The Path of the King Page 2

  CHAPTER I. HIGHTOWN UNDER SUNFELL

  When Biorn was a very little boy in his father's stead at Hightown hehad a play of his own making for the long winter nights. At the back endof the hall, where the men sat at ale, was a chamber which the thrallsused of a morning--a place which smelt of hams and meal and goodprovender. There a bed had been made for him when he forsook his cot inthe women's quarters. When the door was shut it was black dark, save fora thin crack of light from the wood fire and torches of the hall. Thecrack made on the earthen floor a line like a golden river. Biorn,cuddled up on a bench in his little bear-skin, was drawn like a moth tothat stream of light. With his heart beating fast he would creep to itand stand for a moment with his small body bathed in the radiance.The game was not to come back at once, but to foray into the fartherdarkness before returning to the sanctuary of bed. That took all thefortitude in Biorn's heart, and not till the thing was dared and donecould he go happily to sleep.

  One night Leif the Outborn watched him at his game. Sometimes the manwas permitted to sleep there when he had been making sport for thehousecarles.

  "Behold an image of life!" he had said in his queer outland speech. "Wepass from darkness to darkness with but an instant of light between. Youare born for high deeds, princeling. Many would venture from the dark tothe light, but it takes a stout breast to voyage into the farther dark."

  And Biorn's small heart swelled, for he detected praise, though he didnot know what Leif meant.

  In the long winter the sun never topped Sunfell, and when the galesblew and the snow drifted there were lights in the hall the day long. InBiorn's first recollection the winters were spent by his mother's side,while she and her maids spun the wool of the last clipping. She was afair woman out of the Western Isles, all brown and golden as it seemedto him, and her voice was softer than the hard ringing speech ofthe Wick folk. She told him island stories about gentle fairies andgood-humoured elves who lived in a green windy country by summer seas,and her air would be wistful as if she thought of her lost home. Andshe sang him to sleep with crooning songs which had the sweetness of thewest wind in them. But her maids were a rougher stock, and they stuck tothe Wicking lullaby which ran something like this:

  Hush thee, my bold one, a boat will I buy thee, A boat and stout oars and a bright sword beside, A helm of red gold and a thrall to be nigh thee, When fair blows the wind at the next wicking-tide.

  There was a second verse, but it was rude stuff, and the Queen hadforbidden the maids to sing it.

  As he grew older he was allowed to sit with the men in the hall, whenbows were being stretched and bowstrings knotted and spear-hafts fitted.He would sit mum in a corner, listening with both ears to the talk ofthe old franklins, with their endless grumbles about lost cattle andill neighbours. Better he liked the bragging of the young warriors,the Bearsarks, who were the spear-head in all the forays. At the greatfeasts of Yule-tide he was soon sent packing, for there were wild sceneswhen the ale flowed freely, though his father, King Ironbeard, ruled hishall with a strong hand. From the speech of his elders Biorn made hispicture of the world beyond the firths. It was a world of gloom andterror, yet shot with a strange brightness. The High Gods might be metwith in beggar's guise at any ferry, jovial fellows and good friends tobrave men, for they themselves had to fight for their lives, and the Endof All Things hung over them like a cloud. Yet till the day of Ragnarokthere would be feasting and fine fighting and goodly fellowship, and astout heart must live for the hour.

  Leif the Outborn was his chief friend. The man was no warrior, beinglame of a leg and lean and sharp as a heron. No one knew his begetting,for he had been found as a child on the high fells. Some said he wascome of the Finns, and his ill-wishers would have it that his birthplacehad been behind a foss, and that he had the blood of dwarves in him. Yetthough he made sport for the company, he had respect from them, for hewas wise in many things, a skilled leech, a maker of runes, and a craftybuilder of ships. He was a master hand at riddles, and for hours thehousecarles would puzzle their wits over his efforts. This was themanner of them. "Who," Leif would ask, "are the merry maids that glideabove the land to the joy of their father; in winter they bear a whiteshield, but black in summer?" The answer was "Snowflakes and rain." Or"I saw a corpse sitting on a corpse, a blind one riding on a lifelesssteed?" to which the reply was "A dead horse on an ice-floe." Biornnever guessed any of the riddles, but the cleverness of them he thoughtmiraculous, and the others roared with glee at their own obtuseness.

