IT HAPPENED IN THE BEGINNING of the summer that Sigurd Erikson journeyed north into Esthonia to gather the king’s taxes and tribute. His business in due course brought him into a certain seaport that stood upon the shores of the great Gulf of Finland.
He was a very handsome man, tall and strong, with long fair hair and clear blue eyes. There were many armed servants in his following, for he was a person of great consequence, and was held in high honour throughout the land.
He rode across the marketplace and there alighted from his horse, and turned his eyes towards the sea. Before him stretched the rippling, sunlit bay with its wooded holms. A fleet of fishing boats was putting out with the flood tide, and some merchant vessels lay at anchor under shelter of the green headland.
Nearer to the strand a long dragonship, with a tall gilded prow rising high above the deck tent, was moored against a bank of hewn rock that served as a wharf. At sight of the array of white shields along this vessel’s bulwarks his eyes brightened, for he knew that she was a viking ship from his own birth land in distant Norway, and he was glad. Not often did it chance that he could hold speech with the bold warriors of the fiords.
Close by the ship there was a noisy crowd of men and boys. He strode nearer to them, and heard the hoarse voices of the vikings calling out in loud praise of a feat that had been performed by someone in their midst. Sigurd joined the crowd, and saw a boy step out upon the vessel’s narrow gangplank, and there, standing between the ship and the shore, begin to throw a knife high up into the sunny air, catching it as it fell.
It seemed that the lad was of good station, for his clothing was of finely woven cloth, and there was a gold neckband to his kirtle, and his long black hair was well combed and curled. Thrice he threw up his glittering knife high above his head and deftly caught it again. But soon, thinking perhaps to excel those who had gone before him, he took a second knife from his belt, and juggled with them both with such skill that the shipmen watching him from under the awning swore by the hammer of Thor that the feat could never be surpassed.
“Well done, well done!” they shouted. And the boys on the bank cried out, “Well done, Rekoni!”
At this the youth put fuller strength into his arms and flung the knives yet higher into the air. But his ambition for the praise of the warriors was greater than his caution, for, in reaching forward to catch one of the weapons, he lost his balance and fell headlong into the deep green water beneath. And as he swam to shore the vikings laughed aloud, and some who had thought of giving him a reward put back their gold into their wallets and turned away.
Now, very close to where Sigurd Erikson was there stood two boys, whose close cropped hair and dress of coarse white vadmal showed them to be slaves. One of them was a tall, gaunt youth, with pale thin cheeks and large sad eyes. He was fair of skin, and by this Sigurd knew that he was not an Esthonian. His companion seemed about twelve winters old, sturdy and broad backed, with very fair hair. His neck and bare strong arms were burnt by the sun to a ruddy brown. Sigurd could not see his face, and might not have noticed him had not the elder lad urged him forward, bidding him step upon the plank and show his skill.
“Not I,” said the younger, with an impatient toss of his cropped head. And he thrust his thumbs into his belt and drew back. “Too much have I already done in bidding Rekoni try the feat. Well is it for me that he is not hurt by his fall into the sea, else would his father’s whip be about my back. Even as the matter stands, my master will surely stop my food for having left his sheep to stray upon the hills.”
“I had but wished to see you succeed where your master’s son has failed,” sighed the elder lad. And at this the boy turned round and said more softly:
“Well, Thorgils, for your pleasure will I do it, and not for the vikings’ praise. Lend me your dirk.”
So he took the knife from Thorgils’ belt, and, leaving the crowd, walked boldly to the end of the gangplank. Here he rubbed the soles of his bare feet in the dust and then stepped to the middle of the narrow board.
“Now what thinks this child that he can do?” cried one of the vikings.
The boy turned sharply and looked at the man who had spoken. He was a tall, red bearded man, whose nose was flat against his scarred, bronzed face. At sight of him the boy drew back a pace as if in fear.
“Ay. What thinks the babe that he can do?” echoed another of the warriors. But those who were nearer made no answer, for they saw that the boy was very agile and strong beyond his years.
Sigurd watched him as he took his stand on the plank. The sunlight shone upon his fair young face. His clear blue eyes flashed like stars under his knitted brows. He ran his fingers over his short yellow hair, and then, turning with his back to the sun, flung one of his knives high up into the air. As it turned in its descent he flung a second knife, then caught the first and again threw it high—higher even than the vane on the ship’s tall mast. He stood with his bare feet firmly gripping the plank, and his head thrown back, and his lithe, well balanced body swaying in regular movement with his arms. Then as the two gleaming weapons were well in play, rising and falling in quick succession, one of his hands went to his belt, and he drew yet a third knife and plied it in turn with the other two.
At this there was a murmur of praise from both ship and shore, and the vikings declared that never before had they seen one so young display such skill. And all the while Sigurd Erikson kept his eyes upon the lad’s glowing, upturned face.
