VI

THE TALE OF YRSA

I

In the last year that Hrolf spent building his kingdom, things went like carpentry. Some men grumbled at getting no fights. Bjarki was not among them; he had no need to show off his manhood or win booty. Nonetheless he grew more and more thoughtful, and this went on after he had come home.

Huge was the feast that Yule Eve in Leidhra. The hall was loud not only with warriors but with many guests: scot-kings, jarls, sheriffs, and yeomen from widely across the realm, as well as outlanders wintering in Roskilde. Crofters, beggars, and gangrels fared better than they would have done as heads of most chiefly households. It was a sorrow to Hrolf that his brother-in-law Hjördvardh and sister Skuld had stayed away. In everything else he was glad and prideful.

The skalds chanted their old lays about his forebears, their new ones about him, and he had no lack of rings to break for their reward, nor of goodly weapons and costly garments to bestow on other friends. The long-fires leaped and rumbled, the rushlights burned clear, to fill the air with warmth, sweet smell of juniper boughs, sheen off gold, silver, copper, and polished iron. The graven figures on pillars and panels seemed to stir, as if reaching out of their shadows to join the mirth. Talk, laughter, clash of horns and cups together, rolled under the roof like surf. The benches were crammed with lords and ladies, a rainbow of colors, a star-glitter of jewelry. To and fro scurried the servants, dodging hounds which lolled about chewing bones and thumping tails. The trestle tables had been cleared away. Ox, boar, deer, sheep, swan, grouse, partridge, whale, seal, tunny, flounder, cod, oyster, lobster, bread, butter, cheese, sausage, leeks, apples, honey, nuts, these and much else were now well-filled bellies and lingering savors. The real drinking was under weigh: beer and ale of different brews, swart or fair; mead, thick and sweet or light and lively; wine, from Danish berries or Southland grapes. Already some heads were finding it as noisy inside the ears as outside them. Yet no word had been spoken save in fellowship.

Beaming, King Hrolf looked to right and left and said, "Much strength has here met in one hall." He leaned toward Bjarki, who sat unwontedly quiet, his wife Drifa at his side. (Beyond her, Hjalti and a maid on his lap were having a gleeful tussle.) "Tell me, my friend, do you know of any king like me, who rules over men like these?"

"No," said the Norseman, "I do not. Your work will never be forgotten." Then, slowly: "I do think one thing is left which breaks down your royal honor."

Taken aback in his happy mood, Hrolf asked what that could be.

Bjarki gave him look for look and answered weightily: "What demeans you, lord, is that you do not fetch your inheritance from your father out of Uppsala, the hoard which King Adhils unrightfully keeps."

Svipdag, to left of the high seat, leaned past Hrolf’s leman. The single eye suddenly burned in his gaunt, scarred face.

Hrolf could not gainsay that it shamed him to be thus treated, and therefore threatened him. What he spoke aloud was: "It would be hard to get hold of it. For Adhils is no honorable man. Rather is he skilled in witchcraft, evil, sly, ill thought of, and the worst there is to have to do with."

"Even so," Bjarki said, "the most seemly for you, lord, would be to demand your due, and sometime seek out King Adhils and find how he answers."

Hrolf sat still a while before he said, "A great goal is this you have named; for I have my father to avenge."

He glanced at Svipdag. "Adhil’s is the greediest and crankiest of kings, so let's have a care."

Bjarki chuckled, or did he growl? ‘I would not scorn someday to learn what kind of fellow he is."

Svipdag breathed: "I promised when I left there, I'd visit them again. Lord, the queen would help us."

"We'll talk further of this," Hrolf said. For the rest of the evening he had to work at being merry.

Drifa whispered to Bjarki: "You will go. I know you will."

"I believe it," he nodded, more content than hitherto.

She gripped his arm. "Always you go, you men. My mother, you remember ... my father saw her married off to a yeoman, and she bore her husband a son who fell in holmgang . . . she said to me, it seemed like yesterday she laid him in his crib, and now she was laying him in his grave." Her gold-bedecked head lifted. "Go you must, Bjarki, because you want to. But oh, come back! I have not had you very long."

Busy though the king was, during the next few weeks he spent a good deal of time speaking in secret with knowledgeable men, drawing plans and making ready. "If we're slow," he warned, "Adhils is sure to get wind of our intention and thus time to build something nasty. Traveling while winter is on the ground and few wayfarers about, we may be able to keep ahead of any word of us."

"Why not go by sea?" asked Bjarki. King Hrolf frowned. "That was no lucky road for my father."

'Too risky this time of year, along that coast of uncounted islands and skerries," warned Svipdag. "Any sudden storm could dash us ashore; and I'm not sure but what King Adhils could raise one."

Hence Hrolf s only rowing was across the Sound to Scania. He gave out that he wanted to ride around and see how that part of his land was doing. To make this look true, as well as to go speedily and to leave plenty of strength in his newly-made realm, he took no great troop along. There were his twelve chief warriors, the twelve berserkers, and a hundred guardsmen.

They went on the best of horses, leading ample remounts and packbeasts. The garb they wore was thick against cold, of the finest furs and gaily dyed stuffs. Hrolf and the dozen captains each bore a hawk on his shoulder, so well trained that hood and jesses could be left off, to make a still better show. The king's was named High-breeks, a gyrfalcon, big and mettlesome, his eyes like those golden shields that are said to light the halls of the war-gods. Alongside loped Gram, a giant red hound which had pulled down wolf, elk, boar, and man.

Where Scania faded into Götaland, the Danes struck north. This East Göta country was rugged, thickly wooded and thinly peopled. They would often have to sleep out, rolled in bags upon chopped-off boughs. To make the more haste, they would not hunt, but live off what dry food they had along. They thought nothing of that, and of their faring is nothing to tell until one dusk when they came upon the lonely garth of a yeoman.

II

This was a surprise. They had seen no spoor of the plow thereabouts. Meager snow decked a clearing walled by evergreens and roofed by a low overcast. The house ought to have been easier to make out. It seemed to stand in deep shadow, itself another darkness which looked neither small nor great. The air hung chill, blotting up hoofbeats, voices, clink of metal, squeak of leather, sighs of weary beasts. Breath smoked dim.