  But Leif had different moods, for sometimes he would tell tales, and allwere hushed in a pleasant awe. The fire on the hearth was suffered todie down, and men drew closer to each other, as Leif told of the tragiclove of Helgi and Sigrun, or how Weyland outwitted King Nidad, or howThor went as bride to Thrym in Giantland, and the old sad tale of howSigurd Fafnirsbane, noblest of men, went down to death for the love of aqueen not less noble. Leif told them well, so that his hearers were heldfast with the spell of wonder and then spurred to memories of theirown. Tongues would be loosened, and there would be wild recollections ofbattles among the skerries of the west, of huntings in the hills wherestrange sights greeted the benighted huntsman, and of voyaging far southinto the lands of the sun where the poorest thrall wore linen and thecities were all gold and jewels. Biorn's head would be in such a whirlafter a night of story-telling that he could get no sleep for picturinghis own deeds when he was man enough to bear a sword and launch hisship. And sometimes in his excitement he would slip outside into thedarkness, and hear far up in the frosty sky the whistle of the swans asthey flew southward, and fancy them the shield-maids of Odin on theirway to some lost battle.

  His father, Thorwald Thorwaldson, was king over all the firths and wicksbetween Coldness in the south and Flatness and the mountain Rauma in thenorth, and inland over the Uplanders as far as the highest springs ofthe rivers. He was king by more than blood, for he was the tallest andstrongest man in all the land, and the cunningest in battle. He was forordinary somewhat grave and silent, a dark man with hair and beardthe colour of molten iron, whence came his by-name. Yet in a fight noBearsark could vie with him for fury, and his sword Tyrfing was famed ina thousand songs. On high days the tale of his descent would be sung inthe hall--not by Leif, who was low-born and of no account, but by oneor other of the chiefs of the Shield-ring. Biorn was happy on suchoccasions, for he himself came into the songs, since it was right tohonour the gentle lady, the Queen. He heard how on the distaff side hewas sprung from proud western earls, Thorwolf the Black, and Halfdan andHallward Skullsplitter. But on the spear side he was of still loftierkin, for Odin was first in his pedigree, and after him the Volsungchiefs, and Gothfred the Proud, and--that no magnificence might bewanting--one Karlamagnus, whom Biorn had never heard of before, but whoseemed from his doings to have been a puissant king.

  On such occasions there would follow a braggingmatch among the warriors,for a recital of the past was meant as an augury for the future. Thetime was towards the close of the Wicking-tide, and the world wasbecoming hard for simple folk. There were endless bickerings with theTronds in the north and the men of More in the south, and a certainShockhead, an upsetting king in Norland, was making trouble with hisneighbours. Likewise there was one Kristni, a king of the Romans, whosought to dispute with Odin himself. This Kristni was a magic-worker,who clad his followers in white linen instead of byrnies, and gave themrunes in place of swords, and sprinkled them with witch water. Biorn didnot like what he heard of the warlock, and longed for the day when hisfather Ironbeard would make an end of him.

  Each year before the coming of spring there was a lean season inHightown. Fish were scarce in the ice-holes, the stock of meal in themeal-ark grew low, and the deep snow made poor hunting in wood or onfell-side. Belts were tightened, and there were hollow cheeks among thethralls. And then one morning the wind would blow from the south, anda strange smell come into the air. The dogs left their lair by the fireand, led by the Garm the old blind patriarch, m
ade a tour of inspectionamong the outhouses to the edge of the birch woods. Presently would comea rending of the ice on the firth, and patches of inky water would showbetween the floes. The snow would slip from the fell-side, and leavedripping rock and clammy bent, and the river would break its frostysilence and pour a mighty grey-green flood to the sea. The swans andgeese began to fly northward, and the pipits woke among the birches. Andat last one day the world put on a new dress, all steel-blue and mistygreen, and a thousand voices woke of flashing streams and nesting birdsand tossing pines, and the dwellers in Hightown knew that spring hadfairly come.

