“Would ye slay her too?” shrieked the old woman at that moment, coming forward with the pole with which she had been raking in the ashes, as if she were going to attack them.
Glumm turned aside the point of the pole, and gently caught the old woman by the arm.
“Oh! spare her,” she cried, falling on her knees and clasping her withered hands; “spare her, she is the last left—the last. I tried to save the others—but, but, they are gone—all gone. Will ye not spare her?”
“They won’t harm us, mother,” said the younger woman huskily. “They are friends. I know they are friends. Come, sit by me, mother.”
The old woman, who appeared to have been subdued by exhaustion, crept on her hands and knees to her side, and laying her head on her daughter’s breast, moaned piteously.
“We cannot stay to aid thee,” said Erling kindly; “but that matters not because those will soon be here who will do their best for thee. Yet if thou canst travel a few leagues, I will give thee a token which will ensure a good reception in my father’s house. Knowest thou Haldorstede in Horlingdal?”
“I know it well,” answered the woman.
“Here is a ring,” said Erling, “which thou wilt take to Herfrida, the wife of Haldor, and say that her son Erling sent thee, and would have thee and thy mother well cared for.”
He took from his finger, as he spoke, a gold ring, and placed it in the woman’s hand, but she shook her head sadly, and said in an absent tone: “I dare not go. Swart might come back and would miss me.”
“Art thou the wife of Swart of the Springs?”
“Yes; and he told me not to quit the house till he came back. But that seems so long, long ago, and so many things have happened since, that—”
She paused and shuddered.
“Swart is dead,” said Glumm.
On hearing this the woman uttered a wild shriek, and fell backward to the earth.
“Now a plague on thy gruff tongue,” said Erling angrily, as he raised the woman’s head on his knee. “Did you not see that the weight was already more than she could bear? Get thee to the spring for water, man, as quickly as may be.”
Glumm, whose heart had already smitten him for his inconsiderate haste, made no reply, but ran to a neighbouring spring, and quickly returned with his helmet full of water. A little of this soon restored the poor woman, and also her mother.
“Now haste thee to Horlingdal,” said Erling, giving the woman a share of the small supply of food with which he had supplied himself for the journey. “There may be company more numerous than pleasant at the Springs to-morrow, and a hearty welcome awaits thee at Haldorstede.”
Saying this he remounted and rode away.
“I was told last night by Hilda,” said Erling, “that, when we were out after the Danes, and just before the attack was made by the men of their cutter on Ulfstede, the hermit had been talking to the women in a wonderful way about war and the God whom he worships. He thinks that war is an evil thing; that to fight in self-defence—that is, in defence of home and country—is right, but that to go on viking cruise is wrong, and displeasing to God.”
“The hermit is a fool,” said Glumm bluntly.
“Nay, he is no fool,” said Erling. “When I think of these poor women, I am led to wish that continued peace were possible.”
“But it is, happily, not possible; therefore it is our business to look upon the bright side of war,” said Glumm.
“That may be thy business, Glumm, but it is my business to look upon both sides of everything. What would it avail thee to pitch and paint and gild the outside of thy longship, if no attention were given to the timbering and planking of the inside?”
“That is a different thing,” said Glumm.
“Yes, truly; yet not different in this, that it has two sides, both of which require to be looked at, if the ship is to work well. I would that I knew what the men of other lands think on this point, for the hermit says that there are nations in the south where men practise chiefly defensive warfare, and often spend years at a time without drawing the sword.”
“Right glad am I,” said Glumm, with a grim smile, “that my lot has not fallen among these.”
“Do you know,” continued Erling, “that I have more than once thought of going off on a cruise far and wide over the world to hear and see what men say and do? But something, I know not what, prevents me.”
“Perchance Hilda could tell thee!” said Glumm.
Erling laughed, and said there was some truth in that; but checked himself suddenly, for at that moment a man in the garb of a thrall appeared.
“Ho! fellow,” cried Glumm, “hast heard of King Harald Haarfager of late?”
“The King is in guest-quarters in Updal,” answered the thrall, “in the house of Jarl Rongvold, my master.”
“We must speed on,” said Erling to Glumm, “if we would speak with the King before supper-time.”
