the ships."

"We can call them up again when need is," he answered.

"They should not go home till the king sends them," I said. "This
is not the way in which Harald Fairhair made himself master of
Norway. Once his men are called out they know that they must bide
with him till he gives them rest and sends them home with rewards.
It is his saying that one sets not down the hammer till the nail is
driven home, and clinched moreover."

"That is where the Danes are our masters," the Saxon said, very
gravely. "Our levies fight and disperse. It was not so in the time
of the great battles round Reading that brought us peace, for they
never had time to do so. Then we won. Now the harvest wants
gathering. Our people know they are needed at home and in the
fields."

"They must learn to know that home and fields will be better served
by their biding in arms while there is a foe left in the land. What
says Alfred the king?" I said.

"Alfred sees this as well as you, or as any one but our freemen,"
he answered; "but not yet can he make things go as he knows they
should. This is the end at which he ever aims, and I think he will
teach his people how to fight in time. I know this, that we shall
have no peace until he does."

"Your king can build a grand ship, but she is of no use without men
in her day by day, till they know every plank of her."

"Ay," said the Saxon; "but that will come in time. It is hard to
know how to manage all things."

"Why," I said, "if the care of a ship is a man's business, for that
he will care. You cannot expect him to care for farm and ship at
once, when the farm is his living, and the ship but a thing that
calls him away from it."

"What then?"

"Pay the shipman to mind the sea, that is all. Make his ship his
living, and the thing is done."

"It seems to me," the thane said, "that this can be done. I shall
tell the king your words."

"As you will," I answered; "they are plain enough. I would say also
that Harald our king has about him paid warriors whose living is to
serve him, and more who hold lands on condition that they bear arms
for him at any time."

Now Harek had listened to all this, and could tell the thane more
of Harald's ordering of things than I; so he took up the talk for a
time, and presently asked about the war and its beginning.

"Faith," answered the Saxon, with a grim smile, "I cannot tell when
the war began, for that was when the first Danes came to the
English shores. But if you mean the trouble that is on hand now, it
is easily told. Ten years has this host been in England--coming
first with Ingvar and Halfden and Hubba, the three sons of Lodbrok.
Ingvar has gone away, and Guthrum takes his place. Halfden is in
Northumbria, Hubba is in Wales, and Guthrum is king over East
Anglia and overlord of Mercia. It is Guthrum against whom we are
fighting."

"He is minded to be overlord of all England," said Harek.

"That is to be seen if a Dane shall be so," the Saxon answered,
flushing. "We beat them at first, as I have said, and have had
peace till last year. Then they came to Wareham from East Anglia.
There they were forced to make peace, and they swore on the holy
ring {v} to depart from Wessex; and we, on our part, swore
peace on the relics of the holy saints. Whereon, before the king,
Alfred, was ware of their treachery, they fell on our camp, slew
all our horsemen, and marched here. Then we gathered the levies
again--ay, I know why you look so impatiently, King Ranald--and
came here after them. As for the rest, you have taken your part.
Now we have them all inside these walls, and I think we have done."

Then his face grew dark, and he added:

"But I cannot tell. What can one do with oath breakers of this
sort?"

Then I said:

"Surely you do not look for the men of one chief to be bound by
what another promises?"

He looked wonderingly at me for a moment, and then said:

"How should it be that the oath of their king should not bind the
people?"

"Why," said I, "you have spoken of several chiefs. If Guthrum
chooses to make peace, that is not Halfden's business, or Hubba's,
or that of any chief who likes it not. One is as free as the
other."

"What mean you? I say that Guthrum and his chiefs swore by the
greatest oath they knew to return to Mercia."

"If they swore by the holy ring, there is no doubt that they who
swore would keep the oath. But that does not bind those who were
against the peace making. So I suppose that they who held not with
the peace made by the rest fell on you, when your levies went home
after their wont. One might have known they would do so."

Thereat the thane was silent for a while, and I saw that he was
troubled. It seemed to be a new thought to him at this time that
the Danish hosts in England were many, and each free to act in the
way its own chief thought best, uniting now and then, and again
separating. This he must needs have learned sooner or later, but
the knowledge came first to him there before Exeter walls.

Presently he said:

"I have believed that all the Danes were as much