  Then was Biorn the happy child. All through the long day, and throughmuch of that twilight which is the darkness of a Norland summer, he wasabroad on his own errands. With Grim the Hunter he adventured far upon the fells and ate cheese and bannocks in the tents of the wanderingSkridfinns, or stalked the cailzie-cock with his arrows in the greatpine forest, which in his own mind he called Mirkwood and fearedexceedingly. Or he would go fishing with Egil the Fisherman, spearingsalmon in the tails of the river pools. But best he loved to go up thefirth in the boat which Leif had made him--a finished, clinker-builtlittle model of a war galley, christened the Joy-maker--and catch thebig sea fish. Monsters he caught sometimes in the deep water under thecliffs, till he thought he was destined to repeat the exploit ofThor when he went fishing with the giant Hymi, and hooked the MidgardSerpent, the brother of Fenris-wolf, whose coils encircle the earth.

  Nor was his education neglected. Arnwulf the Bearsark taught himaxe-play and sword-play, and he had a small buckler of his own, not oflinden-wood like those of the Wick folk, but of wickerwork after thefashion of his mother's people. He learned to wrestle toughly with thelads of his own age, and to throw a light spear truly at a mark. He wasfleet of foot and scoured the fells like a goat, and he could breastthe tide in the pool of the great foss up to the very edge of the whitewater where the trolls lived.

  There was a wise woman dwelt on the bay of Sigg. Katla was her name, awoman still black-browed though she was very old, and clever at mendinghunters' scars. To her house Biorn went with Leif; and when they hadmade a meal of her barley-cakes and sour milk, and passed the newsof the coast, Leif would fall to probing her craft and get but surlyanswers. To the boy's question she was kinder. "Let the dead things be,prince," she said. "There's small profit from foreknowledge. Better totake fates as they come sudden round a turn of the road than be watchingthem with an anxious heart all the way down the hill. The time will comesoon enough when you must stand by the Howe of the Dead and call on theghost-folk."

  But Leif coaxed and Biorn harped on the thing, as boys do, and one nightabout the midsummer time her hour came upon Katla and she spoke withouttheir seeking. There in the dim hut with the apple-green twilightdimming the fells Biorn stood trembling on the brink of the half-world,the woman huddled on the floor, her hand shading her eyes as if she werelooking to a far horizon. Her body shook with gusts of passion, and thevoice that came from her was not her own. Never so long as he lived didBiorn forget the terrible hour when that voice from beyond the worldspoke things he could not understand. "I have been snowed on with snow,"it said, "I have been beaten with the rain, I have been drenched withthe dew, long have I been dead." It spoke of kings whose names he hadnever heard, and of the darkness gathering about the Norland, and famineand awe stalking upon the earth.

  Then came a whisper from Leif asking the fortune of the young prince ofHightown.

  "Death," said the weird-wife, "death--but not yet. The shears of theNorns are still blunt for him, and Skuld has him in keeping."

  There was silence for a space, for the fit was passing from Katla.But the voice came again in broken syllables. "His thread runswestward--beyond the Far Isles... not he but the seed of his loinsshall win great kingdoms ... beyond the sea-walls.... The All-Fatherdreams.... Nay, he wakes... he wakes..."

  There was a horrible choking sound, and the next Biorn knew was thatLeif had fetched water and was dashing it on Katla's face.

  It was nearly a week before Biorn recovered his spirits after thisadventure, and it was noticeable that neither Leif nor he spoke a wordto each other on the matter. But the boy thought much, and from thatnight he had a new purpose. It seemed that he was fated to travel far,and his fancy forsook the homely life of his own wicks and fells andreached to that outworld of which he had heard in the winter's talk bythe hall fire.