“If you would speak with the King at all,” said the thrall, “the less you say to him the better, for he is in no mood to be troubled just now. He sets out for the Springs to-morrow morning.”
Without making a reply the youths clapped spurs to their horses and galloped away.
Chapter Eleven.
Describes our Hero’s Interview with Jarl Rongvold and King Harald Haarfager
Late in the evening, Erling and Glumm arrived in the neighbourhood of the house of Jarl Rongvold, where King Harald Haarfager was staying in guest-quarters with a numerous retinue.
In the days of which we write there were no royal palaces in Norway. The kings spent most of their time—when not engaged in war or out on viking cruises—in travelling about the country, with a band of “herd-men”, or men-at-arms, in “guest-quarters”. Wherever they went the inhabitants were bound by law to afford them house-room and good cheer at their own cost, and the kings usually made this tax upon their people as light as possible by staying only a few days at each place.
Rongvold, who entertained the King at this time, was one of those Jarls or Earls—rulers over districts under himself—of whom he had recently created many throughout the land, to supersede those small independent kings who refused to become subject to him. He was a stout warrior, an able courtier, and a very dear friend of the King.
Just before his arrival at Jarl Rongvold’s house, King Harald had completed a considerable part of the programme which he had laid down in the great work of subduing the whole of Norway to himself. And wild bloody work it had been.
Hearing that several of the small kings had called a meeting in the uplands to discuss his doings, Harald went, with all the men he could gather, through the forests to the uplands, came to the place of meeting about midnight without being observed by the watchmen, set the house on fire, and burnt or slew four kings with all their followers. After that he subdued Hedemark, Ringerige, Gudbrandsdal, Hadeland, Raumarige, and the whole northern part of Vingulmark, and got possession of all the land as far south as the Glommen. It was at this time that he was taunted by the girl Gyda, and took the oath not to clip his hair until he had subdued the whole land—as formerly related. After his somewhat peculiar determination, he gathered together a great force, and went northwards up the Gudbrandsdal and over the Doverfielde. When he came to the inhabited land he ordered all the men to be killed, and everything wide around to be delivered to the flames. The people fled before him in all directions on hearing of his approach—some down the country to Orkadal, some to Gaulerdal, and some to the forests; but many begged for peace, and obtained it on condition of joining him and becoming his men. He met no decided opposition till he came to Orkadal, where a king named Gryting gave him battle. Harald won the victory. King Gryting was taken prisoner, and most of his men were killed. He took service himself, however, under the King, and thereafter all the people of Orkadal district swore fidelity to him.
Many other battles King Harald fought, and many other kings did he subdue—all of which, however, we will pass over at present, merely observing that wherever he conquered he laid down the law that all the udal property should belong to him, and that the bonders—the hitherto free landholders—both small and great, should pay him land dues for their possessions. It is due, however, to Harald Fairhair, to say that he never seems to have aimed at despotic power; for it is recorded of him that over every district he set an earl, or jarl, to judge according to the law of the land and to justice, and also to collect the land dues and the fines; and for this each earl received a third part of the dues and services and fines for the support of his table and other expenses. Every earl had under him four or more bersers, on each of whom was bestowed an estate of twenty merks yearly, for which he was bound to support twenty men-at-arms at his own expense—each earl being obliged to support sixty retainers. The King increased the land dues and burdens so much that his earls had greater power and income than the kings had before, and when this became known at Drontheim many of the great men of that district joined the King.
Wherever Harald went, submission or extinction were the alternatives; and as he carried things with a high hand, using fire and sword freely, it is not a matter of wonder that his conquests were rapid and complete. It has been said of Harald Fairhair by his contemporaries, handed down by the scalds, and recorded in the Icelandic Sagas, that he was of remarkably handsome appearance, great and strong, and very generous and affable to his men.
But to return.
It was late in the evening, as we have said, when Erling and Glumm reached the vicinity of Jarl Rongvold’s dwelling. Before coming in sight of it they were met by two of the mounted guards that were posted regularly as sentries round the King’s quarters. These challenged them at once, and, on being informed that they desired to have speech with the King on matters of urgency, conveyed them past the inner guard to the house.
