The Ward of King Canute Part 16

The Etheling put his hand under the bent head to raise it that he might hear what the lips were saying, and she covered his palm with kisses.

Then slipping away, like the elf he had called her, she glided through the narrow s.p.a.ce of the half-open door and was gone, sobbing, out into the night.

Chapter XV. How Fridtjof Cheated The Jotun

"'Such is the love of women, Who falsehood meditate, As if one drove not rough-shod On slippery ice A spirited two-year-old And unbroken horse.

Ha'vama'l.

I trust my sword; I trust my steed; But most I trust myself at need,'"

the fair-haired scald sang exultingly to the Danishmen sprawled around the camp-fire. It was to no graceful love-song that his harp lent its swelling chords, but to a stern chant of mighty deeds, whose ringing notes sped through the forest like the bearers of war-arrows, knocking at the door of each sleeping echo until it awoke and carried on the summons.

Echoes awoke as well in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of those who listened. When the minstrel laid aside his harp for his cup, Snorri Scar-Cheek brought his fist down in a mighty blow upon the earth. "To hear such words and know one's self doomed to wallow in mast!"

A dozen s.h.a.ggy heads wagged surly acquiescence. But from the figure outstretched upon the splendid bearskin a harsh voice sounded. "Now! see that because you lie in mast you have a swine's wit," it said. "Do you want the thrall to stand forth and prove for the hundredth time that their bins must needs be as empty as your head?"

Venturing no more than a growl, the man dropped his chin back upon his fists. But Brown-Cloak, the English serf, found somewhere the notion that here was an opportunity to rehea.r.s.e once more the service which was his sole claim upon his new masters' indulgence, and he got on his legs accordingly.

"I can say soothly that you will not have to bear it much longer, Lord Dale," he rea.s.sured. "My own eyes saw that--" He ended in a howl as a half-gnawed sheep-bone from the warrior's hand struck him with a force that knocked him sprawling among the ashes.

"Do not trouble yourself to answer until you are questioned," the Scar-Cheek recommended briefly. And a round of laughter followed the poor scapegoat as he picked himself up, groaning, and crept away into the shadow. In the restlessness of their inactivity, and this swift breaking into pa.s.sages of growling and tooth-play whenever, in their narrow confines, they chanced to jostle each other, they were like nothing so much as a pack of caged wolves.

Into the den, a few minutes later, the daughter of Frode came on her difficult mission. Her face was so ghastly that the man who first caught sight of it did not recognize her, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his weapon as against an enemy. It was the Scar-Cheek who offered the first welcome in a jovial shout. "The hawk escaped from the cage! Well done, champion! Did you batter a way out with your mighty fists? Did you get fretful and slay the Englishman? Leave off your bashfulness and tell us your deeds of valor!" A score of hands were stretched forth to draw the boy into the circle; a score of horns were held out for his refreshment.

To all of them Randalin yielded silently,--silently accepting the cup which was nearest, in order to gain time by sipping its contents.

She realized that only a manner of perfect unconcern could carry her through, yet she felt herself shaking with excitement.

Rothgar sat up on the great skin with a gesture of some cordiality.

"Hail to you, Fridtjof Frodesson!" he said. "Your escape is a thing that gladdens me. I did not like the thought of starving you, and I hope your father will overlook the unfriendliness of it."

The Scar-Cheek, who had been scanning her critically where she stood before them, drinking, gave a pitying grunt. "By the crooked horn, boy, you must have had naught but ill luck since the time of Scoerstan! No more meat is on you than a raven could eat; and the night I was in the Englishman's hall, you had the appearance of having been under a lash.

Your guardian spirit must have gone astray."

Though she managed to keep her eyes upon her cup, Randalin could not hinder a wave of burning color from over-running her face. Seeing it, Rothgar held up his handless left arm for silence.

"You act in a mannerless way, Snorri Gudbrandsson, when you remind a high-spirited youth that he has been disgraced in his mind. Yet do not let that prevent your joy, my Bold One. To make up for the injury I have been to you, I will give you a revenge on the Englishman that shall wipe out everything you have endured from him. If it is possible for me to take him alive and bind him, your own hand shall be the one to strike Sebert Oswaldsson his death-blow."

The girl's nervousness betrayed her into a burst of hysterical laughter, but her wits were quick enough to turn it to good account. She said with Fridtjof's own petulance, "Your boon is like the one Canute has in store for me. I am likely to wait so long for both that I shall have no teeth left to chew them with. I like it much better to take your kindness in the shape of food, if that is a loaf yonder."

The abruptness with which silence fell over the group was startling.

Snorri bent forward and plucked her sternly back as she made a move toward the bread. A dozen voices questioned her.

"What do you mean by that?"... "Why will it take long?"... "Are they not short in food?"

