Erling the Bold

“I hope it will fare well with our men at the Springs,” said Hilda, looking up with an anxious expression from the mantle with which her nimble fingers were busy.

“I hope so too,” said Christian, “though I would rather that there had been no occasion to fight.”

“No occasion to fight!” exclaimed Alric, who was dressing the feathers on an arrow which he had made to replace the one he lost in shooting at the Dane,—and the losing of which, by the way, he was particularly careful to bring to remembrance as often as opportunity offered—sometimes whether opportunity offered or not. “No occasion to fight! What would be the use of weapons if there were no fighting! Where should we get our plunder if there were no fighting, and our slaves? why, what would Northmen find to do if there were no fighting?”

The hermit almost laughed at the impetuosity of the boy as he replied—

“It would take a wiser head than mine, lad, to answer all these questions, more particularly to answer them to thy satisfaction. Notwithstanding, it remains true that peace is better than war.”

“That may be so,” said Dame Astrid; “but it seems to me that war is necessary, and what is necessary must be right.”

“I agree with that,” said Ada, with a toss of her pretty head—for it would seem that that method of expressing contempt for an adversary’s opinion was known to womankind at least a thousand years ago, if not longer. “But thou dost not fight, Christian: what has war done to thee that thou shouldst object to it so?”

“What has war done for me?” exclaimed the old man, springing up with sudden excitement, and clasping his lean hands tight together; “has it not done all that it could do? Woman, it has robbed me of all that makes life sweet, and left me only what I did not want. It has robbed me of wife and children, and left a burdened life. Yet no—I sin in speaking thus. Life was left because there was something worth living for; something still to be done: the truth of God to be proclaimed; the good of man to be compassed. But sometimes I forget this when the past flashes upon me, and I forget that it is my duty as well as my joy to say, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

The old man sat down again, and leaned his brow on his hand. The women, although sympathetic, were puzzled by some of his remarks, and therefore sat in silence for a little, but presently the volatile Ada looked up and said—

“What thinkest thou, Hilda, in regard to war?”

“I know not what to think,” replied Hilda.

“Nay, then, thy spirit must be flying from thee, for thou wert not wont to be without an opinion on most things. Why, even Erling’s sister, Ingeborg, has made up her mind about war I doubt not, though she is too modest to express it.”

Now this was a sly hit at Ingeborg, who was sitting by, for she was well known to have a shrewish temper, and to be self-willed and opinionated, in so much that most men kept out of her way. She was very unlike Erling, or her father and mother, or her little sisters, in this respect.

“I can express my opinion well enough when I have a mind,” said Ingeborg sharply; “and as to war, it stands to reason that a Sea-king’s daughter must approve of a Sea-king’s business. Why, the beautiful cloths, and gold and jewels, that are so plentiful in the dale, would never have delighted our eyes if our men had not gone on viking cruise, and fallen in with those rich traders from the far south lands. Besides, war makes our men brisk and handsome.”

“Aye,” exclaimed Alric, laughing, “especially when they get their noses cut off and their cheeks gashed!”

“Sometimes it takes them from us altogether,” observed a poor woman of the household, the widow of a man who had been slain on a viking cruise, after having had his eyes put out, and being otherwise cruelly treated.

“That is the other side of the question,” said Astrid. “Of course everything has two sides. We cannot change the plans of the gods. Sunshine and rain, heat and cold, come as they are sent. We must accept them as they are sent.”

“That is true,” said Christian, “and thou sayest wisely that we must accept things as they are sent; but can it be said that war is sent to us when we rush into it of our own accord? Defensive warfare, truly, is right—else would this world be left in the sole possession of the wicked; but aggressive warfare is not right. To go on viking cruise and take by force that which is not our own is sinful. There is a good way to prove the truth of these things. Let me ask the question, Astrid,—How would thy husband like to have thee and all his property taken from him, and Ulfstede burned about his ears?”

“Methinks he would like it ill.”

“Then why should he do that to others which he would not like done to himself?”

“These are strange words,” said Astrid in surprise; “I know not that I have ever heard the like before.”

“Truly no,” said Christian, “because the Word of God has not yet been sounded in the dale. Thou saidst just now that we cannot change the plans of the gods; that would be true if ye had said ‘the plans of God,’ for there is but one God, and His ways are unchangeable. But what if God had revealed some of His plans to man, and told him that this revelation was sufficient to guide him in his walk through this life, and to prepare him for the next?”

“Then would I think it man’s wisdom to follow that guide carefully,” replied Astrid.

“Such plans do exist, such a revelation has been made,” said the hermit, “and the name that stands on the forefront of it is Jesus Christ.”

As he spoke the hermit drew from his bosom a scroll of parchment, which he unrolled slowly. This, he said, was a copy, made by himself, of part of the Gospel. He had meant, he said, to have copied the whole of it, but war had put an end to his labours at the same time that it deprived him of his earthly joys, and drove him from his native land to be a wanderer on the earth.

“But if,” he continued, “the Lord permits me to preach His gospel of truth and love and peace in Norway, I shall count the sufferings of this present time as nothing compared with the glory yet to be revealed.”

“Christian,” said Astrid, who appeared to have been struck by some reminiscence, “methinks I have heard Ulf talk of a religion which the men of the south profess. He saw something of it when he went on viking cruise to the great fiord that runs far into the land, (the Mediterranean) and if my memory is faithful he said that they called themselves by a name that sounds marvellously like thine own.”

“I suppose Ulf must have met with Christians, after whom I call myself, seeing that my own name is of consequence to no one,” said the hermit. “What said he about them?”