“Who is this child?” he asked of the tall youth at his side. But the sad eyed Thorgils paid no heed to the question, but only crept nearer to the end of the gangboard, and stood there earnestly watching. As he looked at the ship’s bulwarks he caught sight of the man with the red beard and broken nose—the chief of the vikings,—and he cried out to his companion:
“Enough, Ole, enough!”
Then the boy caught his knives and thrust them one by one into his belt, and, turning shoreward, strode quickly down the plank and made his way through the cheering crowd, followed by Thorgils. Many of the vikings called him back with offers of reward, and Sigurd Erikson tried to arrest him as he passed. But the young slave only gave a careless laugh and ran swiftly away.
Now it seemed that Sigurd had a mind to go after him. But as he was leaving the crowd he met a certain rich merchant of the town, and he said:
“Tell me, Biorn, who is this yellow haired lad that has just proved himself so skilful at the knife feat? And whence came he into Esthonia?”
The merchant shook his head and said:
“He is a wild and wilful loon, hersir, and of no account to any man. As to his feat with the knives, had I my will I’d have it instant death to any thrall who should so much as touch a sharpened weapon.”
“By his looks I would judge him to be Norway born,” said Sigurd.
“That may well be,” returned the merchant, “for it is true that he came with the west wind. It was I who bought him from the vikings, with another of his kind—one Thorgils, who is to this day my bond slave. I bought them in exchange for a good he goat from Klerkon Flatface. Very soon I found the younger lad was worthless. There was little that I could do with him; so I sold him to a dalesman named Reas, who gave me a very fine rain cloak for him; nor do I rue my bargain, for the cloak is still in use and the lad is scarcely of the value of his food and shelter.”
“How do men name the lad?” inquired Sigurd. “And whose son is he?”
“Whose son he may be is no concern of mine,” answered the merchant. “Some viking’s brat, it may be; for he has the viking spirit in him, and the salt of the sea is in his veins. No landman can tame him. As to his name, if ever he had one, ‘tis certain he has none now, and is only known as Reasthrall, for he is the thrall of Reas the bonder.”
“If it be that Reas will sell his thrall,” said Sigurd, “then I would willingly buy the lad, and take him back with me into Holmgard as an offering to the Queen Allogia.”
“Think twice ere you act so unkindly towards the queen,” said the merchant. “A goodlier gift for Allogia would surely be the jewelled brooch that I showed you yesternight; and you shall have it very cheap. The price is but twelve gold marks.”
But before Sigurd could reply a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a gruff voice called out his name. He turned and saw at his side the tall red bearded viking chief, whose broken nose and coarse scarred face were now shielded from the sun’s rays by a wide hat made of dry reeds.
“Well met, Hersir Sigurd!” said the warrior. “And what lordly business brings you north to the coast? ‘Tis long since last we met—not since the yuletide feast at Holmgard, two winters back, when we had the horse fight. How fares the Flanders mare that won such glory at that time?”
“A sickness killed her,” answered Sigurd. “But I have a foal in training that will soon beat any horse in Holmgard; ay, even in Norway. So if you have a mind to see a good horse fight, come when you will with the best horses you can find. I wager you that mine will beat them all.”
“If I meet not my death before the end of the cruising season,” said the viking, “then will I engage to bring you the best horse in all the Norseland to fight against.” He looked among the crowd of boys that still loitered near the ship, and added—"Where has the youngster gone who stood just now upon the plank? He has in him the makings of a good war man. Such lads as he are scarce, and I would buy him if he be for sale.”
And then the merchant spoke.
“Why,” said he, addressing the viking, “‘tis but six summers since that you sold that self same boy, here on this marketplace. ‘Twas I who bought him from you, Klerkon. Have you forgotten the white haired he goat that you got from me?”
“Life is too full for me to keep mind of such small events,” answered Klerkon. “But since the lad is yours, what price do you now put upon him?”
“Nay, he is no chattel of mine,” said the merchant. “He is the thrall of goodman Reas, over in Rathsdale—a morning’s walk from here. If you would deal with him a guide will soon be got to take you over the hill.”
“Young flesh will keep,” returned the warrior. “I will buy the lad next time we come to Esthonia.”
Sigurd said: “It may be that ere that time he will already be sold, Jarl Klerkon; for it chances that I also have taken a fancy to him.”
“In that case,” said the viking, “we may make him the stake to be fought for in our coming horse fight. And if my horse overcomes yours, then the lad shall be my prize, and I will make a viking of him.”
“And how if the victory be mine and not yours?” asked Sigurd.
“You shall have value equal to the boy, be assured of that, hersir.”
“Agreed,” said Sigurd. “And now, what news have you from west over sea?”