The state of readiness for instant action in which the men were kept did not escape the observant eyes of the visitors. Besides an outlying mounted patrol, which they had managed to pass unobserved, and the sentries who conducted them, they found a strong guard round the range of farm buildings where the King and his men lay. These men were all well armed, and those of them who were not on immediate duty lay at their stations sound asleep, each man with his helmet on his head, his sword under it, his right hand grasping the hilt, and his shield serving the purpose of a blanket to cover him.
Although the young men observed all this they did not suffer their looks to betray idle curiosity, but rode on with stern countenances, looking, apparently, straight before them, until they reined up at the front door of the house.
In a few minutes a stout handsome man with white hair came out and saluted Erling in a friendly way. This was Jarl Rongvold, who was distantly related to him.
“I would I could say with truth that I am glad to see thee, cousin,” he said, “but I fear me that thine errand to the King is not likely to end in pleasant intercourse, if all be true that is reported of the folk in Horlingdal.”
“Thanks, kinsman, for the wish, if not for the welcome,” replied the youth, somewhat stiffly, as he dismounted; “but it matters little to me whether our intercourse be pleasant or painful, so long as it is profitable. The men of Horlingdal send a message to Harald Haarfager; can my companion and I have speech with him?”
“I can manage that for thee, yet would I counsel delay, for the King is not in a sweet mood to-night, and it may go ill with thee.”
“I care not whether the King’s mood be sweet or sour,” replied Erling sternly. “Whatever he may become in the future, Harald is not yet the all-powerful king he would wish to be. The men of Horlingdal have held a Thing, and Glumm and I have been deputed to see the King, convey to him their sentiments, and ask his intentions.”
A grim smile played on the jarl’s fine features for a moment, as he observed the blood mantling to the youth’s forehead.
“No good will come to thee or thine, kinsman, by meeting the King with a proud look. Be advised, Erling,” he continued in a more confidential tone; “it is easier to swim with the stream than against it—and wiser too, when it is impossible to turn it. Thou hast heard, no doubt, of Harald’s doings in the north.”
“I have heard,” said Erling bitterly.
“Well, be he right or be he wrong, it were easier to make the Glommen run up the fells than to alter the King’s determination; and it seems to me that it behoves every man who loves his country, and would spare further bloodshed, to submit to what is inevitable.”
“Every lover of his country deems bloodshed better than slavery,” said Erling, “because the death of a few is not so great an evil as the slavery of all.”
“Aye, when there is hope that good may come of dying,” rejoined the jarl, “but now there is no hope.”
“That is yet to be proved,” said the youth; and Glumm uttered one of those emphatic grunts with which men of few words are wont to signify their hearty assent to a proposition.
“Tut, kinsman,” continued Rongvold, with a look of perplexity, “I don’t like the idea of seeing so goodly a youth end his days before his right time. Let me assure thee that, if thou wilt join us and win over thy friends in Horlingdal, a splendid career awaits thee, for the King loves stout men, and will treat thee well; he is a good master.”
“It grieves me that one whose blood flows in my veins should call any man master!” said Erling.
“Now a plague on thee, for a stupid hot-blood,” cried the jarl; “if thou art so displeased with the word, I can tell thee that it need never be used, for, if ye will take service with the King, he will give thee the charge and the revenues of a goodly district, where thou shalt be master and a jarl too.”
“I am a king!” said Erling, drawing himself proudly up. “Thinkest thou I would exchange an old title for a new one, which the giver has no right to create?”
Glumm uttered another powerfully emphatic grunt at this point.
“Besides,” continued Erling, “I have no desire to become a scatt-gatherer.”
The jarl flushed a little at this thrust, but mastering his indignation said, with a smile—
“Nay, then, if ye prefer a warrior’s work there is plenty of that at the disposal of the King.”
“I have no particular love for war,” said Erling. Jarl Rongvold looked at his kinsman in undisguised amazement.
“Truly thou art well fitted for it, if not fond of it,” he said curtly; “but as thou art bent on following thine own nose, thou art like to have more than enough of that which thou lovest not.—Come, I will bring thee to the King.”
The jarl led the two young men into his dwelling, where nearly a hundred men-at-arms were carousing. The hall was a long, narrow, and high apartment, with a table running down each side, and one at either end. In the centre of each table was a raised seat, on which sat the chief guests, but, at the moment they entered, the highest of these seats was vacant, for the King had left the table. The fireplace of the hall was in the centre, and the smoke from it curled up among the rafters, which it blackened before escaping through a hole in the roof.