Clearer to see was the man who stood outside, save for his face. A broad-brimmed hat cast that in murk. Beneath flowed a long gray beard. He was very tall, wrapped in a blue cloak, and carried a spear.

The king reined in. "Greeting, fellow," he said. 'Fear not if we camp on your land. We mean no harm."

Deep tones answered: "You need not sleep in the weather. Spend the night under my roof."

"It would ill become me to do what my men can't."

"I meant all of you."

Hrolf blinked in astonishment. "You're a bold one! Can you really afford that? We're not few, and it's not for a smallholder to take us in."

The yeoman laughed in a way that recalled wolves baying. "Yes, lord. But I've now and then seen just as many men coming to where I was. You shall not lack for drink this evening, or for whatever else you may need."

The king felt it would be unfitting to say other than: "We'll put our faith in that."

"You are welcome in truth," said the yeoman. "Follow me."

He led them behind the house. There they found a well-timbered building of a size to hold their beasts. Apart from hay and water troughs, it stood empty. The old one said it was too dark within for any who did not know his way around, and he would himself stall the horses and see to them. This went oddly fast.

"Who are you, yeoman?" asked the king.

"Some call me Hrani," he answered.

Hrolf wondered at that, for the name is not common. His uncle Hroar had used it when hiding from King Frodhi. Even more did he wonder when he trod into the house he could so poorly see. The room beyond the door was as long and brightly lit as a hall, though as forsaken as the stable had been. Runes were cut in the walls.

"There's something uncanny here," Bjarki muttered to Hjalti.

The younger man shrugged. "Better than outdoors."

Hrani bade them sit down. Had the trestle tables already been set up, trenchers of hot swineflesh, cups full of mead? Did Hrani himself, never taking off his hat, serve them as swiftly as he had done the horses? Strangest in their minds afterward was the dreamlike way in which they took this guesting. At the time, most of the men soon grew drunk and cheerful, swore they had hardly ever come upon a finer place, and shoved their wonder aside.

Hrani sat by Hrolf. They and a few who gathered around spoke together. The king named himself and his errand. The yeoman nodded and gave counsel about the best way from here to Uppsala. Svipdag asked how he knew this, forasmuch as smallholders seldom go far from where they were born. "Though I am aged," Hrani said, "I wander widely."

"How can you live in this house by yourself?" asked Bjarki.

"I am not by myself tonight, am I?" answered Hrani with his wolf-laugh. "I have guests oftener than you think, as well as strong sons who don't happen to be here. Now as for your road—" He went on to tell them things they had never known about this land and those who dwelt in it. From there he led the talk to happenings aforetime. Never had they heard tales better told: and many were the wise saws and ringing staves which he threw in. It seemed to them this was indeed a deep fellow.

But they had ridden throughout a hard day. Soon weariness overcame them, helped by the noble mead they had drunk. Hrani bade them stretch out on benches and floor. He did not stay in the room. The fires died down.

The king and his men awoke sometime in the middle of the night. Only banked coals were left in the trench, barely enough red light to fumble by. It was so cold that the teeth chopped in their jaws. They sprang up, undid the bundles they had brought in from the packhorses, and put on more clothes and whatever they could get hold of—save for Hrolf and his chief warriors, who made do with what they already wore. Everyone froze until dawn came, and Hrani bringing wood to throw on the embers.

Then asked the yeoman: "How have you slept?" "Well," grunted Bjarki.

The yeoman turned an eye on the king, bleaker than the winter dark had been. He said dryly, "I know your guardsmen felt it was rather cool here last night; and it was. They must not suppose they can withstand what King Adhils in Uppsala will lay on them, if they took this so ill." Sternly: "If you would save your life, send home half your following; for it will not be by numbers of men that you win over King Adhils."

"You are no common man who tells me this," said Hrolf low. "I will go by your rede."

After they had broken their fast, he found mild words which turned back the fifty warriors who had shivered most. Later no one could quite remember how the speech went or why none felt this a slur. When the rest were ready to go, they thanked the yeoman and bade him live well.

Onward they rode, over hills where the pinewoods reared and dales where the snow had drifted thick. As the cloudiness left their minds, they talked about who, or what, had been their host, and why. At last Bjarki said gruffly, "Well, more than men and beasts can flit through a wilderness, as I have good cause to know. They need not be unfriendly .... Although," he added after a bit, and cast a glance toward the king's helmet before him, "keeping them friendly can be a tricky thing."

At eventide they came again upon a clearing where stood a garth and a tall old man who wore a broad-brimmed hat and a blue cloak. His house was likewise hard to make out in the shadowiness around. A mumble went among them, a prickling through them. King Hrolf drew rein and clapped hand to the sword Skofnung.

"Greeting, lord," laughed the yeoman. "Why do you come so often?"

The king answered steadfastly: "We know not what kind of sleight is being used on us. You're an eldritch one."

"I will not receive you ill this time either," said the yeoman.

The king looked back down the lines of his men. "Best we stay, since we are asked," he told them. "Night comes on apace."

Once inside, nobody wondered much, and the hospitality was good. Erelong they laid themselves to sleep.

They were awakened by such a thirst that the tongues could hardly move in their heads. A mead barrel stood at one end of the room. Everyone went there and drank deep, save the king and his twelve captains.

In the morning, Hrani the yeoman said: "Again, lord, hearken to me. I think there's scant hardihood in those fellows who had to drink during the night. Worse trouble must they withstand when they reach King Adhils."

Nothing could be done right away, for a blizzard had sprung up. Blind whiteness shrieked around the house. Strongly were those walls timbered, not to groan beneath that wind. The men sat and listened to Hrani spin such wonderful tales that the day seemed very short—"as if somehow we'd ridden out of time," Svipdag mumbled to his brothers.

About sundown the storm ended. Less snow had fallen than one would have awaited; travel should be possible next day. Hrani brought in wood and stoked the fire. It blazed strangely swiftly, high and higher, red and blue awhirl over a white-hot bed, roaring as loud as the weather had done. Heat went in waves over the men where they sat. They shifted well back. King Hrolf remembered the vow he had taken when he was young, never to flee from iron or fire. He stayed where he was, and his captains beside him, though sweat rivered off them and it felt as if their eyes must soon boil.