“Ill news and good. There has fallen a great famine in Norway. In Thrandheim the folk are dying for lack of corn and fish, and in Halogaland the snow has lain over the valleys nigh until midsummer, so that all the livestock have been bound in stall and fed upon birch buds. Men lay the famine to the account of Gunnhild’s sons, who are over greedy of money and deal hardly with the husbandmen. There is little peace in the land, for the kings are for ever quarrelling over their jointures; but it seems that Harald Greyfell is having the upper hand over his brothers. Little joy is there in ruling over a realm these days. I had rather be as I am, an honest sea rover.”
“Doubtless the viking life is, after all, the most joyful that a man can live,” said Sigurd. “How fare our friends at Jomsburg?”
“Right well, as always,” answered Klerkon. “Sigvaldi has built himself a fine new dragonship of five and twenty seats, and the Jomsvikings now number in all seven times ten hundred men. They speak of making a sally across the sea to Angle land, where there is corn and ale in plenty, with fine clothes, good arms, and vessels of silver and gold to be won; for these Christian folk are very rich, and there is abundance of treasure in their churches, with many a golden bowl and well wrought drinking horn as booty for those who are bold enough to make the adventure.”
“But these Angles are good fighting men, I hear,” said Sigurd. “And they have many well built ships.”
“They are ill matched against the vikings, with all their ships,” returned Klerkon. “And I am told that their king is a man of peace; Edgar the Peaceable, they name him. And talking of kings, how fares King Valdemar?”
“As sunny as a summer’s noon,” answered Sigurd.
“Come, then, on board my ship, and let us pledge to him in a full horn of mead,” said the viking. And he drew Sigurd with him across the gangplank, and they went below and sat drinking until one of the shipmen standing on the vessel’s lypting, or poop deck, sounded a shrill horn as a sign that the ship was about to leave the harbour.
Then Sigurd came ashore and went about the town on the king’s business, and he thought no more of the yellow haired slave boy until the evening time.
It chanced then that he was again beside the sea.
Down there on the shore he stood alone, idly watching the white winged seabirds—some floating in their own reflections on the calm pools of water left by the outgoing tide, others seeking food amid the green and crimson weeds that lay in bright patches on the rocks—and often he turned his eyes in the direction of the setting sun, where, in the mid sea, Jarl Klerkon’s dragonship moved slowly outward, with her wet oars glistening in the rosy light.
Suddenly from behind him there came a merry childish laugh, and he turned quickly round, and saw very near to him the white clothed slave boy of the gangplank. The lad was standing at the brink of a deep pool of seawater, and had, as it seemed, started a fleet of empty mussel shells to float upon the calm surface. He was dropping pebbles from his full hand into the water, to give movement to the tiny boats.
Sigurd stepped quietly behind him, and then said:
“Why do you thus set these shells to sail?”
The boy looked up in surprise, and his blue eyes rested for a long time upon the tall strange man. Then he answered:
“Because, hersir, they are my warships, setting out upon a viking cruise.”
At this Sigurd smiled.
“It may be, my boy,” said he, “that you will yourself command great ships of war in time to come.”
“That is what I should wish,” said the boy, “for then I might take blood vengeance upon my enemies.”
“Not often do I hear one so young thus speak of enemies,” said Sigurd. “What is your age?”
“Ten winters.”
“And your name?”
The boy looked up once more into the stranger’s face, and at his large crested helmet of bronze and gold. He glanced, too, at the man’s great sword and his cloak of rich blue cloth, and guessed rightly that he was of noble rank. There was a smile upon his lips, and his eyes were tender and kindly, winning confidence.
“My name is Olaf,” answered the boy.
“Whose son?” asked Sigurd.
At this question Olaf turned aside, threw his pebbles away into the water, and wiped his wet hands on his coarse kirtle. Then stepping nearer to the stranger he stood upright and said, almost in a whisper, as though fearing that even the seagulls might overhear him:
“I am King Triggvi’s son.”
Sigurd drew back with a little start.
“King Triggvi’s son!” he echoed in surprise. And then he looked yet more keenly into the boy’s face, as if to seek some likeness there.
“Even so,” returned Olaf. “And what of that? Little good can it do me to be a king’s son if I am also a slave, made to work hard for my daily portion of black bread and tough horse flesh. Triggvi is in Valhalla, with Harald Fairhair and the rest of them, and he cannot help me now. But Odin be thanked, he died not like a cow upon a bed of straw, but with sword in hand like a brave good man.”
“A brave good man in truth he was,” said Sigurd. “But tell me, boy, what token have you to prove that you are indeed the child of Triggvi Olafson? You are but ten winters old, you say; and yet, as I reckon it, Triggvi was slain full ten winters back. How can I know the truth of what you tell?”
“No token have I but my bare words,” answered Olaf proudly.
Sigurd caught him by the hand and led him up the beach to a ledge of rock, and sat him down before him, bidding him tell how it came about that he was here in bondage in a foreign land.