As all the revellers were armed, and many of them were moving about the hall, no notice was taken of the entrance of the strangers, except that one or two near whom they passed remarked that Jarl Rongvold owned some stout men-at-arms.
The King had retired to one of the sleeping-chambers off the great halt in which he sat at a small window, gazing dreamily upon the magnificent view of dale, fell, fiord, and sea, that lay stretched out before the house. The slanting rays of the sun shone through the window, and through the heavy masses of the King’s golden hair, which fell in enormous volumes, like a lion’s mane, on a pair of shoulders which were noted, even in that age of powerful men, for enormous breadth and strength. Like his men, King Harald was armed from head to foot, with the exception of his helmet, which lay, with his shield, on the low wolf-skin couch on which he had passed the previous night.
He did not move when the jarl and the young men entered, but on the former whispering in his ear he let his clenched fist fall on the window sill, and, turning, with a frown on his bold, handsome face, looked long and steadily at Erling. And well might he gaze, for he looked upon one who bore a singularly strong resemblance to himself. There was the same height and width and massive strength, the same bold, fearless look in the clear blue eyes, and the same firm lips; but Erling’s hair fell in softer curls on his shoulders, and his brow was more intellectual. Being a younger man, his beard was shorter.
Advancing a step, after Jarl Rongvold had left the room, Erling stated the sentiments of the men of Horlingdal in simple, blunt language, and ended by telling the King that they had no wish to refuse due and lawful allegiance to him, but that they objected to having the old customs of the land illegally altered.
During the progress of his statement both Erling and Glumm observed that the King’s face flushed more than once, and that his great blue eyes blazed with astonishment and suppressed wrath. After he had concluded, the King still gazed at him in ominous silence. Then he said, sternly:
“For what purpose camest thou hither if the men of Horlingdal hold such opinions?”
“We came to tell you, King Harald, what the men of Horlingdal think, and to ask what you intend to do.”
There was something so cool in this speech that a sort of grin curled the King’s moustache, and mingled with the wrath that was gathering on his countenance.
“I’ll tell thee what I will do,” he said, drawing his breath sharply, and hissing the words; “I will march into the dale, and burn and s—” He stopped abruptly, and then in a soft tone added, “But what will they do if I refuse to listen to them?”
“I know not what the men of Horlingdal will do,” replied Erling; “but I will counsel them to defend their rights.”
At this the King leaped up, and drew his sword half out of its scabbard, but again checked himself suddenly; for, as the Saga tells us, “it was his invariable rule, whenever anything raised his anger, to collect himself and let his passion run off, and then take the matter into consideration coolly.”
“Go,” he said, sitting down again at the window, “I will speak with thee on this subject to-morrow.”
Erling, who during the little burst of passion had kept his blue eyes unflinchingly fixed on those of the King, bowed and retired, followed by Glumm, whose admiration of his friend’s diplomatic powers would have been unbounded, had he only wound up with a challenge to the King, then and there, to single combat!
Chapter Twelve.
Describes a Terrific and Unequal Combat
“Now, kinsman, let me endeavour to convince thee of thy folly,” said Jarl Rongvold to Erling, on the morning that followed the evening in which the interview with the King had taken place, as they walked in front of the house together.
“It needs no great power of speech to convince me of that,” said Erling. “The fact that I am still here, after what the King let out last night, convinces me, without your aid, that I am a fool.”
“And pray what said he that has had such powerful influence on thine obtuse mind?”
“Truly he said little, but he expressed much. He gave way to an unreasonable burst of passion when I did but claim justice and assert our rights; and the man must be slow-witted indeed who could believe that subdued passion is changed opinion. However, I will wait for another interview until the sun is in the zenith—after that I leave, whatever be the consequences. So it were well, kinsman, that you should see and advise with your master.”
The jarl bit his lip, and was on the point of turning away without replying, when a remarkably stout and tall young man walked up and accosted them.
“This is my son Rolf,” said the jarl, turning round hastily.—“Our kinsman, Erling the Bold. I go to attend the King. Make the most of each other, for ye are not likely to be long in company.”