A single light gleamed from under Hrani's hat. "Again, lord," he said, "you must make a choice out of your following. My rede is that none go on from here save you and these twelve. Then it may be that you can come home; otherwise not"

Heat-dazed, King Hrolf tried to speak firmly: 'I’ve such a mind about you, yeoman, that I think I'd better heed your words."

The flames soon dwindled. That night the men slept well, aside from uneasy dreams.

In the morning, Hrolf sent home his remaining fifty, together with the berserkers. Again, none cried out against this order until afterward, far too late. Mounted, the king said to the yeoman: "It may be that I have much to thank you for."

"It may be you can repay me sometime," answered Hrani.

"Farewell until then," said Hrolf. His hawk fluttered wings at sight of two ravens aloft; his hound growled at the nearby howl of a wolf. In a while woodlands had hidden that garth in snow and silence.

They rode on: Hrolf, King of Denmark, bound to redeem his riches because in them lay his honor and, he hoped, revenge for his father; Bjarki, the werebear's son; Hjalti, who had gotten his manhood from the blood and heart of a troll; Svipdag, whose one eye peered from years agone to days ahead; Hvitserk, Beigadh, Hromund, Hrolf the namesake, Haaklang, Hrefill, Haaki, Hvatt, Starulf, men whose starkness no fiend or god could daunt, hawks upon their shoulders and looking out of their souls. Bright were their helmets and spearheads across winter-wan heaven, bright their mail and cloaks across darkling green boughs and blue-shadowed whiteness; they hardly felt the chill that made their breaths fog and their saddles creak. Yet this was no great troop to bring against the king of Svithjodh and the weirdness he commanded.

Entering that land, crossing open fields where farmsteads and hamlets were many, sometimes needing to be ferried, they were seen. Though they named themselves no longer, word about them may well have flown ahead and Adhils have guessed the truth. Or maybe he peered into one of his cauldrons and saw a thing in the steam or heard a thing in the seething. One twilight he said to the queen beside him, but for all to hear: "I learn that King Hrolf Helgisson is on his way to us."

Yrsa gasped before she could clap a shield down over her face.

"It is well, it is well," smiled Adhils; "for surely he shall get such a reward for his trouble, before we part, that the tale of it will travel far."

III

At last King Hrolf and his warriors came riding over the Fyris Wolds. Those meadows lay streaked with dusty old snow, otherwise brown and hard-frozen, thudding under hoofs. Ahead was the river, and on the high western bank Uppsala town, crowned by the temple. Its roof upon roof lifted into a bleached heaven, gold aglitter; but behind, the trees of the holy shaw were skeleton-bare. A few crows flapped and cawed through the breeze.

Hrolf lifted a horn slung from his shoulder and blew three blasts, deep and long as the challenge of a bull wisent. Striking spurs to horse, he broke into a gallop. His men came straight after, a gleam of mail and of spearheads which moved like waves, a winging of cloaks red and blue and tawny across that winter land. When they went over the bridge, its planks thundered beneath them.

Folk clustered in watchtowers and on walkways of the stockade, to see so bold a sight. The gates stood open; nobody knew any reason to fear thirteen strangers, however well-armed. Hrolf understood that he must not for an eyeblink act as if this broad and crowded town daunted him. Up the road, through the gates, along the ruts between walls, he sped. Men, women, children, wagoners, swine, dogs, hens must scramble alike to get out of the way. Angry shouts followed him. But none dared launch a spear, especially since he was clearly aimed at the royal hall.

The gates to that garth stood likewise wide. Guardsmen filled it, spilling into the yard beyond, a moon-field of shields. None drew weapon, however; and men of the household waited in good clothes, smiles smeared over their mouths.

The Danes drew rein. Their horses reared, their hawks spread feathers across which sunlight ran, the hound Gram bayed once. Svipdag cried: "Tell King Adhils that here to guest is Hrolf Helgisson. King of the Danes!"

"Welcome, welcome," said the spokesman for the Swedes. He did not seem astounded at the news. "I am honored in greeting so famous a man and his followers." He let his gaze pass quite slowly among them. "Surely King Adhils is as sorry as I am, that you bring this few for him to give hospitality to."

"We have brought enough."

"Ah . . . Svipdag Svipsson . . . yes. You have come back, eh?"

"I said I would."

"Will you follow me, then?"

They rode among the buildings to the stables. Grooms took their bridles. As he dismounted, Bjarki said, "You fellows make sure neither the manes nor the tails of our horses be unkempt. Stall them well and have a care that they not get dirty."

The spokesman flushed at this—that here might be less than the best—and signed to a boy, who scuttled off. Thereafter he held the Danes in talk for a bit, asking about their journey. Meanwhile the boy entered the hah and told King Adhils what had happened thus far.

The lord of Svithjodh smote the arm of his high seat and grated: "Hard is it to bear, how toplofty and overweening they are! Bring back my word to the head groom and see that he does as I bid. Chop the tails off those horses, right next to the rump, and cut the manes off so the scalp comes too. Then stable them in every way as badly as you can, and let them barely stay alive."

The boy louted low and slipped away. Adhils settled into his chair. He quivered. Likewise did the weavings lately hung along the walls.

Soon the Danes were brought to the hall. None stood at its cave-mouth door to greet them as would have been fitting. Their guide smirked, "The king awaits you within," and left.

Hjalti clapped hand to sword. "They dare treat our lord like this!"

Hrolf looked across the yard. The guardsmen had withdrawn too but stood under the stockade, rank upon mail-clad rank. "Don't start anything," he murmured. "Our coming was not quite the surprise we hoped for."

Svipdag tugged his drooping mustache and said: "Yes, I was afraid of this. Let me go in first. I know this house from aforetime, and I've a nasty suspicion about how they mean to receive us. Now listen—whatever happens, let none give out which of us is King Hrolf. That'd make him a target, not alone for every edge and point if things come to that, but for any witchcraft Adhils may have cooked up."

The king sighed. "I suppose I should be glad that not even my mother has met us," he said. "Across the years, she may still have known me." He straightened. "Well, no dawdling, or they'll think we're afraid."

Svipdag rested his ax across the right shoulder—his hawk sat on the left—and trod between the grinning figures on the doorposts. After him came his brothers Hvitserk and Beigadh, then Bjarki and Hrolf, then the rest mingled together.