So Olaf answered him thus:
“I came into the world an orphan,” said he, “and never heard my father’s voice. But my mother bade me ever remember that I was a king’s son, and to make myself worthy. Astrid was the name of my mother. She was the daughter of Erik Biodaskalli, who dwelt at Ofrestead, in the Uplands, a mighty man. Now, after the slaying of Triggvi, Queen Astrid was forced to fly from the realm of Viken, lest she too should fall into the hands of Gunnhild and her wicked sons and be slain. And she travelled as a fugitive through many lands. In her company was her foster father, Thoralf Loosebeard by name. He never departed from her, but always helped her and defended her wheresoever she went. There were many other trusty men in her train, so no harm came to her. And at last she took refuge on a certain islet in the middle of Rand’s fiord, and lay hidden there for many days. On that islet I was born, and I am told that they sprinkled me with water and named me Olaf, after my father’s father. There, through the summer tide she stayed in safety. But when the days grew short and the nights weary and long, and when the wintry weather came upon us, then she left her hiding place and set forth with her folk into the Uplands, travelling under the shelter of night. And after many hardships and dangers she came to Ofrestead, her father’s dwelling, and there we abode through the winter.
“Little do I remember of these matters, which befell while yet I was a babe in arms. This that I tell you was taught to me by Thorgils, my foster brother, who is the thrall of Biorn the merchant; and he can tell you more than I know, for he is older than I, and the son of our faithful Thoralf. Thorgils has said that when Gunnhild got tidings that I had come into the world she sent forth many armed messengers, and bade them fare into the Uplands in search of this son of King Triggvi, that they might prevent my growing up to manhood and claiming my father’s realm. But in good time the friends of Erik were aware of the messengers; so Erik arrayed Astrid for departure, and gave her good guides, and sent her east—away into the Swede realm to one Hakon Gamle, a friend of his and a man of might, with whom we abode in all welcome for a long while.”
“And what then?” urged Sigurd. For the boy had paused, and had pulled a tangle of brown seaweed from the rock where he was sitting, and was cracking the little air bladders between his fingers.
“Now it chanced,” continued Olaf, “that even again Queen Gunnhild secretly learned our hiding place. So she sent a goodly company east to the Swede king with good gifts and fair words, asking that he might send Olaf Triggvison back with them into Norway, where Gunnhild would foster me, and bring me up as became a king’s son. And the king sent to Ofrestead. But my mother Astrid knew that there was treachery in this—for in like manner had Gunnhild beguiled my father,—and she would by no means let me go into the care’ of my father’s murderers, and so Gunnhild’s messengers went back empty handed.
“By this time I was full three winters old and strong of limb, and my mother took me on board a trading ship that was eastward bound for Gardarike; for in that land her brother was a great man, and she knew that he would gladly succour us until I should be of an age to avenge my father’s death and claim my rightful heritage.”
At these words Sigurd grew very grave, and he put his hand gently on Olaf’s arm, and asked to know what ill had befallen Queen Astrid, and whether she had reached her journey’s end.
“Alas!” answered Olaf. “You ask me what I cannot tell. Would that I knew her to be still living! But never once have I seen her or heard tidings of her since the dread day when we were brought into this land and sold into bondage.”
As he spoke the lad looked sadly over the sea to where the viking ship was slowly drifting into the shadow of the holms. Sigurd’s eyes dwelt upon him with curious intentness.
“We set sail across the Eastern Sea,” Olaf went on “and there were many merchants on our ship with great store of money and rich merchandise. And, as always, Thoralf and his son Thorgils were with us. Now, scarcely was our vessel beyond the sight of land when we were met by a great viking ship, that bore down quickly upon us, and attacked our seamen, first with arrows and stones, and then with spear and sword, and there was great fighting. So the vikings killed many of our people, and took our ship and all that was in it. When we had been made captives the rovers took and shared us among themselves as their bond slaves, and it befell that my mother and I were parted. An Esthonian named Klerkon Flatface got me as his portion, along with Thoralf and Thorgils. Klerkon deemed Thoralf over old for a thrall, and could not see any work in him, so he cruelly slew him before our eyes and cast his body into the sea. But he had us two lads away with him, and he sold us here in the marketplace in exchange for a white goat. Then, being companions in our misfortune, Thorgils and I swore foster brotherhood, and we took an oath in handshaking that when we grew strong enough we would go out upon the sea and take vengeance upon the man who had slain old faithful Thoralf.”
Sigurd pointed outward to the ship that was afar off upon the dim horizon.
“Jarl Klerkon, of whom you speak,” said he, “is now upon yonder ship.”
“And well do I know it,” returned Olaf. “Today when I stood upon the vessel’s gangplank I saw him standing on the lypting; and I knew him by the token that his nose was flat against his face. I had a mind to throw one of my knives at him, but there were over many of his men around, who would soon have overpowered me had I been so rash. And now,” the boy added, as he glanced up at the darkening sky, “it is time that I go back to the hills to gather my master’s sheep into the fold, for the night will be dark, and wolves will be about. Too long already have I tarried here.”