“Are you that Rolf who is styled Ganger?” enquired Erling with some interest.
“Aye,” replied the other gruffly. “At least I am Rolf. Men choose to call me Ganger because I prefer to gang on my legs rather than gang on the legs of a horse. They say it is because no horse can carry me; but thou seest that that is a lie, for I am not much heavier than thyself.”
“I should like to know thee better, kinsman,” said Erling.
Rolf Ganger did not respond so heartily to this as Erling wished, and he felt much disappointed; for, being a man who did not often express his feelings, he felt all the more keenly anything like a rebuff.
“What is your business with the King?” asked Rolf, after a short pause.
“To defy him,” said our hero, under the influence of a burst of mingled feelings.
Rolf Ganger looked at Erling in surprise.
“Thou dost not like the King, then?”
“I hate him!”
“So do I,” said Rolf.
This interchange of sentiment seemed to break down the barriers of diffidence which had hitherto existed between the two, for from that moment their talk was earnest and confidential. Erling tried to get Rolf to desert the King’s cause and join his opponents, but the latter shook his head, and said that they had no chance of success; and that it was of no use joining a hopeless cause, even although he had strong sympathy with it. While they were conversing, Jarl Rongvold came out and summoned Erling to the presence of the King.
This was the first and last interview that our hero had with that Rolf Ganger, whose name—although not much celebrated at that time—was destined to appear in the pages of history as that of the conqueror of Normandy, and the progenitor of line of English kings.
“I have sent for thee, Erling,” said the King, in a voice so soft, yet so constrained, that Erling could not avoid seeing that it was forced, “to tell thee thou art at liberty to return to thy dalesmen with this message—King Harald respects the opinions of the men of Horlingdal, and he will hold a Thing at the Springs for the purpose of hearing their views more fully, stating his own, and consulting with them about the whole matter.—Art satisfied with that?” he asked, almost sternly.
“I will convey your message,” said Erling.
“And the sooner the better,” said the King. “By the way, there are two roads leading to the Springs, I am told; is it so?” he added.
“There are,” said Erling; “one goes by the uplands over the fells, the other through the forest.”
“Which would you recommend me to follow when I fare to the Springs?”
“The forest road is the best.”
“It is that which thou wilt follow, I suppose?”
“It is,” replied Erling.
“Well, get thee to horse, and make the most of thy time; my berserk here will guide thee past the guards.”
As he spoke, a man who had stood behind the King motionless as a statue advanced towards the door. He was one of a peculiar class of men who formed part of the bodyguard of the King. On his head there was a plain steel helmet, but he wore no “serk”, or shirt of mail (hence the name of berserk, or bare of serk), and he was, like the rest of his comrades, noted for being capable of working himself up into such a fury of madness while in action, that few people of ordinary powers could stand before his terrible onset. He was called Hake, the berserk of Hadeland, and was comparatively short in stature, but looked shorter than he really was, in consequence of the unnatural breadth and bulk of his chest and shoulders. Hake led Erling out to the door of the house, where they found Glumm waiting with two horses ready for the road.
“Thou art sharp this morning, Glumm.”
“Better to be too sharp than too blunt,” replied his friend. “It seemed to me that whatever should be the result of the talk with the King to-day, it were well to be ready for the road in good time. What is yonder big-shouldered fellow doing?”
“Hush, Glumm,” said Erling, with a smile, “thou must be respectful if thou wouldst keep thy head on thy shoulders. That is Hake of Hadeland, King Harald’s famous berserk. He is to conduct us past the guards. I only hope he may not have been commissioned to cut off our heads on the way. But I think that perchance you and I might manage him together, if our courage did not fail us!”
Glumm replied with that expression of contempt which is usually styled turning up one’s nose, and Erling laughed as he mounted his horse and rode off at the heels of the berserk. He had good reason to look grave, however, as he found out a few moments later. Just as they were about to enter the forest, a voice was heard shouting behind, and Jarl Rongvold was seen running after them.
“Ho! stay, kinsman, go not away without bidding us farewell. A safe and speedy journey, lad, and give my good wishes to the old folk at Haldorstede. Say that I trust things may yet be happily arranged between the men of Horlingdal and the King.”