The foreroom was broad and dim. Svipdag passed on into the main chamber. That was like stepping into night, so gloomy was it. Barely did he see great changes everywhere. The fire-trenches gaped cold. A few rushlights flickered in brackets set far apart, to pick out weavings of heavy cloth. Otherwise the hall reached empty, altogether silent. In the freezing dark, it felt still more vast than it was, as if those rows of wavering blue flamelets dwindled on and on till they met at some edge of the world.

Svipdag strode forward, an iron glimmer. His friends stayed close behind. Whisperings went through the hush around them. All at once Svipdag tottered backward. "A pit!" he warned. "I nearly fell in."

Using their weapons as feeling-stocks, the Danes found that, while it seemed to stretch across the room, the trap was not too broad for men such as they to overleap. They did, and went on.

Next it was as if spiderwebs dropped around them. They were tangled in sticky nets, unseen and cable-strong. Something giggled. "Strike out," said Svipdag. As cold iron hewed, the strands fell away.

A thing walked toward them. It had the shape of a dead giant-woman—they saw the grave-mould and the lightless eyes—whose skin moved upon her bones and whose hands reached out to strangle. Svipdag's laughter jarred. "He finds less and less to offer us, the good Adhils," he said, and chopped at her. His ax met emptiness; she was gone.

When they covered some yards more, another shape hove in sight. High on his seat spread the gross form of the Swede-King. They could hardly see him, away off in dimness amidst monstrous shadows. Svipdag raised an arm to signal a halt. It looked as if further pitfalls lay ahead.

The eyes of Adhils, hidden from them in the blur of his face, could better stab through the murk he had made than could theirs. He called in mockery: "Well, at last you've returned, eh, Svipdag, my friend? Hm, hm, what errand has the warrior? Is it not as it seems to me, that bowed is your neck, one eye not there, wrinkled your brow, hands bearing scars, and Beigadh your brother limps on both legs?"

Svipdag stiffened. He knew he appeared older than he was; and Beigadh had taken wounds in Hrolf's service such that he no longer walked as easily as most. Therefore Svipdag's answer was harsh as well as loud. "In accord with what you promised me, King Adhils, I crave safety for these twelve men who here are gathered together."

"That they shall have. Now come into the hall briskly and in manly wise, calmer-hearted than you have shown yourselves hitherto."

"Don't let him goad you into rashness," Hrolf whispered.

"Keep ready to form a shield-burg," Bjarki added, "for I think those weavings on the walls bulge forward, as if armed men were behind."

The Danes thus went ahead with care, and found another trench they must spring over. Then they were near the high seat. Runic signs rippled on the cloths, as a fighter in mail stormed forth from behind each one.

"Make a ring!" roared Bjarki. There was no need; everybody knew what to do. Shield by shield, they stood against thrice their number.

Hrolf cast his spear. A Swede stumbled when it took him in the neck. More shafts flew, till the attackers closed. Through the air hissed the swords Skofnung, Lövi, Goldhilt, and their kin. High lifted the ax of Svipdag, whirling overhead till he struck across the shoulder of Hromund who shielded him. Metal boomed. The shield of that Swede dropped off a numb arm. The ax slewed about and its butt stove in his temple.

A tall man came at Bjarki. The Norseman brought his shield forward, to hook its rim behind that of his foe. He shoved to make an opening in the defense. Through this his edge smote; and a head rolled over the floor.

Hjalti's blade rang and sparked upon another. In blow after blow he beat it aside, got the brief chance he wanted, sliced inward and crippled a wrist As that man howled and lurched back, Hjalti slew him. Meanwhile King Hrolf crouched, shield on high, and chopped the leg from beneath an attacker. The rest of his men struck and stabbed. Their hawks had flown to the rafters, but the hound Gram slashed with fangs, himself too swiftly dancing about to be wounded.

In din and shouting, the Danes cast back the Swedes. As these reeled in disorder, the thirteen made a wedge and charged them. Weapons played like flames. Dead and maimed lay strewn around, the darkness echoed to cries of pain. On Hrolf and his captains stood hardly a mark. "Kill them!" bawled Bjarki. "Cut them down like any other dogs!"

King Adhils sprang to his feet and screamed from the dais, "What is this uproar? Stop! Stop, I say!"

Slowly the fight ended, until there was silence but for the groans of the wounded, the heavy breathing of the hale. Eyes and iron gleamed amidst shadows. Adhils yelled at his guards: "You must be the worst of nithings, that you set on such outstanding men—our guests! Go! Clear the hall! Bring in servants and . . . and light—go, you wolf-heads! I'll deal with you later."

The warriors stared. However, they caught his meaning, and would not make their failure worse by gainsaying him. They stole out helping those of their hurt fellows who could move.

"Forgive me!" Adhils said to the Danes. "I have foes, and feared treachery .... When you came in armed, as is not the wont here . . . then some of my followers grew over-zealous, me unwitting .... But I see now that you must in truth be King Hrolf, my kinsman, and his famous champions, as you told the gatekeeper. Sit down, be at ease, and let us have it good together."

"Little luck have you gotten, King Adhils," growled Svipdag, "and honorless are you in this matter."

They peered at the Svithjodh lord. Adhils had grown bald and fat. The beard which spilled down bis richly robed paunch was more gray than yellow. Only his blade of a nose remained lean, and the little squinting, blinking eyes.

Thralls and hirelings hastened in to bear out the dead and disabled, clean up the blood, strew fresh rushes, bring lamps and build fires. With them came new guardsmen, and more must be crowding outside. It would not do to rush at the dais and try to kill Adhils. Besides, that would besmirch the name of King Hrolf, after he had been greeted in friendly words, however empty he knew those words to be.

"Sit, sit," urged his host. "Come give me your hand, my kinsman of Denmark."

"The time is not ripe for you to know which of us he is," Svipdag said.

Hjalti fleered. "Aye," he added, "it would be to your . . . dishonor . . . King Adhils, should more of your men grow ... over-zealous."

"You mistake me, you mistake me," puffed the fat man. He dared not press the matter and thus remind everyone in the hall of his humbling. He could only sink back into his chair and gibe, "As you will. If you are, hm, hm, not wholly so bold as to make yourself known, Hrolf, well, be it as you wish." After a bit: "For I do see that you don't fare outland in the way of wellborn folk. Why does my kinsman have no more of a troop?"

