Chapter Twenty Four.
Hopes and Fears—The Burning of Haldorstede, and Escape of the Family
Meanwhile the family at Haldorstede had made a narrow escape, and some members of it were still in great peril. When Hilda and Ada were sent thither, with the females of Ulfstede, under the charge of Christian the hermit, as already related, they found Dame Herfrida and her maidens busily engaged in making preparations for a great feast.
“I prithee,” said Dame Astrid, in some surprise, “who are to be thy guests to-night?”
“Who should be,” replied Herfrida, with a smile, “but the stout fellows who back my husband in the fight to-day! Among them thine own goodman, Dame Astrid, and his house-carles; for if no one is left at Ulfstede there can be no supper there for them; and as the poor lads are likely to be well worn out, we must have something wherewith to cheer them.”
“But what if ill luck betide us?” suggested Astrid.
“Ill luck never betides us,” replied Herfrida, with an expression of bland assurance on her handsome face. “Besides, if it does, we shall be none the worse for having done our part.”
“Some people are always forecasting evil,” muttered Ingeborg, with a sour look, as she kneaded viciously a lump of dough which was destined to form cakes.
“And some other people are always forecasting good,” retorted Ada, with a smile, “so that things are pretty well balanced after all. Come now, Ingeborg, don’t be cross, but leave the dough, and let us go to thy room, for I want to have a little gossip with thee alone.”
Ingeborg was fond of Ada, and particularly fond of a little gossip, either public or private. She condescended, therefore, to smile, as it were under protest, and, rubbing the dough from her fingers, accompanied her friend to her chamber, while the others broke into several groups, and chatted more or less energetically as they worked, or idled about the house.
“Is there any fear of our men losing the day?” asked Hilda of the hermit, who stood looking out of a window which commanded a view of the fiord, where the ships of the opposing fleets could be seen engaged in the battle, that had just begun.
Poor Hilda asked the question with a look of perplexity in her face; for hitherto she had been so much accustomed to success attending the expeditions of her warlike father and friends, that she had never given much thought to the idea of defeat and its consequences.
“It is not easy to answer that question,” replied the hermit; “for the success or failure of thy father’s host depends on many things with which I am not acquainted. If the forces on both sides are about equal in numbers, the chances are in his favour; for he is a mighty man of valour, as well as his son, and also thy father. Besides, there are many of his men who are not far behind them in strength and courage; but they may be greatly outnumbered. If so, defeat is possible. I would say it is probable, did I not know that the Ruler of events can, if He will, give victory to the weak and disaster to the strong. Thy father deems his cause a righteous one—perhaps it is so.”
“Well, then,” said Hilda, “will not God, who, you say, is just and good, give victory to the righteous cause?”
“He may be pleased to do so; but He does not always do so. For His own good and wise ends He sometimes permits the righteous to suffer defeat, and wrongdoers to gain the victory. This only do I know for certain, that good shall come out of all things to His people, whether these things be grievous or joyful; for it is written, ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them that are the called according to His purpose.’ This is my consolation when I am surrounded by darkness which I cannot understand, and which seems all against me. That things often pass my understanding does not surprise me; for it is written, ‘His ways are wonderful—past finding out.’”
“Past finding out indeed!” said Hilda thoughtfully. “Would that I had faith like thine, Christian; for it seems to enable thee to trust and rejoice in darkness as well as in sunshine.”
“Thou mayst have it, daughter,” answered the hermit earnestly, “if thou wilt condescend to ask it in the name of Jesus; for it is written, ‘Faith is the gift of God;’ and again it is written, ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, He will give it you.’ One of our chief sins consists in our desire to produce, by means of our own will, that faith which God tells us we cannot attain to by striving after, but which He is willing to bestow as a free gift on those who ask.”
The conversation was interrupted here by the old house-carle Finn the One-eyed, who said in passing that he was going down to the cliffs to see and hear what was doing, and would return ere long to report progress. For an hour after that, the people at Haldorstede continued to watch the fight with intense interest; but although they could see the motion of the ships on the fiord, and could hear the shout of war, as it came floating down on the breeze like a faint murmur, the distance was too great to permit of their distinguishing the individual combatants, or observing the progress of the fight. That it was likely to go ill with their friends, however, was soon made known by Finn, who returned in hot haste to warn them to prepare for flight.