“That they were a bad set,” replied Astrid,—“men who professed love to their fellows, but were guilty of great cruelty to all who did not believe their faith.”

“All who call themselves Christians deserve not the name, Astrid; some are hypocrites and deceivers, others are foolish and easily deceived.”

“They all make the same profession, I am told,” said Dame Astrid.

“The men of Norway are warriors,” returned the hermit, “and all profess courage,—nay, when they stand in the ranks and go forth to war, they all show the same stern face and front, so that one could not know but that all were brave; yet are they not all courageous, as thou knowest full well. Some, it may be very few, but some are cowards at heart, and it only requires the test of the fight to prove them. So is it with professing Christians. I would gladly tell the story of Jesus if ye will hear me, Dame Astrid.”

The matron’s curiosity was excited, so she expressed her willingness to listen; and the hermit, reading passages from his manuscript copy of the New Testament, and commenting thereon, unfolded the “old old story” of God’s wonderful love to man in Jesus Christ.

While he was yet in the midst of his discourse the door of the hall was burst violently open, and one of the serving-girls, rushing in, exclaimed that the Danes were approaching from the fiord!

The Danes referred to composed a small party who had been sent off in a cutter by Skarpedin Redbeard to survey the coast beyond Horlingdal fiord, as he had intended, after herrying that district, to plunder still farther north. This party in returning had witnessed, unseen, the departure of the fleet of Northmen. Thinking it probable that the place might have been left with few protectors, they waited until they deemed it safe to send out scouts, and, on their report being favourable, they landed to make an attack on the nearest village or farm.

On hearing the news all was uproar in Ulfstede. The women rushed about in a distracted state, imploring the few helpless old men about the place to arm and defend them. To do these veteran warriors justice they did their best. They put the armour that was brought to them on their palsied limbs, but shook their heads sadly, for they felt that although they might die in defence of the household, they could not save it.

Meanwhile Christian and Alric proved themselves equal to the occasion. The former, although advanced in years, retained much of his strength and energy; and the latter, still inflated with the remembrance of the fact that he had actually drawn blood from a full-grown bearded Dane, and deeply impressed with the idea that he was the only able-bodied warrior in Ulfstede at this crisis, resolved to seize the opportunity and prove to the whole world that his boasting was at all events not “empty!”

“The first thing to be done is to bar the doors,” he cried, starting up on hearing the serving-girl’s report. “Thou knowest how to do it, Christian; run to the south door, I will bar the north.”

The hermit smiled at the lad’s energy, but he was too well aware of the importance of speed to waste time in talking. He dropped his outer garment and ran to the south door, which was very solid. Closing it, and fastening the ponderous wooden bar which stretched diagonally across it, he turned and ran to the chamber in which the weapons were kept. On the way he was arrested by a cry from Alric—

“Here! here, quick, Christian, else we are lost!”

The hermit sprang to the north door with the agility of a youth. He was just in time. Poor Alric, despite the strength of his bold heart and will, had not strength of muscle enough to close the door, which had somehow got jammed. Through the open doorway Christian could see a band of Danish vikings running towards the house at full speed. He flung the door forward with a crash, and drew the bar across just as the vikings ran against it.

“Open, open without delay!” cried a voice outside, “else will we tear out the heart of every man and child under this roof.”

“We will not open; we will defend ourselves to the last; our trust is in God,” replied Christian.

“And as to tearing out our hearts,” cried Alric, feeling emboldened now that the stout door stood between him and his foes, “if ye do not make off as fast as ye came, we will punch out your eyes and roast your livers.”

The reply to this was a shower of blows on the door, so heavy that the whole building shook beneath them, and Alric almost wished that his boastful threat had been left unsaid. He recollected at that moment, however, that there was a hole under the eaves of the roof just above the door. It had been constructed for the purpose of preventing attacks of this kind. The boy seized his bow and arrows and dashed up the ladder that led to the loft above the hall. On it he found one of the old retainers of the stede struggling up with a weighty iron pot, from which issued clouds of steam.

“Let me pass, old Ivor; what hast thou there?”

“Boiling water to warm them,” gasped Ivor, “I knew we should want it ere long. Finn is gone to the loft above the south door with another pot.”

Alric did not wait to hear the end of this answer, but pushing past the old man, hastened to the trap-door under the eaves and opened it. He found, however, that he could not use his bow in the constrained position necessary to enable him to shoot through the hole. In desperation he seized a barrel that chanced to be at hand, and overturned its contents on the heads of the foe. It happened to contain rye-flour, and the result was that two of the assailants were nearly blinded, while two others who stood beside them burst into a loud laugh, and, seizing the battle-axes which the others had been using, continued their efforts to drive in the door. By this time old Ivor had joined Alric. He set down the pot of boiling water by the side of the hole, and at once emptied its contents on the heads of the vikings, who uttered a terrific yell and leaped backward as the scalding water flowed over their heads and shoulders. A similar cry from the other door of the house told that the defence there had been equally successful. Almost at the same moment Alric discovered a small slit in the roof through which he could observe the enemy. He quickly sent through it an arrow, which fixed itself in the left shoulder of one of the men. This had the effect of inducing the attacking party to draw off for the purpose of consultation.

The breathing-time thus afforded to the assailed was used in strengthening their defences and holding a hurried council of war. Piling several heavy pieces of furniture against the doors, and directing the women to make additions to these, Christian drew Alric into the hall, where the ancient retainers were already assembled.

“It will cost them a long time and much labour to drive in the doors, defended as they are,” said the hermit.