And before Sigurd could put out his hand to detain him Olaf had bounded up the rocks, and was soon lost to sight.
ON THE NEXT MORNING, AS the red sun rose above the mist capped hills of Rathsdale, Olaf was at work among his master’s swine, cleaning out the styes and filling them with new straw. As he worked he asked himself who the tall man could be who had spoken with him last night upon the beach, and he began to regret that he had told so much, believing now that the stranger might be an enemy—perhaps even a spy of the wicked Queen Gunnhild, who had so often sought to add to her own security by clearing her path of all who had power to dispute her rights. Gunnhild was a very wily woman, and it might well be that she had secretly discovered the abiding place of the young son of King Triggvi, and that she had sent this man into Esthonia to entrap him.
“Never again shall I be so free in telling my story to a stranger,” said Olaf to himself. “Thorgils was wise to counsel me to keep secret my kinship with Triggvi Olafson. When I am a man, and can fight my own battles, then it will be time enough to lay claim to my father’s realm; and it may be that if I remain in thraldom till that time no one will guess who I am. As a thrall, then, I must work, even though that work be no better than the cleaning of my master’s stables and pig styes—Get back, you greedy grunter!”
This last command was addressed to a great bristly boar that brushed past the boy and made its way to the bed of new straw. Olaf caught the animal by its hind leg and struggled with it for a moment, until the boar was thrown heavily on its side, squealing and kicking furiously. Then three of the other pigs rushed forward, and one knocked against the lad with such force that he fell on his knees. This made him very angry, and he rose quickly to his feet and wrestled with the pigs, driving them back with blows of his clenched hands. But the boar was not easily turned. It stood stubbornly glaring at him with its small bloodshot eyes, then suddenly charged at him with a savage roar. Olaf leapt up, but too slowly, for his left foot was caught by the boar’s high back, and he rolled over in the mire. And now his wrath got the better of him, and he leapt at the boar with a wild cry, seizing its ears in his two hands. Then they struggled together for many minutes, now rolling over, now breaking asunder and again returning to the charge. But at last Olaf gained the mastery, and his adversary lay panting and exhausted on the coveted straw. Olaf sat upon the animal’s side with his bare foot upon its snout. His arm was bleeding, and there was a long scratch upon his cheek. But he did not heed his wounds, for he had conquered.
As he sat thus a shadow moved across the yellow straw. He raised his eyes, and beheld the faces of two men, who looked down upon him from over the barrier of the pig sty. One of the men was his master, Reas. The other he quickly recognized as the tall man who had spoken with him last night. Sigurd Erikson was seated on a beautiful white horse, and he was arrayed as for a long journey.
“This is the boy you mean,” said Reas, as Olaf rose and went on with his work—"an ill favoured loon you will think him. But had I expected you I should have seen that he had been well washed and decently clothed. If you would have him for hard labour, however, he is at least strong, and I will warrant you that he is healthy, and has no bodily faults. It may be that he is a little wild and wilful, but you can tame him, and a sound flogging will do him no harm, as I have ofttimes found. What price do you offer for him, hersir?”
Olaf looked up in anxious surprise, wondering if in truth the stranger had come to buy him, so that he might carry him off to the wicked Queen Gunnhild.
“I will give you two silver marks for him,” said Sigurd, “and that is the value of a full grown man slave.”
Reas demurred, looking at Olaf as if regretting that the lad was not more presentable.
“No,” he said at last. “You will not find such a thrall as he in every day’s march. If he were but a little cleaner you would see that he is a very pretty boy. Look at his eyes—keen as a young snake’s! Why, no woman’s eyes are more beautiful! Look at his skin, there where his kirtle is torn. Is it not fair? And he is skilled in many feats. My own son Rekoni is not more clever than he. He can run for half a day without being wearied. He can climb the highest pine tree in Rathsdale—as he did last seed time to harry a bluejay’s nest; and no seamew can swim more lightly on the water.”
“As to his climbing,” said Sigurd, with a curious look in his blue eyes, “I do not doubt that he will some day climb much higher than you list. But swimming is of little avail where there is no sea. And if he runs so well there is all the more danger of his running away. I think you will be well paid if I give you two silver marks. But since you set so high a value on him for his beauty and his skill, then I give you in addition this little ring of gold for your good wife’s wearing. What say you?”
“It is a bargain!” said Reas, eagerly grasping the ring that Sigurd took from his belt pouch; “and you may take the lad at once.”
Olaf drew back to the far corner of the pig sty. There was a frown on his brow, and his blue eyes flashed in quick anger.