“Be sure,” said Dame Herfrida, “that there is no need to flee until Haldor or Erling come to tell us to get ready.”
“That may be so,” said Finn; “but if Haldor and Erling should chance to be slain, ill will it be for you if ye are not ready to fly.”
“Now it seems to me,” said Dame Astrid, who was of an anxious temperament, “that thou art too confident, Herfrida. It would be wise at all events to get ready.”
“Does anyone know where Alric is?” asked Ingeborg.
As everyone professed ignorance on this point, his mother said that she had no doubt he was safe enough; for he was a bold little man, and quite able to take care of himself.
“If he has had his own way,” observed Ivor the Old, who came in at that moment, “he is in the fleet for he is a true chip of the old tree; but we are not like to see him again, methinks, for I have seen the fleet giving back on the right wing, and hasted hither to tell ye.”
This report had the effect of shaking Herfrida’s confidence to the extent of inducing her to give up her preparations for the feast, and assist the others in making arrangements for a hasty flight with such household valuables as could be easily carried about the person. Some time after they had begun this work, a young man, who was a cripple, and therefore a non-combatant, hobbled into the hall, and announced the fact that Haldor’s fleet was routed everywhere, and fleeing. He had seen it from the cliff behind the stede, and indeed it could partly be seen from the hall window.
“Now,” cried Finn the One-eyed bitterly, “all is lost, and I must carry out Erling’s last instructions. He told me, if the fight went against us, and the King’s men gained the day, I was to lead ye down by the forest path to the cave behind Ulfstede, where there is a ship big enough to carry the whole household. If alive, he and his friends are to meet us there. Come, we must make haste; some of the ships are already on the beach, and if they be the King’s men we shall soon see them here.”
Everyone was now so thoroughly convinced of their desperate case that without reply each went to complete arrangements as fast as possible.
“Wilt thou go with us?” said Finn to the hermit, when all were assembled in front of the house at the edge of the forest.
“I will, since God seems to order it so,” said the hermit; “but first I go to my hut for the rolls of the Book. As ye have to pass the bottom of the cliff on which my dwelling is perched, I will easily overtake you.”
“Let us go with him,” said Hilda to Ada. “There is a roll in the hut which Erling and I have been trying to copy; Christian may not be able to find it, as I hid it carefully away—and,” she continued, blushing slightly, “I should not like to lose it.”
“You had better go with us,” said Finn gravely.
“We will do what seems best to ourselves,” replied Ada; “go on, Christian, we follow.”
The hermit advised the girls to go with Finn, but as they were self-willed he was fain to conduct them up the steep and narrow path that led to his hut upon the cliff, while Finn put himself at the head of a sad band of women, children, and aged retainers, who could advance but slowly along the rugged and intricate path which he thought it necessary to take through the forest.
Not twenty minutes after they had left Haldorstede the first band of King Harald’s men came rushing up the banks of the river, enraged at having found Ulfstede deserted, and thirsting for plunder. They ran tumultuously into the house, sword in hand, and a yell of disappointment followed when they discovered that the inmates had fled. There is no doubt that they would have rushed out again and searched the woods, had not the feast which Herfrida had been preparing proved too attractive. The cold salmon and huge tankards of ale proved irresistible to the tired and thirsty warriors, who forthwith put the goblets to their bearded lips and quaffed the generous fluid so deeply that in a short time many of them were reeling, and one, who seemed to be more full of mischief than his fellows, set the house on fire by way of a joke.
It was the smoke which arose after the perpetration of this wanton act that had attracted the attention of Haldor and his friends, when they were making for the shore after the battle.
Of course the hermit and the two girls heard the shouts of the marauders, and knew that it was now too late to escape along with the baud under Finn, for the only practicable path by which they could join them passed in full view of Haldorstede, and it was so hemmed in by a precipice that there was no other way of getting into the wood—at least without the certainty of being seen. Their retreat up the river was also cut off, for the hermit, in selecting the spot for his dwelling, had chosen a path which ascended along the rugged face of a precipice, so that, with a precipice above and another below, it was not possible to get to the bank of the river without returning on their track. There was no alternative, therefore, but to ascend to the hut, and there wait patiently until the shades of night should favour their escape.