  There were plenty of folk in Hightown to satisfy his curiosity. Therewere the Bearsarks, who would spin tales of the rich Frankish lands andthe green isles of the Gael. From the Skridfinns he heard of the bittercountry in the north where the Jotuns dwelt, and the sun was not and thefrost split the rocks to dust, while far underground before great firesthe dwarves were hammering gold. But these were only old wives' tales,and he liked better the talk of the sea-going franklins, who wouldsail in the summer time on trading ventures and pushed farther than anygalleys of war. The old sailor, Othere Cranesfoot, was but now back froma voyage which had taken him to Snowland, or, as we say, Iceland. Hecould tell of the Curdled Sea, like milk set apart for cheese-making,which flowed as fast as a river, and brought down ghoulish beasts andgreat dragons in its tide. He told, too, of the Sea-walls which were theend of the world, waves higher than any mountain, which ringed the wholeocean. He had seen them, blue and terrible one dawn, before he had swunghis helm round and fled southwards. And in Snowland and the ports of theIsles this Othere had heard talk from others of a fine land beyond thesunset, where corn grew unsown like grass, and the capes looked likecrusted cow-pats they were so thick with deer, and the dew of the nightwas honey-dew, so that of a morning a man might breakfast delicately offthe face of the meadows.

  Full of such marvels, Biorn sought Leif and poured out his heart to him.For the first time he spoke of the weird-wife's spaeing. If his fortunelay in the west, there was the goal to seek. He would find the happycountry and reign over it. But Leif shook his head, for he had heardthe story before. "To get there you will have to ride over Bilrost,the Rainbow Bridge, like the Gods. I know of the place. It is calledGundbiorn's Reef and it is beyond the world."

  All this befell in Biorn's eleventh summer. The winter which followedbrought ill luck to Hightown and notably to Ironbeard the King. For inthe autumn the Queen, that gentle lady, fell sick, and, though leecheswere sought for far and near, and spells and runes were prepared by allwho had skill of them, her life ebbed fast and ere Yule she was laidin the Howe of the Dead. The loss of her made Thorwald grimmer and moresilent than before, and there was no feasting at the Yule high-tide andbut little at the spring merry-making. As for Biorn he sorrowed bitterlyfor a week, and then, boylike, forgot his grief in the wonder of living.

  But that winter brought death in another form. Storms never ceased, andin the New Year the land lay in the stricture of a black frost whichfroze the beasts in the byres and made Biorn shiver all the nightthrough, though in ordinary winter weather he was hardy enough to divein the ice-holes. The stock of meal fell low, and when spring tarriedfamine drew very near. Such a spring no man living remembered. The snowlay deep on the shore till far into May. And when the winds broke theywere cold sunless gales which nipped the young life in the earth. Theploughing was backward, and the seed-time was a month too late. Thenew-born lambs died on the fells and there fell a wasting sickness amongthe cattle. Few salmon ran up the streams, and the sea-fish seemed tohave gone on a journey. Even in summer, the pleasant time, food wasscarce, for the grass in the pastures was poor and the cows gave littlemilk, and the children died. It foreboded a black harvest-time and ablacker winter.

  With these misfortunes a fever rose in the blood of the men of Hightown.Such things had happened before for the Norland was never more thanone stage distant from famine; and in the old days there had been but asingle remedy. Food and wealth must be won from a foray overseas. It wasyears since Ironbeard had ridden Egir's road to the rich lowlands, andthe Bearsarks were growing soft from idleness. Ironbeard himself waswilling, for
his hall was hateful to him since the Queen's death.Moreover, there was no other way. Food must be found for the winter orthe folk would perish.