“I will not go!” he said firmly, and he made a rapid movement to leap over the barrier; but he forgot the wound in his arm, and the pain of it made him so awkward that Reas caught him by his wrists and held him there until Sigurd, springing from his horse, came and put an iron chain round the lad’s neck. Then the two men forcibly drew him to the gate of the pig sty. So, when Reas had opened the gate, Sigurd, who was a very powerful man, caught Olaf in his arms and carried him to the horse’s side, and, holding the end of the chain, mounted. Olaf struggled a little to free himself, but finding the chain secure about his neck, resolved to await a better chance of escape. Then Sigurd gave Reas the two silver marks in payment of his purchase, and urged his horse to a quick walk, dragging Olaf behind him.
Very soon Reas and his straggling farmstead were hidden from sight behind a clump of tall pine trees. Then Sigurd halted at the side of a little stream.
“You have done well,” he said to Olaf, “in thus coming away with seeming unwillingness. But do not suppose that I value you so lightly as did your late master, who thinks, foolish man, that you are no better than many another bond slave whom he might buy in the marketplace. Had Reas exacted an hundred gold marks instead of two paltry marks of silver, I should willingly have given him them.”
“And why?” asked Olaf with a frown. “Is it that you think to take me west to Norway, and cast me like a young goat among wolves? I had thought when you so blandly spoke to me yesternight that you were a man of honour. Haply Queen Gunnhild would reward you well if you should deliver me into her clutches. But this you shall never do!”
“Rash boy,” said Sigurd as he stroked his horse’s mane, “do you not recognize a friend when you meet one? Or is friendship so strange to you that you take all men to be your enemies?”
“Enmity comes so often in the guise of friendship,” said Olaf, “that it is well to be wary. I had been wiser last night if I had refused to speak with you.”
“The time will soon come,” said Sigurd, “when you will not be sorry that you so spoke. But I will warn you that it may go very ill with you if you tell your story to all strangers as you told it to me.”
Olaf was perplexed. He looked into the man’s face and saw only kindness there, and yet there was something very suspicious in the stranger’s eagerness to possess him.
“If you are indeed my friend,” said the boy, “why do you keep this chain about my neck? Why do you drag me after you like a dog?”
“Because I am not willing that you should escape me,” answered Sigurd. “But if you will shake my hand and tell me that you will not run away, then I will take off your chain and you shall ride in front of me on my horse. You are King Triggvi’s son, and I know that, once spoken, your word will be sacred.”
Now, Olaf had never taken any man’s hand since he swore foster brotherhood with Thorgils Thoralf son. He looked upon handshaking as a most solemn covenant, only to be made when great matters were at stake. Also, he had never yet told or acted a lie, or been false to anyone. He answered promptly:
“No, I will not take your hand. Neither will I give you my word that I shall not escape from you very soon. You may keep the chain about my neck. It is more easily broken than my promise.”
Sigurd looked at the lad and smiled.
“I think,” he said, “that I would admire you even more if you were a little cleaner. Here is a stream of water. Get in and wash yourself.”
“I cannot take off my clothes without removing the chain,” said Olaf, “and if the chain be removed I shall run away to where even your horse cannot follow me. But if you will give me one boon I will promise you that I will wash myself clean and then come back to the chain.”
“What is your boon?” asked Sigurd.
“It is,” said Olaf, “that since I am now your lawful thrall, and must go with you wheresoever you wish, you will go to Biorn the merchant and buy from him my foster brother Thorgils.”
Sigurd leapt from his horse and at once unfastened the chain from Olaf’s neck, and even helped him to draw off his kirtle and woollen sark. And when Olaf stood before him naked, Sigurd drew back amazed at the pure fairness of his skin, the firmness of his well knitted muscles, and the perfect beauty of his form.
In the stream near which they had halted there was a deep, clear pool of water, with a high cascade tumbling into it in creamy foam. Olaf ran lightly over the mossy boulders and plunged into the pool, as though he knew it well. Sigurd watched him rolling and splashing there in childish delight. Sometimes the boy seemed lost in the brown depths of the water, but soon his white body would be seen gliding smoothly along under the surface, and then emerging amid the spray of the waterfall, where the shafts of sunlight made a rainbow arc. And at last Olaf came out and ran swiftly backward and forward on the grassy level until he was dry. Then returning to his new master he took up his woollen sark. But his kirtle was gone.
Sigurd said: “I have thrown it away, for it is not well that a king’s son should wear a garment that is sullied by the marks of slavery.”
He took off from his own shoulders a riding cloak of scarlet cloth and added, “Take this cloak and wear it. And when we reach the town I will buy you more fitting clothes, with sandals for your feet, and a cap to shield your head from the sun.”
Olaf blushed, and took the cloak and put it over him, saying nothing. Then he caught up an end of the chain and signed to his master to fasten it about his neck. Signed fastened it and then remounted his horse.
They had gone a little distance seaward down the dale when they were met by three armed horsemen, who seemed to have been waiting for them. Sigurd gave Olaf into their keeping, bidding them guard him well, and himself rode on in advance. Soon from the top of a hill they came in sight of the blue sea, and then the little town with its wooden huts nestling at the foot of the cliffs.