"Since you don't forbear to sit in treachery against King Hrolf and his men," said Svipdag, "it makes small difference whether he rides hither with few or many."

Adhils let that pass, and had a bench brought to the foot of the dais where his guests might sit. Though the hall grew swiftly more bright and loud, hereabouts was a ring of bristling wariness. Ever did Adhils's gaze flicker across those below him. Which of them, that looked back as fiercely as the hawks which had settled anew on their shoulders, which was King Hrolf, the son of Helgj whom he had slain and of his own wife Yrsa who hated him?

Ten were here whom he did not know; nor could he slip out to cast a spell that might name them for him. Belike the redbeard, huge as a bear, was not Hrolf, who was said to be a slender man of ordinary height. But would that fit the neat one with the ruddy-gold locks beside him, or the fair-haired youthful-looking one beyond who bore a golden-hilted sword, or the rather short and dark but quick and deft one, or the lean one who had wielded so terrible a halberd, or—or was the whole tale wrong? In the town were seafarers who had seen the Dane-King. He could bring them up tomorrow. It would look too eager, though, it might spring the trap of more trouble, did he send after them this evening. Yet he must know as soon as might be, to lay his plans before Hrolf carried out whatever he meant for avenging his father —Hrolf, who had never sworn peace like his uncle Hroar .... Might Yrsa know her son, child though he was when she left him? Was that why she had stayed in her bower?

"Let us make up the longfires for our friends," called Adhils, "and let us show them the heartiest goodwill, as we have had in mind all along."

His councillors, captains, and stewards were joining him. "Forgive me, kinsman," he said, "if I, hm, must speak of something secret before you. I told you I have strong and underhanded foes who seek my life. And you yourself don't think it unmanly or impolite to, hm, keep secrets from me, eh?"

"We will not hide why we came," Svipdag said. "We are after the treasures that are King Hrolf's rightful inheritance from King Helgi."

"Well, well, that can be talked about." Adhils turned and whispered to his head steward, who nodded and went off, plucking the sleeve of the chief guardsman to bring him along. They crossed the planks which had now been laid over the pitfalls, and were lost to sight.

Rubbing his hands and blowing frost-clouds, the lord of Svithjodh said: "Yes. We can talk. We can sit and drink like brothers. For truly I do not hold it against you, Hrolf, that your father plotted my undoing while he was my guest, nor that you, hm, are leery of me. I want to show you honor. So, if you'll not tell me who you are, that you may be given the seat across from mine, why, I'll step down to a footing with you. It's gotten beastly cold in here, hasn't it? I ought not to make you shiver beneath my roof. Come, let's sit near the fire-trench."

Hrolf’s band glanced at each other, but could scarcely hold back when Adhils waddled past them. Soon they were in a row on a bench hard by one of the longfires. Opposite them sat Adhils and the captains of his household troops. It would have looked too much like planned treachery had these broken the rule that only eating-knives might be borne in here. Hrolf's men kept their weapons, and nothing was said about that.

Horns were brought. Adhils drank their health and chatted on, merrily, meaninglessly. He grew ever harder to see or to hear. For men of his—guards, from the look and way of them, though they wore the kirtles of hirelings—were meanwhile adding peat and dry wood to the fire.

More and more high whirled the flames, red, blue, yellow over coals too hot for the eye to stray near. The noise grew till it shook men's skulls. The roof overhead was like a storm-sky of ruddy smoke. Heat billowed. The hawks flew aloft, the hound slunk away.

Adhils smiled: "Folk have not talked too big when they praised the courage and readiness of you, King Hrolf’s warriors. It seems as if you stand above everybody else and that the word about you is no lie. Well, let's strengthen the fire, for I really would like to make out who is your king, and you'll never flee it. As for me, though, I who've not been out in winter air today am growing a little warm."

He signed to his men. They moved their bench well back. The stokers ran to and fro, bringing more fuel. Out of the soot on them, they leered at the newcomers.

Mail and underpadding made doubly cruel the heat Sweat gushed from the Danes, stung eyeballs which felt as if baking, stank in the nostrils and steamed out of the cloth which it had glued to their skins. Lips cracked. The tongues behind were like those blocks of wood which the Swedes fetched as if they worked for Surt himself. "Hrani's house was nothing like this," Hjalti rasped low. 'What's he after?"

"He hopes to know King Hrolf by him not being able to stand the fire as well as the rest of us," answered Svipdag. "In truth he wishes death on our king."

"I swore I would never yield before fire or iron," came Hrolf's parched whisper, barely to be heard through the booming and crackling.

Bjarki leaned forward, moving his shield to give his lord a bit of shelter. Likewise did Hjalti on the other side. But they dared not help him enough that it would give him away.

Squinting through the berserk glare, they could just see that Adhils and his men had shifted as far back as could be. Surely the Swede-King grinned.

"His fine-sounding promises meant naught," groaned Starulf. "He aims to burn us alive."

Hjalti stared at his knees. "My breeks have started to smolder," he said. "If we stay here, we'll be done . . . well done!"

Three of the stokers ran to throw another chunk in the trench. Sparks raged upward. The stokers wheeled about after more, They laughed.

Bjarki looked across Hrolf at Svipdag. The same will leaped in them both. The Norseman shouted half a stave:

"Let the fire be fed here in the hall!" He and his Swedish friend sprang up. Each grabbed a stoker. They hurled those men into the flames.

"Now enjoy the heat you strove to give us," called Svipdag, "for we are baked through." Hjalti did likewise to a third. Maybe the rest escaped. It cannot have been as dreadful a death as it sounds, because no flesh could have lived for more than a heartbeat in that trench.

King Hrolf rose. He took his shield and tossed it into the pit while he cried:

"He flees no fire who hops high over." His men saw his thought at once and threw in their own shields. Thus they dampened the blaze at that spot till they could leap across it

Adhils and his folk heard choked-off shrieks, saw bodies burst into smoke—and out of the flames came storming those thirteen men, shieldless but mailed and helmeted, sooty and sweat-drenched but thirstier for blood than for water, scorched in clothes and blistered on cheeks but with weapons aflash like the fire itself.