  So a hosting was decreed at harvest-tide, for few men would be neededto win the blasted crops; and there began a jointing of shields anda burnishing of weapons, and the getting ready of the big ships. Alsothere was a great sortilege-making. Whither to steer, that was thequestion. There were the rich coasts of England, but they were wellguarded, and many of the Norland race were along the wardens. The islesof the Gael were in like case, and, though they were the easier prey,there was less to be had from them. There were soon two parties in thehall, one urging Ironbeard to follow the old track of his kin westward,another looking south to the Frankish shore. The King himself, after thesacrifice of a black heifer, cast the sacred twigs, and they seemed topoint to Frankland. Old Arnwulf was deputed on a certain day to hallowthree ravens and take their guidance, but, though he said three timesthe Ravens' spell, he got no clear counsel from the wise birds. Lastof all, the weird-wife Katla came from Sigg, and for the space of threedays sat in the hall with her head shrouded, taking no meat or drink.When at last she spoke she prophesied ill. She saw a red cloud and itdescended on the heads of the warriors, yea of the King himself. As forHightown she saw it frozen deep in snow like Jotunheim, and rime lay onit like a place long dead. But she bade Ironbeard go to Frankland, forit was so written. "A great kingdom waits," she said--"not for you,but for the seed of your loins." And Biorn shuddered, for they were thewords spoken in her hut on that unforgotten midsummer night.

  The boy was in an agony lest he should be left behind. But his fatherdecreed that he should go. "These are times when manhood must comefast," he said. "He can bide within the Shield-ring when blows aregoing. He will be safe enough if it holds. If it breaks, he will suplike the rest of us with Odin."

  Then came days of bustle and preparation. Biorn was agog with excitementand yet solemnised, for there was strange work afoot in Hightown. TheKing made a great festival in the Gods' House, the dark hall near theHowe of the Dead, where no one ventured except in high noon. Cattle wereslain in honour of Thor, the God who watched over forays, and likewisea great boar for Frey. The blood was caught up in the sacred bowls, fromwhich the people were sprinkled, and smeared on the altar of blackenedfir. Then came the oath-taking, when Ironbeard and his Bearsarks sworebrotherhood in battle upon the ship's bulwarks, and the shield's rim,and the horse's shoulder, and the brand's edge. There followed themixing of blood in the same footprint, a rite to which Biorn wasadmitted, and a lesser oath for all the people on the great gold ringwhich lay on the altar. But most solemn of all was the vow the King madeto his folk, warriors and franklins alike, when he swore by the dew, theeagle's path, and the valour of Thor.

  Then it was Biorn's turn. He was presented to the High Gods as theprince and heir.

  Old Arnwulf hammered on his left arm a torque of rough gold, which hemust wear always, in life and in death.

  "I bring ye the boy, Biorn Thorwaldson When the Gods call for Thorwaldit will be his part to lead the launchings and the seafarings and befirst when blows are going. Do ye accept him, people of Hightown?"

  There was a swelling cry of assent and a beating of hafts on shields.Biorn's heart was lifted with pride, but out of a corner of his eye hesaw his father's face. It was very grave, and his gaze was on vacancy.

  Though it was a time of bustle, there was no joy in it, as there hadbeen at other hostings. The folk were too hungry, the need was toodesperate, and there was something else, a shadow of fate, which layover Hightown. In the dark of night men had seen the bale-fires burningon the Howe of the Dead. A grey seal had been heard speaking withtongues off Siggness, and speaking ill words, said the fishermen who sawthe beast. A white reindeer had appeared on Sunfell, and the hunter whofollowed it had not been seen again. By day, too, there was a broodingof hawks on the tide's edge, which was strange at that season. Worstportent of all, the floods of August were followed by high north-eastwinds that swept the clouds before them, so that all day the sky was ascurrying sea of vapour, and at night the moon showed wild grey shapesmoving ever to the west. The dullest could not mistake their meaning;these were the dark horses, and their riders, the Helmed Maidens,mustering for the battle to which Hightown was faring.

  As Biorn stared one night at the thronged heavens, he found Leif byhis elbow. In front of the dark company of the sky a white cloud wasscudding, tinged with the pale moon. Leif quoted from the speech of theGiant-wife Rimegerd to Helgi in the song:

  "Three nines of maiden, ride, But one rides before them, A white maid helmed: From their manes the steeds shake Dew into the deep dales, Hail upon the high woods."