When they entered the town, two of Sigurd’s servants took Olaf with them to the house of a certain merchant, where they gave him some roasted eggs and wheaten bread, and there they kept him until after noontide, never speaking to him, but only watching him while they played countless games of chess and drank many horns of ale.
Now Olaf, as he sat on the floor, chained to the door post, set to wondering where his new master intended taking him to, and he could think of no likely destination but Norway. Why else should this man have bought him but to deliver him to Gunnhild? So thereupon he began to question how he could escape. And he determined in his mind very quickly, that when they were on the sea he would free himself from his chain and jump overboard and swim to land. But then came the thought that if he did this he would be quite alone in the world, and no one would ever believe him if he told them that he was the son of Triggvi Olafson, and perhaps he would again be taken into slavery. If Thorgils were with him they might do very well together, because Thorgils was full of the world’s wisdom, and could by his wit earn food and shelter until they were both old enough and skilled enough to join some viking ship and win renown and power. But if Thorgils was to be left behind in Esthonia then it would not be so easy. Nothing could be done without Thorgils. So then Olaf thought it would be much wiser in him to try to escape at once, before he should be taken on board ship.
The chain was tight about his neck and it was fastened behind, so that he could not loosen it without arousing the men’s suspicions by the noise it would make. He looked at the other end of it, and saw it was so fastened that he might easily undo it. Little by little he crept nearer to the post as the men went on with their game. Before he could do more, however, there was the sound of horse’s feet outside. The two men sprang up from their seats. One of them went to the door and presently returned with a bundle of clothes, which he threw down on the floor, bidding Olaf dress himself. Olaf saw at once that the garments were of very fine woven cloth, and he wondered much. Even his old master’s son Rekoni had never worn such rich attire as this, and it was passing strange that he, a bond slave, should be told to clothe himself in such finery.
He was dressing himself—albeit with great trouble, for the things were strange to him who had hitherto worn naught but a poor slave’s kirtle—when a shrill horn was sounded from without. Then one of the men came and helped him to lace his sandals and to don his cloak, and hurried him out into the courtyard. Here were three horses waiting. The men pointed to one of them, a shaggy brown pony, and told Olaf to mount.
“I cannot ride,” said the boy.
“You will be able to ride long before you reach our journey’s end,” returned the man. “And, lest you should be afraid of falling off, you will be tied with strong ropes to the horse’s back.”
“I had rather walk,” objected Olaf.
“Slaves must obey their masters,” said the man; and he took hold of the boy to help him to mount. But Olaf drew quickly aside with a flash of rebellion in his eyes.
Now at that moment a company of horsemen came in sight, led by Sigurd Erikson, and followed by many mules that were laden with bags of food and merchandise. All the men were well armed with swords and spears, bows and arrows. The sight of so many horses at once showed Olaf that the journey, whatever its destination, was to be made by land. As they came nearer and halted, his eyes quickly searched among the men for Thorgils Thoralfson. Yes, there indeed was his foster brother, mounted on one of the pack mules, with the sunlight falling on his white kirtle and downbent head! Then Olaf grew calm, for his master had kept his promise, and it mattered little where he was to be taken now that Thorgils was to be with him in his bondage. Sometime—not today, perhaps,—they would have a chance of speaking together and of contriving an escape.
Sigurd, seated on his beautiful white horse, looked like a king surrounded by his bodyguard. He watched Olaf springing on the pony’s back, and saw the men securing the boy with ropes. One of the men took the end of the chain, while the other held the pony’s halter; and thus, with a mounted guard on each side of him, the young slave was led out through the gates.
Very soon the little town in which he had lived in bondage for seven long years, and the sea that he loved so well, were left far behind. Sigurd and his followers rode southward over the hills, and then through long dreary dales, that were strewn with large boulder stones that made travelling very difficult. There was only a narrow horse track to guide them, and soon even this was lost in the rank herbage, and the land became a wild desolate waste without sign of human dwelling, but only the bare rugged hills, with here and there a thread of water streaming down them into the lower land. Olaf began to feel very weary, and the jolting of the pony over the rough ground became painful to his untrained limbs. But at last the hot sun sank in a blaze of gold, and the first day’s journey came to an end.
A halt was made within the shelter of a vast forest of pine trees, at the side of a wide, deep stream. Here the horses and mules were unburdened and allowed to wander, with dogs to watch them lest they strayed too far. Some of the men then set to raising tents, others gathered cones and dry twigs to build a fire, while two mounted guard over their master’s moneybags. When all was ready, food and drink were served round to all alike.
At nightfall, Olaf and Thorgils, still chained, were put to sleep on a bed of dry ferns. Near them was another slave, a young man who seemed to be of a foreign land. They watched him silently until he was asleep, then as they lay there with the stars shining down upon them through the dark tree branches, they questioned one the other concerning what had happened to them that day. Olaf asked Thorgils if he had heard the name of their new master.