Finn pushed on as fast as was possible with a band in which there were so many almost helpless ones. He carried one of the youngest children in his arms, and Ivor the Old brought up the rear with a very old woman leaning on his arm. They were a long time in descending the valley, for the route Finn had chosen was circuitous, and the first part of it was extremely trying to the cripples, running as it did over a somewhat high spur of the mountain which extended down from the main ridge to the river. Gradually, however, they drew near to the coast, and Finn was in the act of encouraging them with the assurance that they had now only a short way to go, when the hearts of all sank within them at the sight of a band of armed men who suddenly made their appearance in their path.
The wail of despair which burst from some of them at sight of these, was, however, changed into an exclamation of joy when four of the band ran hastily towards them, and were recognised to be Haldor, Erling, Ulf, and Glumm!
“Now thanks be to the gods,” said Haldor, stooping to print a kiss on his wife’s lips. “But—but—where are Hilda and Ada?”
Erling and Glumm, glancing quickly round the group with looks of intense disappointment and alarm, had already put this question to Finn, who explained the cause of their absence.
“Now this is the worst luck of all,” cried Glumm, grinding his teeth together in passion, and looking at Finn with a dark scowl.
Erling did not speak for a few minutes, but his heaving chest and dilated nostrils told of the storm that raged within him.
“Art thou sure they went to the hermit’s hut?” asked Ulf in a stern voice.
“Quite sure,” replied Finn. “I cautioned them not to go, but—”
“Enough,” cried Erling. “Father, wilt thou go back to the cave with the women, and a few of the men to guard them?”
“I will, my son, and then will I rejoin thee.”
“That do an it please thee. It matters little. Death must come sooner or later to all.—Come, men, we will now teach this tyrant that though he may conquer our bodies he cannot subdue our spirits. Up! and if we fail to rescue the girls, everlasting disgrace be to him who leaves this vale alive!”
Haldor had already selected a small detachment of men, and turned back with the women and others, while Erling and his men went on as fast as they could run. A short time sufficed to bring them to the edge of the wood near Haldorstede. The old place was now a smoking ruin, with swarms of men around it, most of whom were busily engaged in trying to put out the fire, and save as much as possible from its fury. The man who had kindled it had already paid dearly for his jest with his life. His body was seen swinging to the limb of a neighbouring tree. Harald Fairhair himself, having just arrived, was directing operations.
There were by that time one or two thousand of the King’s men on the ground, while others were arriving every moment in troops—all bloodstained, and covered with marks of the recent conflict—and Erling saw at once he had no chance whatever of accomplishing his aim by an open attack with only fifty men. He therefore led his force silently by a path that he well knew to an adjacent cliff, over the edge of which they could see all that went on below, while they were themselves well concealed. Here the three leaders held a consultation.
“What dost thou advise, Ulf?” asked Erling.
“My advice,” interposed Glumm fiercely, “is that we should make a sudden assault without delay, kill the King, and then sell our lives dearly.”
“And thus,” observed Ulf, with something like a sneer, “leave the girls without protectors, and without a chance of deliverance. No,” he continued, turning to our hero, “my advice is to wait here as patiently as we can until we ascertain where the girls are. Few, perhaps none, of our men are known to Harald’s men; one of them we can send down to mingle with the enemy as a spy. Whatever we do must be done cautiously, for the sake of the girls.”
“That is good advice,” said a voice behind them, which was that of the hermit, who had crept towards them on his hands and knees.
“Why, Christian, whence comest thou?” said Ulf.
“From my own hut,” replied the hermit, raising himself, “where I have just left Hilda and Ada safe and well. We had deemed ourselves prisoners there till night should set us free; but necessity sharpens the wit even of an old man, and I have discovered a path through the woods, which, although difficult, may be traversed without much chance of our being seen, if done carefully. I have just passed along it in safety, and was on the point of returning to the hut when I came upon you here.”
“Lead us to them at once,” cried Glumm, starting up.
“Nay,” said the hermit, laying his hand on the youth’s arm, “restrain thine ardour. It would be easier to bring the girls hither, than to lead a band of armed men by that path without their being discovered. If ye will take the advice of one who was a warrior in his youth, there is some hope that, God permitting, we may all escape. Ye know the Crow Cliff? Well, the small boat is lying there. It is well known that men dare not swim down the rapid, unless they are acquainted with the run of the water and the formation of the rock. Thy men know it well, the King’s men know it not. With a boat the maidens may descend in safety. The men can leap into the river and escape before the enemy could come at them by the hill road.”