  "It bodes well," said Biorn. "They ride to choose those whom we slay.There will be high doings ere Yule."

  "Not so well," said Leif. "They come from the Norland, and it is ourfolk they go to choose. I fear me Hightown will soon be full of widowwomen."

  At last came the day of sailing. The six galleys of war were broughtdown from their sheds, and on the rollers for the launching he-goatswere bound so that the keels slid blood-stained into the sea. This wasthe 'roller-reddening,' a custom bequeathed from their forefathers,though the old men of the place muttered darkly that the ritual had beendeparted from, and that in the great days it was the blood not of goats,but of captive foemen that had reddened the galleys and the tide.

  The thralls sat at the thwarts, for there was no breeze that day inthe narrow firth. Then came the chief warriors in short fur jackets,splendid in glittering helms and byrnies, and each with his thrallbearing his battle-axe. Followed the fighting commonalty with axe andspear. Last came Ironbeard, stern as ever, and Biorn with his heart tornbetween eagerness and regret. Only the children, the women, and the oldmen were left in Hightown, and they stood on the shingle watchingtill the last galley had passed out of sight beyond Siggness, and wasswallowed up in the brume that cloaked the west. There were no tears inthat grim leave-taking. Hightown had faced the like before with a heavyheart, but with dry eyes and a proud head. Leif, though a cripple, wentwith the Wickings, for he had great skill of the sea.

  There was not a breath of wind for three days and three nights, as theycoasted southward, with the peaks of the Norland on their port, and tostarboard the skerries that kept guard on the firths. Through the hazethey could now and then see to landward trees and cliffs, but never ahuman face. Once there was an alarm of another fleet, and the shieldswere slung outboard, but it proved to be only a wedding-party passingfrom wick to wick, and they gave it greeting and sailed on. These wereeerie cheerless days. The thralls sweated in shifts at the oars, and thebetterborn talked low among themselves, as if the air were full of ears."Ran is heating her ovens," said Leif, as he watched the warm fog minglewith the oarthresh.

  On the fourth morning there came a break in the clouds, and the sightof a high hill gave Leif the clue for his reckoning. The prows swungseaward, and the galleys steered for the broad ocean. That afternoonthere sprang up the north-east wind for which they had been waiting.Sails were hoisted on the short masts, oars were shipped and lashedunder the bulwarks, and the thralls clustered in the prows to rest theirweary limbs and dice with knucklebones. The spirits of all lightened,and there was loud talk in the sterns among the Bearsarks. In the nightthe wind freshened, and the long shallow boats rolled filthily so thatthe teeth shook in a man's head, and over the swish of the waves and thecreaking of the sheets there was a perpetual din of arms clashing.Biorn was miserably ill for some hours, and made sport for the seasonedvoyagers.

  "It will not hold," Leif prophesied. "I smell rime ahead and quietseas."

  He had spoken truly, for the sixth day the wind fell and they moved oncemore over still, misty waters. The thralls returned to their oars andthe voices of the well-born fell low again. These were ghoulish daysfor Biorn, who had been accustomed to the clear lights and the cleardarkness of his own land. Only once in four days they saw the sun, andthen it was as r
ed as blood, so that his heart trembled.

  On the eleventh day Ironbeard summoned Leif and asked his skill of thevoyage. "I know not," was the answer. "I cannot steer a course exceptunder clean skies. We ran well with the wind aback, but now I am blindand the Gods are pilots. Some day soon we must make landfall, but I knownot whether on English or Frankish shores."

  After that Leif would sit in long spells of brooding, for he had a sensein him of direction to which he sought to give free play--a sense builtup from old voyages over these very seas. The result of his meditationswas that he swung more to the south, and events proved him wise. For onthe fifteenth day came a lift in the fog and with it the noise of tideswashing near at hand on a rough coast. Suddenly almost overhead theywere aware of a great white headland, on the summit of which the sunshone on grass.