“No,” answered Thorgils. “Nor can I guess why it is that he has bought us. All that I know is that he is a Norseman, and that he is very rich.”
“I can only think,” said Olaf, “that he intends some treachery by us, and that he means to take us west over sea and deliver us into the hands of Gunnhild’s sons.”
“There is little cause to fear such a thing,” said Thorgils. “To him we are but as any other slaves that he might buy in the marketplace, and I think he has only chosen us because we are of his own country. Had he discovered that you were your father’s son he might indeed design to take us to Norway. But that is not possible. There are none but our two selves in all Esthonia who know that you are Olaf Triggvison, and this man could not by any means have discovered it.”
Olaf was silent for many moments, then at last he said:
“Thorgils, I cannot deceive you. This man knows full well whose son I am, and it was I who told him.”
Thorgils drew in his breath, as if he had received a blow.
“You told him?” he cried. “Oh, rash that you are! Have I not always bidden you keep this secret close in your heart? What need was there to tell your story to the first inquiring stranger who crossed your path? You are over ready with your tongue, and now, alas! our misfortunes must only be greater than before.”
“He spoke kindly to me,” explained Olaf, “and I could not refuse to answer him when he asked me how I came to be a bond slave. I little thought that he was an enemy.”
“You are unskilled in the knowledge of men, Ole,” returned Thorgils. “There is a look in his eyes that might soon have told you that there is evil in his heart, and such smooth tongued men as he are not to be trusted. But there is one good thing that your thoughtlessness has done: it has brought us again under one master, so it will go ill if, working together, we cannot contrive to run away, and join some viking ship.”
“That will not be easy if our new master should take us to an inland place,” said Olaf. “None of his men have the marks of the sea upon them; they are landmen.”
Thorgils glanced up into the sky and searched for the polar star.
“We are journeying southward,” he said presently.
“And what country lies to the south?” asked Olaf.
Thorgils could not tell. But he remembered that on a time some merchants had come to the coast from a great city in the south called Mikligard—which was the Norseman’s name for Constantinople,—and he guessed that that might be their journey’s end.
Then Olaf crept nearer to their sleeping companion and wakened him.
“Tell me,” he asked, “who is this man, our master, and whither is he taking us?”
“I cannot tell,” answered the youth. “It is but three days since that he bought me, and I can ill understand the tongue these men speak, for I am not of this land. My home is far across the seas.”
“In what realm?” asked Thorgils.
“In England.”
“That must be far away indeed,” said Olaf, “for never have I heard of such a land.”
“It is an island, out across the Western Sea,” explained Thorgils; “often have I heard it named. In that same land it was that King Erik Bloodaxe lived and died. Many vikings out of Norway have crossed the seas for the sake of the wealth they can win from the Angles. And if I were a viking it is to England I would steer my course.”
“Gladly would I go with you,” said the English youth; “ay, even now, if we could but escape. But it seems that we are journeying away from the seacoast, and there is little hope that we can win our way on board a ship.”
“There is hope enough if we do not delay our escape,” returned Thorgils, looking out to where the campfires burned. He was silent for many minutes, then, laying his hand on the stranger’s arm, he asked:
“What name have you?”
“Egbert,” the lad replied.
“And how came it,” inquired Thorgils, “that you were brought into Esthonia?”
Egbert then told his story. He was born, he said, in Northumberland. His father, a wealthy armourer and silversmith, had been slain by one of the Northmen who had made a great settlement in that part of the country, and his mother, whose name was Edith, had then wedded the man who had made her a widow. The man was named Grim, and he was a warrior in the service of Erik Bloodaxe, the ruler in those parts. On the death of King Erik, Grim and many of the Norsemen went back to Norway in the train of Queen Gunnhild and Erik’s sons, and with him he took his wife and young Egbert. Edith did not live to reach Norway, and Grim, unwilling to be burdened with her son, had sold Egbert into slavery. For ten years the boy had suffered in bondage under different masters, the last of whom—Klerkon Flatface—had brought him into Esthonia.
“My one wish during all these years,” said Egbert, “has been to return to England, where the people are Christian, and do not worship your heathen gods. Many times I have tried to escape, but always without success; for I have had no companions, and it is not easy for one so young as I am to make his way alone through foreign lands.”
“What is your age?” Olaf inquired.
“Fifteen summers,” answered Egbert.
Thorgils stood up and leaned his hand against the trunk of a tree, looking down at his two companions.
“I think,” said he, “that it would be a very good thing if we three should run away from this new master of ours—now, while the darkness lasts,—and, keeping in company, try to get back to the coast. There we might take possession of a small sailboat, and so make our way over sea to the land of the Angles. What say you, Ole?”
Olaf was silent for a while. At last he said:
“It were much wiser in us to wait until we are old enough to fight our way in the world.”
“And you will not try to escape?” asked Thorgils.
“No,” answered Olaf firmly. “We have a good master. Why should we leave him?”