“Excellently planned,” exclaimed Erling in an eager tone; “but, hermit, how dost thou propose to fetch the maidens hither?”
“By going and conducting them. There is much risk, no doubt, but their case is desperate, for their retreat is certain to be discovered.”
“Away then,” said Ulf, “minutes are precious. We will await thee here, and, at the worst, if they should be captured, we can but die in attempting their rescue.”
Without uttering another word the hermit rose, re-entered the underwood, sank down on his hands and knees, and disappeared with a cat-like quietness that had been worthy of one of the red warriors of America.
Chapter Twenty Five.
In which is Described a Desperate Attempt at Rescue, a Bold Leap for Freedom, and a Triumphant Escape
The Crow Cliff, to which Christian had referred, was a high precipitous rock that jutted out into the river just below Haldorstede. It was the termination of the high ridge on the face of which Erling had posted his men, and could be easily reached from the spot where they lay concealed, as well as from the stede itself, but there was no possibility of passing down the river in that direction by land, owing to the precipitous nature of the ground. The ordinary path down the valley, which elsewhere followed the curvatures of the river, made at this point a wide détour into the woods, went in a zigzag form up the steep ascent of the ridge, descended similarly on the other side, and did not rejoin the river for nearly half a mile below. The waters were so pent up by the Crow Cliff that they rushed along its base in a furious rapid, which, a hundred yards down, descended in a perpendicular fall of about fifteen feet in depth. The descent of this rapid by a boat was quite possible, for there was a little bay at the lower end of Crow Cliff, just above the foss, into which it could be steered by a dexterous rower; but this mode of descent was attended with the imminent risk of being swept over the fall and dashed to pieces, so that none except the daring young spirits of the glen ever attempted it, while all the rest were content to cross the ridge by the longer and more laborious, but safe, path which we have just described. To descend this rapid by swimming was one of the feats which the youths of the place delighted to venture, and often had Erling and Glumm dared it together, while not a few of their companions had lost their lives in the attempt.
A few words from Erling gave the men to understand what was expected of them. It was arranged that while he, Ulf, Glumm, and the hermit should put the girls into the little boat and guide them down the rapid, the men were to leap into the water and swim down. All were to land in the little bay, and then make for the cave on the coast in a body, and fight their way thither, if need be; but it was believed there would be no occasion for that, because before the plan was carried out most of the King’s men would probably be assembled above the Crow Cliff at the stede. A few who could not swim were sent off at once by the track to warn Haldor. All these well-laid plans, however, were suddenly frustrated, for, while Erling was still consulting with Ulf and Glumm as to details, and peeping through the underwood, they beheld a sight which caused their hearts almost to stand still.
From the elevated spot where they lay they could see the hermit advancing rapidly towards them in a crouching attitude, closely followed by the maidens, while at the same time there advanced from the stede a large band of men under a chief, who was evidently commissioned to execute some order of the King. Erling and his friends could clearly see these two parties unwittingly approaching each other, at right angles, each making for a point where the two paths crossed, and where they were certain to meet. They could see their friends quietly but swiftly gliding towards the very fate they sought to avoid, and experienced all the agony of being unable to give a shout of warning, or to prevent the foe from capturing them; for, even if there had been time to rush upon them before the meeting, which there was not, Erling by so doing would have been obliged to place the whole of Harald’s host between him and the boat at Crow Cliff. This consideration, however, would not have deterred him, but another idea had flashed upon his mind. What that was shall be seen presently.
Before the two parties met, the ears of the hermit, albeit somewhat dulled by age, became aware of the tramp of armed men, and at once he drew the girls hastily aside into the bushes; but the bushes at that part happened to be not very thick, and part of Ada’s dress, which was a gay one with a good deal of scarlet about it, caught the attention of a sharp-eyed warrior. The man uttered a shout and sprang towards them; several others joined in the pursuit, a loud scream from one of the girls was heard, and next moment the fugitives were captured!
“Up and at them!” cried Glumm, endeavouring to rise, but he found himself pinned to the earth by Erling’s powerful arms.