  Leif gave a shout. "My skill has riot failed me," he cried. "We enterthe Frankish firth. See, there is the butt of England!"

  After that the helms were swung round, and a course laid south by west.And then the mist came again, but this time it was less of a shroud, forbirds hovered about their wake, so that they were always consciousof land. Because of the strength of the tides the rowers made slowprogress, and it was not till the late afternoon of the seventeenth daythat Leif approached Ironbeard with a proud head and spoke a word. TheKing nodded, and Leif took his stand in the prow with the lead in hishand. The sea mirroring the mist was leaden dull, but the old pilotsmelt shoal water.

  Warily he sounded, till suddenly out of the gloom a spit of land rose onthe port, and it was clear that they were entering the mouth of a river.The six galleys jolted across the sandbar, Leif in the foremost peeringahead and shouting every now and then an order. It was fine weatherfor a surprise landing. Biorn saw only low sand-dunes green with coarsegrasses and, somewhere behind, the darkness of a forest. But he couldnot tear his eyes from it, for it was the long-dreamed-of Roman land.

  Then a strange thing befell. A madness seemed to come on Leif. He lefthis pilot's stand and rushed to the stern where the King stood. Flinginghimself on his knees, he clasped Ironbeard's legs and poured outsupplications.

  "Return!" he cried. "While there is yet time, return. Seek England,Gael-land, anywhere, but not this place. I see blood in the stream andblood on the strand. Our blood, your blood, my King! There is doom forthe folk of Thorwald by this river!"

  The King's face did not change. "What will be, will be," he saidgravely. "We abide by our purpose and will take what Thor sends with astout heart. How say you, my brave ones?"

  And all shouted to go forward, for the sight of a new country had firedtheir blood. Leif sat huddled by the bulwarks, with a white face and agasp in his throat, like one coming out of a swoon.

  They went ashore at a bend of the stream where was a sandy cape, beachedthe galleys, felled trees from the neighbouring forest and built them astockade. The dying sun flushed water and wood with angry crimson, andBiorn observed that the men wrought as it were in a world of blood."That is the meaning of Leif's whimsies," he thought, and so comfortedhimself.

  That night the Northmen slept in peace, but the scouts brought back wordof a desert country, no men or cattle, and ashes where once had beendwellings.

  "Our kinsfolk have been here before us," said King Ironbeard grimly. Hedid not love the Danes, though he had fought by their side.

  Half the force was left as a guard by the ships, and next day the restwent forward up the valley at a slant from the river's course. For thatway, ran the tale, lay a great Roman house, a palace of King Kristni,where much gold was to be had for the lifting. By midday they were amongpleasant meadows, but the raiders had been there, for the houses werefired and the orchards hacked down. Then came a shout and, turning back,they saw a flame spring to the pale autumn skies. "The ships!" rose thecry, and the lightest of foot were sent back for news.

  They returned with a sorry tale. Of the ships and the stockade nothingremained but hot cinders. Half the guard were dead, and old Arnwulf, thecaptain, lay blood-eagled on the edge of the tide. The others had gonethey knew not where, but doubtless into the forests.

  "Our kinsfolks' handiwork," said Ironbeard. "We are indeed forestalled,my heroes."

  A council was held and it was resolved to make a camp by the stream anddefend it against all comers, till such time as under Leif's guidancenew ships could be built.

  "Axes will never ring on them," said Leif under his breath. He walkednow like a man who was fey and his face was that of another world.

  He spoke truth, for as they moved towards the riverbank, just beforethe darkening, in a glade between two forests Fate met them. There wasbarely time to form the Shield-ring ere their enemies were upon them--amass of wild men in wolves' skins and at their head mounted warriors inbyrnies, with long swords that flashed and fell.