In horror, Adhils's troopers scattered before the band which had already wrought slaughter among comrades who wore byrnies and swords. Belike too, many felt there could be no luck in fighting for a lord who tried to murder his guests. "Here I am, kinsman!'' yelled Hrolf, and sped toward him. Over Hrolf's helmet the sword Skofnung swung high as his own laughter.

Adhils fled. A roof-pillar bore the outsize figure of a god who leaned on his shield. That shield proved to be a door leading into hollowness. Adhils squirmed through, slammed and bolted the door behind him.

"Batter that down!" Hjalti called.

"No," said Hrolf. "He must be crawling along some tunnel. Shall we be worms like him?"

"He might have traps to catch us if we try," nodded Svipdag. "We're not done with that he-witch."

Adhils did indeed slip outside. Rising from the ground behind the lady-bower, he entered it. Yrsa sat there. Her woman shrank to see the king in sweating, dirty disarray. "Go," he told them. "I. .. want speech . . . with the queen."

"No, stay," Yrsa answered. "I want witnesses, that he may not afterward lie about what was said."

The women huddled aside. Adhils forgot them. "That son of yours . . . Hrolf the Dane ... is here," he panted, "He set on me—holds the hall—"

Yrsa drew a breath of utter joy. "He did not drive you thence for no reason," she said shakily.

"Go to him. Make peace between us. He'll hear your pleas."

"Go I will, but not on your behalf. First you had King Helgi, my husband, slain by treachery; and those goods which belonged to your betters, you kept. Now on top of everything else, you'd kill my son. You are a man worse, more foul than any other. Oh, I will do everything I can to help King Hrolf get the gold, and you shall reap naught but ill from this, as well you have earned."

King Adhils drew himself straight. In that moment he was not altogether a greasy fat man who had been chased from his own dwelling. "It seems that here there can be no trust," he said quietly. "I shall not come before your eyes again." He turned and walked forth into the dusk which had begun to fall. Soon she heard him lead his guards out of the garth.

IV

Thereupon Queen Yrsa sought the hall. She found the Danes gusty with glee, shouting for beer and meat to those frightened servants who were left. But when they saw her enter, in white gown and blue cloak and heavy necklace of amber, a hush fell over them. She walked down the length of the room to the bench where King Hrolf sat; nobody now hid which one was he! A while those gave look for look by the light of the still high-burning fire.

Yrsa's back was yet straight, her body lissome, though her feet no longer danced over the earth as when she was the girl-bride of Helgi. The skin was clear on the broad tilt-nosed face, but many lines marked it, the bronze hair was rimed over, and in the gray eyes lay a bottomless weariness. Much of her lived in the features of her son, who, however, bore easily on unbowed shoulders the red-splashed byrnie in which he had been victorious.

Svipdag started jerkily forward. His gaunt cheeks seemed wet below the eye-patch; the scar throbbed in his brow. "My lady—" he began. She did not turn from Hrolf.

"Are you then Queen Yrsa?" asked the king. "I thought we'd see you earlier." She stood dumb.

"Well," said Hrolf, "here in your house I got a torn shirt." He lifted his sword-arm, the sleeve of which had been ripped by a spear. "Will you mend this for me?"

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

Hrolf shook his head. "Hard is friendship to find," he sighed, "when mother will give son no food and sister will not sew for brother."

Svipdag stared from him to her in a stunned way. Yrsa clenched her fists. Biting back tears, she said: "Are you angry that I did not greet you erenow? Listen. I knew Adhils was plotting your death. Night after night he was at work on his witching stool, with his kettles and runestaves and bones. Surely, I thought, he'd reckon on ... on mother being there to cast arms around son . . . sister taking the hand of brother . . . surely this was woven into his spells."

"So at the last she stayed away," Svipdag said, "and the witchcraft came unraveled, and Adhils must try what else he could think of on the spot."

Hrolf surged to his feet. "Oh, forgive me," he cried, near tears himself. "I did not understand."

They held each other close, and laughed and stood back clasping fingers to see the better, and breathed raggedly, and babbled somewhat. After a while they harnessed themselves. She gave the warriors a stately welcome, bade the servants make food and guest quarters ready, and seated herself in eager talk beside him. They had most of his lifetime to overtake.

Svipdag stepped back, "How she has aged through these dozen winters," he said, deep in his throat. "Living with that troll-man—" He shook himself. "Well, of course tonight she's happiest to meet her son."

Drink flowed and merriment pealed. Not often had thirteen men taken the stronghold of a king! At last sleepiness came upon them. Yrsa sent for a youth who would see to their wants. "His name is Vögg," she told

Hrolf, "a bit of a simpleton but good-hearted and nimble."

The fellow arrived: small and skinny, crowbeak nose and not much chin beneath a shock of wheaten hair, shabbily clad, nonetheless hopping and chuckling. "Here is your new lord," the queen told him.

Vögg's pale-blue eyes frogged out. "Is this your king, you Danes?" burst from him in a boy's cracked voice. "Him, the great King Hrolf? Why, he's well-nigh as bony as me—a real kraki, him!"

Now a kraki is no more than a tree-trunk whose branches have been lopped to stubs to make a kind of ladder. la their aleful mirth and the glow of their deeds this day, Vögg's words struck the warriors as the funniest thing they had ever heard. Even Svipdag guffawed and joined in the yelling: "Kraki, kraki, aye, hail, King Hrolf Kraki!"

He laughed too and said to the stripling: "You've given me a name which may well stick to me. What will you give me for a naming-gift?"

"I, I . . . naught have I to g-g-give," stammered Vögg. "I'm poor."

"Then he who has should give to the other," said Hrolf. During the evening he had had several gold rings brought from his baggage, with the idea that he might want to reward somebody. He drew one off and handed it to Vögg.

The boy cackled thanks, put it on his right arm, and strutted around like a cock, holding the coil aloft to gleam in the firelight. It slid down to the elbow. His left arm he held behind his back. The king pointed, "Why do you do that?" asked he.

"Oh," said Vögg, "the arm which has naught to show must hide itself in shame."

"We must see about that," said Hrolf, mostly because he saw Yrsa was fond of this loon. He handed him another ring.

Vögg nearly fell over. When he could find speech again, he squeaked, "Thanks and praises, lord! This is a wondrous thing to have!"

The king smiled. "Vögg grows joyous over little."