Knowing that she could not achieve unconcern, she kept to her petulance, jerking her cloak away from the hand that detained it. "Should I be apt to blame him for starving me if he did it because no better cheer was to be had? Nor do I think you have proved much more liberal. Let me by to the bread."

Instead, the ring narrowed around her; and the chief himself put peremptory questions in his heavy voice. "Has he food? What do you mean?

Clear your wits and answer distinctly. Can you not understand that we think this food-question of great importance? The thrall told us they are wont to keep their provisions in the house we burned. Did he lie?"

"I do not know whether he lied or not," Randalin answered slowly; "but it seems to me great foolishness that you did not take the time into consideration. At the end of the harvest, any English house would be fitted out for weeks of feasting. You came the night the larder was fullest; and they have only spent one meal a day since."

Rothgar got upon his feet and towered over her, his Jotun-frame appearing to swell with irritation. "Do you not know how provoking your words are, that you are so glib of tongue?" he thundered. "Tell shortly what you think of their case; can they last one day more?"

The black head nodded emphatically.

"Can they last two days?"

Another nod.

"A week?"

Fridtjof the Bold took refuge in sullenness. "They can last two weeks as easily as one. How much longer are you going to keep me from food?" She was free after that to do anything she liked, for their excitement was so great that they forgot her existence. Those whose fluency was not hampered by their feelings, relieved their minds by cursing. Those whose anger could be vented only in action, made after the blundering serf.

And the few who were boldest turned and bearded the son of Lodbrok himself.

"How much longer must we endure this?"... "Think of the game we are missing!"... "There is little need to remind me. My naked fists could batter the stones from their places--"... "In a week more, it is possible that England may be won!"... "What do you care for their wretched land, chief?"...

"Chief, how much longer must we lie here?"

When that question was finally out, every man heaved a sigh of relief, straightening in his place like a dog that is p.r.i.c.king his ears, and there was a pause.

A fell look came into the Jotun's face as he gazed back at them; and for a time it seemed that he would either answer with his fist or not at all. But at length he began to speak in a voice as keen and hard as his sword.

"You know my temper, and that I must have my will. Always I have thought it shame that my kinsman's odal should lie in English hands, and now I have made up my mind to put an end to it. You know that I am in no way greedy for property. When I obtain the victory, you shall have every acre and every stick on it to burn or plunder or keep, as best pleases you. But I do not want to reproach myself longer with my neglect; and whether it take two weeks or whether it take twenty--" He interrupted himself to bend forward, shading his eyes with his hands. "If I am not much mistaken," he said in quite another voice, "yonder is Bra.s.s Borgar at last! Yonder, near those oak-trees."

In an instant they had all turned to scan the moon-lit open. And now that they were silent, the thud of hoofs became distinct. Shouting their welcome, some hurried to heap fresh fuel on the fire, and some ran after more ale-skins; while others rushed forward to meet the messenger and run beside his horse, riddling him with questions.

Folding his arms, the chief awaited him in grim silence. If glances could have burned, he would have writhed under the look that a pair of iris-blue eyes was dealing him over a bread crust. But it may be that his skin was particularly thick, for he betrayed no uneasiness whatever.

When the man finally stood before him, Rothgar said sternly, "It is time you were here! Ten days have gone over your head since I sent you out.

You must do one of two things,--either tell great tidings or submit to sharp words."

The Bra.s.s One laughed as he saluted. "I should have been liable to sharp steel had I come sooner, chief. Would you have taken it well if I had left without knowing how it went with the battle?"

"Battle!" three-score mouths cried as with one voice. "Who were victorious?"

The man laughed again. "Should I come to you with a noisy voice and my chin held high, if other than one thing had happened? Honor to the Thunderer, the Raven possessed the field!"

Such a clamor arose as though the wolf-pack had tasted blood. Three times, through the trumpet of his hands, Rothgar bawled a command for silence. "One horn you may have, then all this must be told before you eat," he gave orders. And he strode restlessly to and fro until the time came when the horn stood on end above the man's mouth and then was lowered reluctantly.

Drawing his hand across his lips, the Bra.s.s One cleared his throat. "At your pleasure, chief. Is it to your mind to begin with the battle? Or do you rather wish to hear of my journey thence? I admit that that part is somewhat likely to stick in my teeth and in your ears. From Otford to Shepey was little better than a retreat, and if--"

"The battle! the battle!" a chorus of voices cried, and the chief confirmed the choice.

"The battle, by all means! The other will do for lesser dishes when the first edge is off our appet.i.te. Where was it? And how long since? Yet, before any of these, how goes it with my royal foster-brother? And how do his traitors carry sail, Odin's curse upon them! Speak! How fares he?"