“Stay, Glumm, be quiet, I beseech thee,” entreated Erling, as his comrade struggled violently but fruitlessly to escape from his powerful embrace.—“Do listen, Ulf; ye will spoil all by inconsiderate haste. I have a plan: listen—these men are not devils, but Norsemen, and will not hurt the girls; they will take them before the King. Hear me, and they shall yet be rescued!”
While the power of Erling’s muscles restrained Glumm, the deep-toned impassioned earnestness of his voice held back Ulf, who had leaped up and drawn his sword; but it was with evident reluctance that he paused and listened.
“Now hear me,” cried Erling; “I and Glumm will go down and mingle with Harald’s men. Our faces are doubtless not known to any of them; besides, we are so bespattered with the blood and dust of battle that even friends might fail to recognise us. We will go boldly about among the men, and keep near to the girls until a fitting opportunity offers, when we will seize them and bear them off. This will not be so difficult as ye may think.”
“Difficult!” cried Glumm, grinding his teeth; “I think nothing difficult except sitting still!”
“Because,” continued Erling, “the King’s men will be taken by surprise, and we shall be through the most of them before they are aware that there is need to draw their blades. But (and on this everything will depend) thou must be ready, Ulf, with all the men, to rush, in the twinkling of an eye, to our aid, the moment my shout is heard, for, if this be not done, we cannot fail to be overpowered by numbers. If thou dost but keep them well in play while we make for the boat, and then follow and leap into the river, we shall all escape.”
“Come along, then,” cried Glumm, in desperate impatience.
“Does the plan like thee, Ulf?” asked Erling.
“Not much,” he replied, shaking his head, “but it is the only chance left, so get thee gone. I will not fail thee in the moment of need—away! See, the girls are already being led before the King.”
Erling and Glumm instantly pulled their helmets well down on their brows, wrapped their mantles round them so as to conceal their figures as much as possible, then entered the wood and disappeared.
Meanwhile, on the open space in front of Haldor’s ruined dwelling, King Harald Haarfager stood surrounded by his court men. He was still bespattered with the blood and dust of battle, and furiously angry at the escape of Haldor and the burning of the stede. His gilt helmet restrained the exuberance of his shaggy locks, and he stood on the top of a slight elevation or mound, from the base of which his men extended in a dense ring in front of him, eager to ascertain who it was that had been so unexpectedly captured. Erling and Glumm mingled with the crowd unnoticed, for so many of the men assembled there had been collected from various districts, that, to each, strange faces were the rule instead of the exception.
When the girls were led into the ring there was a murmur of admiration, and many complimentary remarks were made about them. The old hermit was dragged in after them, and excited a little attention for a few moments. He had experienced rough handling from his captors. His grey hair was dishevelled and his face bloodstained, for, although he had offered no resistance, some of the men who seized him were so much out of humour in consequence of the burning of the stede and the escape of its inmates, that they were glad to vent their anger on anyone.
“Good-looking girls, both of them,” remarked the King to Jarl Rongvold, as they were being led forward.—“Who are ye?” he added, addressing them.
Ada looked round on the circle of men with a frightened glance, and cast down her eyes, but did not reply, while Hilda raised her eyes timidly to the King’s face, but lacked courage to speak.
“Come,” said the King sternly, “let us have no false modesty. Ye are before Norway’s King, therefore speak, and to the point. Who art thou?”
He addressed himself to Hilda, who replied—
“I am Hilda, daughter of Ulf of Romsdal.”
“And thou?” he added, turning to her companion.
“My name is Ada. My father is Hakon of Drontheim.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the King, with a bitter smile. “Is it so? Thy father has met his desert, then, for he now lies at the bottom of the fiord.”
Ada turned deadly pale, but made no reply.
“Know ye where Haldor the Fierce is, and his insolent son Erling?” asked the King.
Hilda flushed at this, and answered with some spirit that she did not know, and that if she did she would not tell.
“Of course not,” said the King; “I might have guessed as much, and do but waste my time with ye.—Stand aside—bring forward yonder fellow.”
The hermit was immediately led forward.
“Who art thou?” asked the King.
“An old wanderer on the face of the earth,” replied Christian.
“That is easily seen,” answered the King; “but not too old, it would seem, to do a little mischief when the chance falls in thy way.”