The youth sprang onto a bench, lifted both hands toward the rafters, and shouted, "Lord, I swear that if ever you are overcome by men, and I alive, I will avenge you!"

"Thanks for that," said the king dryly. His men nodded, not bothering to hide their own grins. No doubt this fellow would prove faithful as far as he was able, they thought, but how could so sleazy a wretch ever do much?

In a while Yrsa led them across the courtyard to a guesthouse. Though far smaller than the hall, it was more snug and bright and without lingering creepinesses of witchcraft. The hound Gram went along; the hawks had already been carried to the mews. In the chill beneath numberless keen stars, Yrsa took her son's hands once more and said, "Goodnight, good rest, my darling. Yet have a care. Evil is everywhere around."

"Should we not watch over you, my lady?" asked Svipdag.

"I thank you, old friend, but no need. It's you he will be after."

"All gods forbid we bring you into danger."

"Goodnight." Yrsa and her women left.

Within, a fire on the hearthstone and lamps along the walls gave light and warmth, albeit smoky air. Vögg showed the men how their goods had been stowed and benches made ready for sleeping. Bjarki warned, "Here we can be at ease, aye, and the queen wishes us well. She's right, however: King Adhils will wreak as much ill for us as he can. It'd astonish me if we're let have everything go on as it does now."

Vögg shuddered and drew signs. "K-k-king Adhils . . . is a terrible maker of—of blood offerings," he told them. "His like is not to be found. Hoo, how often at night I've heard ropes creak under their loads in the shaw, or ravens deafen the wind by day! Yet he gives no more than he must to the high gods. No, his worship is to a horrible huge b-b-boar—" He hugged himself. The teeth rattled in his head. "I don't see how things can stay this smooth," he said, woebegone. "Have a care, have a care! Sly and ill-famed is he, and he'll do whatever he can to m-m-make away with ... us ... by any means."

"I think we need post no guard this night," said Hjalti, "for Vögg isn't about to fall asleep."

The warriors laughed drowsily and stretched themselves to rest. They had long since taken off their fighting gear. The fires burned out and only Vögg lay forlornly awake, his earlier bliss sunk deep in dread.

At midnight the band was yanked back to awareness of cold and gloom. A racket outside was ringing in the very walls, gruesome grunts and squeals. Something battered at the house till it rocked, as if it went up and down on the sea.

Vögg wailed: "Help! The boar's abroad, the boar-god of King Adhils! He's sent it to get him revenge—and none can stand before that troll!"

The door groaned and splintered under blows. Bjarki's weapon gleamed free. "Get your iron back on, my lord and lads," he said. 'I’ll try to hold the thing.''

The door smashed down. Beyond lay frosted flagstones, black walls and roofpeaks, high stars. Most was blotted from sight by the shape whose hump filled the doorway. What light there was showed its shagginess and the tusks which rose from the snout like crooked swords. A rank swine-smell choked nostrils. The grunting made earthquake thunder.

"Hey-ah!" shouted Bjarki. His blade whirled down. It rebounded so he nearly lost his grip. For the first time, Lövi which had slain the flying monster would not bite.

The hound Gram snarled and lunged.

As his jaws closed, the troll-boar squealed, a noise which went through flesh like a saw. The two beasts ramped out into the yard. Bjarki followed. If his sword would not cut, it could still club. The boar whirled on him and charged. Gram's weight held it back, and Bjarki sidestepped. The boar tossed its head, flailing Gram about The hound did not let go.

Hard was that fight while the king's men busked themselves. But of a sudden the boar's chuffing turned into a scream. Gram tumbled aside. Bloody in his jaws were an ear and the skin of a jowl. As if a single wound was enough, the troll fell over dead. The ground shook. Gram lifted his head and belled till echoes flew.

Bjarki did not join the cheers of his friends. "Best I don my own mail," he said. "And let's drag what we can across the doorway. This night is not yet at an end."

"You . . . y-y-you . . . met the thing that took so many men—" Vogg stuttered. "Oh, how can I evermore be aught than brave?"

The rest paid him no heed. They were listening to a noise from beyond the garth: horn-blasts, cries to war, rattle of iron and tramp of feet.

Into the yard poured the whole host of Adhils's guardsmen, and more from the town besides, to fill it from wall to wall. A humpbacked moon, newly rising over a dragon gable, made their mail and whetted metal glimmer, made their breaths a ragged fog through the cold, but left faces in shadow. The Swede-King must have had spies, for his folk lost no time in ringing the guesthouse,

"What do you want?" Bjarki shouted through the door.

"This, you who slew my brother," answered someone. After a few heartbeats, they heard the thatch overhead crackle. Flames burst into being. The house had been fired.

"Soon we will not lack for warmth," said Hjalti.

"An ill way is this to die, if we should burn in here," said Bjarki. "A sorry end to life for King Hrolf and his warriors. Rather would I fall to weapons on an open field."

Svipdag peered at a hedge of spears. "That doorway's too narrow," he said. "They'd stick us like pigs as we came out one or two at a time."

"Aye," answered the Norseman. "I know no better rede than that we break down a wall, and thus plow forth together, if that can be done. Then when we close, let each take his man of them, and they'll soon lose heart." He cocked his head. "Hear how shrilly they call around or try to taunt us? I know that note. This day's work, and now the slain god of Adhils, those have shaken them."

"Good is your rede," said King Hrolf. "This I think will serve us well."

They used benches for rams. No child's play was it to smash the planks. Over and over they rushed, while the roof blazed and embers showered down upon them, flames barked and smoke bit. Then in a sundering crash, the wall gave way. They grabbed up the shields they had taken from Adhils's storerooms, leaped out, and fell on the Swedes.

Swords whistled, axes banged, men cursed and yelled beneath the moon. At first the Danes went in a kind of swine-array, that slashed through their unready foes like an arrowhead. When in the thick of them, they made a ring. No, it was more a wheel, rimmed with blades, which rolled unstoppable to split and shatter any line that tried to stand fast.

Higher rose the moon, the burning, and the din. Wildly went the strife. Ever King Hrolf and his fellows thrust forward. Behind them they left a road of hurt men, dead men, men who stared unbelieving at lifeblood which pumped out onto the frost. Soon they won free of the garth and into the town. What ranks were left to fight them thinned out—for though they took bruises and flesh wounds, they knew well how to defend each other, and none else was so stout that he need not veer before their blows.