  Biorn saw little of the battle, wedged in the heart of the Shield-ring.He heard the shouts of the enemy, and the clangour of blows, and thesharp intake of breath, but chiefly he heard the beating of his ownheart. The ring swayed and moved as it gave before the onset or pressedto an attack of its own, and Biorn found himself stumbling over thedead. "I am Biorn, and my father is King," he repeated to himself, thespell he had so often used when on the fells or the firths he had metfear.

  Night came and a young moon, and still the fight continued. But theShield-ring was growing ragged, for the men of Hightown were fightingone to eight, and these are odds that cannot last. Sometimes it wouldwaver, and an enemy would slip inside, and before he sank dead wouldhave sorely wounded one of Ironbeard's company.

  And now Biorn could see his father, larger than human, it seemed, inthe dim light, swinging his sword Tyrfing, and crooning to himself ashe laid low his antagonists. At the sight a madness rose in the boy'sheart. Behind in the sky clouds were banking, dark clouds like horses,with one ahead white and moontipped, the very riders he had watched withLeif from the firth shore. The Walkyries were come for the chosen, andhe would fain be one of them. All fear had gone from him. His passionwas to be by his father's side and strike his small blow, beside thosemighty ones which Thor could not have bettered.

  But even as he was thus uplifted the end came. Thorwald Thorwaldsontottered and went down, for a hurled axe had cleft him between helm andbyrnie. With him fell the last hope of Hightown and the famished clanunder Sunfell. The Shield-ring was no more. Biorn found himself sweptback as the press of numbers overbore the little knot of sorely woundedmen. Someone caught him by the arm and snatched him from the mellay intothe cover of a thicket. He saw dimly that it was Leif.

  He was giddy and retching from weariness, and something inside him wascold as ice, though his head burned. It was not rage or grief, but awe,for his father had fallen and the end of the world had come. The noiseof the battle died, as the two pushed through the undergrowth and cameinto the open spaces of the wood. It was growing very dark, but stillLeif dragged him onwards. Then suddenly he fell forward on his face, andBiorn, as he stumbled over him found his hands wet with blood.

  "I am for death," Leif whispered. "Put your ear close, prince. I amLeif the Outborn and I know the hidden things.... You are the heir ofThorwald Thorwaldson and you will not die.... I see a long road, butat the end a great kingdom. Farewell, little Biorn. We have been goodcomrades, you and I. Katla from Sigg spoke the true word..."

  And when Biorn fetched water in his horn from a woodland pool he foundLeif with a cold brow.

  Blind with sorrow and fatigue, the boy stumbled on, without purpose. Hewas lonely in the wide world, many miles from his home, and all hiskin were slain. Rain blew from the south-west and beat in his face, thebrambles tore his legs, but he was dead to all things. Would that theShield Maids had chosen him to go with that brave company to the brighthall of Odin! But he was only a boy and they did not choose striplings.

  Suddenly in a clearing a pin-point of light pricked the darkness.

  The desire for human companionship came over him, even though it werethat of enemy or outcast. He staggered to the
door and beat on itfeebly. A voice spoke from within, but he did not hear what it said.

  Again he beat and again the voice came. And now his knocking grewfeebler, for he was at the end of his strength.

  Then the bar was suddenly withdrawn and he was looking inside a poorhut, smoky from the wood-fire in the midst of it. An old woman sat byit with a bowl in her hand, and an oldish man with a cudgel stood beforehim. He did not understand their speech, but he gathered he was beingasked his errand.

  "I am Biorn," he said, "and my father was Ironbeard, the King."

  They shook their heads, but since they saw only a weary, tattered boythey lost their fears. They invited him indoors, and their voices werekindly. Nodding with exhaustion, he was given a stool to sit on anda bowl of coarse porridge was put into his hands. They plied him withquestions, but he could make nothing of their tongue.

  Then the thrall rose, yawned, and dropped the bar over the door. Thesound was to the boy like the clanging of iron gates on his old happyworld. For a moment he was on the brink of tears. But he set his teethand stiffened his drooping neck.

  "I am Biorn," he said aloud, "and my father was a king."

  They nodded to each other and smiled. They thought his words were a gracebefore meat.