“Methinks, sire,” whispered Jarl Rongvold, “that this fellow is one of those strange madmen who have taken up with that new religion, which I do not profess to understand.”
“Sayest thou so?” exclaimed Harald, “then will I test him.—Ho! fetch me a piece of horse flesh.”
A piece of horse flesh was brought without delay, for some that had been sacrificed in the Drontheim temple had been packed up and carried off among other provisions when the expedition set forth.
“Here, old man, eat thou a portion of that,” said Harald, holding the flesh towards him.
“I may not eat what has been sacrificed to idols,” said the hermit.
“Ho! ho! then thou art not a worshipper of Odin? Say, dog, what art thou?”
“I am a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. He is my Saviour. To Him I live, and for Him I can die.”
“Can He save you from me?” demanded Harald.
“He can,” answered the hermit earnestly, “and will save you too, King Harald, from your sins, and all who now hear me, if they will but turn to Him.”
“Now will I test him,” said the King. “Stand forth, Hake of Hadeland, and hew me the old man’s head from his body.”
“Spare him! O spare him!” cried Hilda, throwing herself suddenly between Hake and his victim, who stood with the resigned air of a man who had made up his mind to die. “He has twice saved my life, and has never done you evil in thought or deed.”
“Stand aside, my pretty maid. Nay, then, if thou wilt not, I must grant thy request; but it is upon one condition: that this Saviour shall either come himself or send a champion to deliver the old man.—Come,” he added, turning fiercely to the hermit, “pray that thy God shall send thee a champion now, for if He does not, as I live thou shalt die.”
“I may not pray at thy bidding,” said the hermit calmly; “besides, it needs not that I should, because I have already prayed—before dawn this morning—that He would grant me His blessing in the form that seemed best to Himself.”
“And hast thou got it?”
“I have—in that I possess a quiet spirit, and do not fear to die, now that His time has come.”
“’Tis something this, I admit,” returned the King; “yet methinks ’tis but a poor blessing, after all, with death as the end of it.”
“Death is not the end of it,” said the hermit, with a kindling eye, “for after death is everlasting joy and glory with the Lord. Besides, King Harald, which were better, think you: to die with a willing spirit and bright hope, or to live full of restless ambition, disappointment, and rage, even although victorious and King of Norway?”
The King’s countenance grew livid with anger as he turned to the berserk and said, in a voice of suppressed passion—“Go forward, Hake, and slay him!”
“Now—the time has come,” whispered Erling to Glumm.
“Get as near to Ada as thou canst; for the rest, may Christian’s God be with us!”
As he spoke he sprang into the circle, sword in hand, and stood suddenly between the astonished Hake and the hermit.
There was a loud murmur of amazement at this unexpected apparition, and not a few of the spectators were awestricken, supposing that this was actually a champion sent from the spirit world.
“Harald,” cried Erling, for the berserk had shrunk back dismayed, “I do now accept the challenge, and come here to champion the old man.”
At the sound of his voice the King’s face lighted up with intelligence.
“Ha!” he exclaimed suddenly; “has the old man’s God sent Erling the Bold?”
“Truly I think he has,” replied Erling; “at all events it was not for this purpose that I came hither to-day. But now that I have come, and of mine own free will put myself in thy power, I claim the right to do battle for my old friend with thy stoutest man—so set him forth, King Harald.”
“What sayest thou, Hake?” said the King, turning to his berserk with a smile; “art willing to join issue with the Bold one?—bold enough, truly, and insolent as well.”
Hake, who had recovered his self-possession the instant he recognised Erling’s voice, and who was by no means wanting in courage, suddenly uttered one of his terrible roars, and rushed upon Erling like a thunderbolt.
Our hero was too well accustomed to the ways of his class to be caught off his guard. Although Hake rained blows upon him so fast that it was almost impossible for the spectators to follow the motions of his flashing sword, Erling received them all on his shield, or parried them with his short sword—which, as being more manageable in a mêlée, he had selected for his present enterprise. The instant, however, that the berserk’s furious onset began to slacken, Erling fetched him such a tremendous cut on the sword that the weapon was broken close off at the hilt. Disdaining to slay an unarmed foe, he leaped upon the berserk, and struck him a blow with the hilt of his sword, which drove the casque down upon his head and stretched him flat upon the sward.