As he spoke the jarl managed to move so that Erling’s horse came between him and the berserk; then he said quickly, in a low but earnest whisper:
“The King means to play thee false, Erling. I cannot explain, but do thou be sure to take the road by the fells, and let not the berserk know. Thy life depends on it. I am ordered to send this berserk with a troop of nineteen men to waylay thee. They are to go by the forest road.—There, thou canst not doubt my friendship for thee, for now my life is in thy hands! Haste, thou hast no chance against such odds. Farewell, Glumm,” he added aloud; “give my respects to Ulf, when next ye see him.”
Jarl Rongvold waved his hand as he turned round and left his friends to pursue their way.
They soon reached the point where they had met the two guards on the previous day. After riding a little farther, so as to make sure of being beyond the outmost patrol, the berserk reined up.
“Here I leave you to guard yourselves,” he said.
“Truly we are indebted to thee for thy guidance thus far,” said Erling.
“If you should still chance to meet with any of the guards, they will let you pass, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” replied Erling, with a laugh, “and, should they object, we have that which will persuade them.”
He touched the hilt of his sword, and nodded good-humouredly to the berserk, who did not appear to relish the jest at all.
“Your road lies through the forest, I believe?” said Hake, pausing and looking back as he was about to ride away.
“That depends on circumstances,” said Erling. “If the sun troubles me, I may go by the forest,—if not, I may go by the fells. But I never can tell beforehand which way my fancy may lead, and I always follow it.”
So saying he put spurs to his horse and galloped away.
The berserk did the same, but it was evident that he was ill at ease, for he grumbled very much, and complained a good deal of his ill luck. He did not, however, slacken his pace on that account, but rather increased it, until he reached Rongvoldstede, where he hastily summoned nineteen armed men, mounted a fresh horse, and, ordering them to follow, dashed back into the forest at full speed.
For some time he rode in silence by the side of a stout man who was his subordinate officer.
“Krake,” he said at length, “I cannot make up my mind which road this Erling and his comrade are likely to have taken, so, as we must not miss our men, the King’s commands being very positive, I intend to send thee by the mountain road with nine of the men, and go myself by the forest with the other nine. We will ride each at full speed, and will be sure to overtake them before they reach the split rock on the fells, or the double-stemmed pine in the forest. If thou shalt fall in with them, keep them in play till I come up, for I will hasten to join thee without delay after reaching the double pine. If I meet them I will give the attack at once, and thou wilt hasten to join me after passing the split rock. Now, away, for here our roads part.”
In accordance with this plan the troop was divided, and each portion rode off at full speed.
Meanwhile Erling and Glumm pursued their way, chatting as they rode along, and pausing occasionally to breathe their horses.
“What ails thee, Erling?” said Glumm abruptly. “One would fancy that the fair Hilda was behind thee, so often hast thou looked back since the berserk left us.”
“It is because the fair Hilda is before me that I look so often over my shoulder, for I suspect that there are those behind us who will one day cause her grief,” replied Erling sadly; then, assuming a gay air, he added—“Come, friend Glumm, I wish to know thy mind in regard to a matter of some importance. How wouldst thou like to engage, single handed, with ten men?”
Glumm smiled grimly, as he was wont to do when amused by anything—which, to say truth, was not often.
“Truly,” said he, “my answer to that must depend on thine answer to this—Am I supposed to have my back against a cliff, or to be surrounded by the ten?”
“With thy back guarded, of course.”
“In that case I should not refuse the fight, but I would prefer to be more equally matched,” said Glumm, “Two to one, now, is a common chance of war, as thou knowest full well. I myself have had four against me at one time—and when one is in good spirits this is not a serious difficulty, unless there chance to be a berserk amongst them; even in that case, by the use of a little activity of limb, one can separate them, and so kill them in detail. But ten are almost too many for one man, however bold, big, or skilful he may be.”
“Then what—wouldst thou say to twenty against two?” asked Erling, giving a peculiar glance at his friend.
“That were better than ten to one, because two stout fellows back to back are not easily overcome, if the fight be fair with sword and axe, and arrows or spears be not allowed. Thou and I, Erling, might make a good stand together against twenty, for we can use our weapons, and are not small men. Nevertheless, I think that it would be our last fight, though I make no doubt we should thin their number somewhat. But why ask such questions?”