Wings flapped over heaven. King Hrolf’s hawk High-breeks swung from the burg, stooped, and settled on his master's shoulder. Mightily proud did he look. Bjarki panted: "He behaves like somebody who's won great honor." Nor did he flinch from the weapons which sought after his lord.

At length the fray ended. However many against thirteen, the Swedes could not bring their numbers to bear in the narrow lanes between houses. Moreover, as Bjarki had heard, they were badly shaken to begin with. What order they ever had was now broken up. Few of them cared to lay down his life for a king who was not even in sight. And their wiser leaders came to dread that the Danes would break into a house, snatch a brand off a hearth, and start a fire of their own which could eat all Uppsala,

One after the next, they cried for peace. The wish spread as swiftly as a snowslide. Hrolf gave quarter and asked where King Adhils was. Nobody knew.

Weapons unsheathed, blood wiped off to let the steel flash across night, Hrolf and his men tramped back to the garth. They found its folk toiling to keep the blaze from going further. "This work seems well in hand," Hrolf remarked. "But I see we must use the king's house after all."

He led the way in and called for lights, beer, and the making up of bench-beds, "Where shall we sit meanwhile?" asked Bjarki.

"On the royal dais," answered King Hrolf, "and I myself will take the high seat."

After they had been drinking a while, Hjalti the High-Minded said, "Would it not be best that someone go see to our horses and hawks, after this much unrest?"

"At once, at once," chattered Vögg, and was off.

He came back in tears to tell how shamefully the poor steeds had been used. The Danes roared their wrath and wished every kind of bad luck on Adhils, "Go see about the birds, then," ordered Hrolf, while his own High-breeks spread wings above his head.

This time Vögg blurted wonders. "In the mews . . , all the hawks of King Adhils—dead—ripped apart by beak and claws!"

Highbreeks preened himself. The men shouted. Thus they got back the joy of their victory.

V

In the morning Queen Yrsa came before King Hrolf and greeted him in solemn wise, "You were not received here, kinsman," she said, "as I wished and as was your right—" Her words stumbled a bit: "But you mustn't stay any longer, my son, in such an ill place. Surely Adhils is gathering a host to get you killed."

"Such takes time, Mother," he answered. "We'll not run off like robbers. No, we'll get together what's ours, with your help; and meanwhile we'll rest and feast"

Her smile quivered. "I should gainsay you, but I can't Not when this is belike the last meeting we'll ever have." Turning, she walked quickly from the hall.

"Lord," said Svipdag, harsh-toned, "the least we can do is guard her."

"She has warriors of her own," said Hrolf.

"Nonetheless we can show her honor for what she's done."

The king looked gravely into Svipdag's eye before he nodded. "Do as you see fit."

The Swede shouldered his ax and followed the queen. She had stopped in the yard, near the ash and charcoal of the guesthouse, her back turned to the world. Workers were moving about A dozen warriors waited some strides away. They hailed Svipdag. He reckoned they had not been among his foes of yesterday. This morning was likewise bright and bleak. The sounds of footfalls, words, beasts snorting and stamping, a magpie's caw, came sharp as the sunlight.

Svipdag stopped behind Yrsa and cleared his throat She showed him her face, now that she had reined it in. "Greeting to you," she said.

"I thought we might talk a while, my lady," he got out

"Like old times? No, dead years can no more be reborn than dead men. But of course I'd be glad of your company. Let's walk down by the river."

The troopers came well behind. Nobody spoke as they made their way through the bustle and chatter and many-fold stares of Uppsala town. Beyond the gates, Yrsa headed south along the bank. Though the path was frozen hard, ice was breaking up on the river, gray sheets of it borne on a murmurous brown flow. Beyond stretched the Fyris Wolds, here almost empty save for a couple of farmsteads whose smoke rose straight up into the windless chill. On the right, the bluffs were overgrown with brush and topped with woods, leafless.

"My lady—" said Svipdag at length. He swallowed "My lady, we're taking you home . . . aren't we?"

She looked away from him. He could barely hear her. "No."

"But that's madness! Adhils—"

"I have no fears for what he may do to me." Now she sought his gaze and caught his arm. "Hrolf, though— Svipdag, can't you make him understand you must go? Adhils, if he has to, Adhils will raise every shire in Svithjodh, and the most frightful magics, for your undoing. You can't think how rich in hatred he is!"

Svipdag's knuckles whitened around bis axhaft. "Should I . . . should your son leave you alone for that to spill over you?"

"I have my men." She nodded backward. "Not only those. Enough more. They may have sworn me no open oaths, but they're in my debt and acknowledge it. Here I helped a family through a famine, there I got a judgment softened, or I freed a thrall when I saw how his eyes would follow an eagle—well, you know what the highborn can do." Into her tone entered a shrewdness he had often heard from her son and brother: "Self-interest, too, among a number of chiefs and strong yeomen. They know how ruthless and greedy the king is. I am a counterweight to him. And he knows that they know that. He dares not touch me. Rather, he lives in fear that I'll be smitten by some deadly sickness which'll seem to be from his witchcraft. Then would his days be few!" Her laugh was brittle. "Did you not believe, Svipdag, the daughter and wife of King Helgi the Skjoldung could learn how to take care of herself?"

They walked on in silence until he said, "Even so, here is nothing for you any more. You would have honor in Denmark, and . . . and love everywhere around you."

Her fingers stroked across his. "I know, my dear old avenger. How well I know. But I have my work. What would become of those who've plighted me their troth over the years, did I leave them? What of the war against you that would surely begin, once I could no longer give redes and spin webs?" She pointed. "What of my Helgi? Yonder he and his men he in their howe, some miles further on, where they fell. Without me, who would offer at that grave, who would tend it—" she shuddered—"who would keep Adhils from dishonoring it, yes, digging up his skull to make a drinking cup and his shoulderblades to mark with witch-runes?" Svipdag gripped her elbow.

"They say," she went on after a while, "once in this land, when Domald Visbursson was king, the harvests failed. To make the gods friendly again, the Swedes offered many oxen; but next year was worse. Then they gave men; but still the hunger deepened. In the third year they slew King Domald and sprinkled the altar and idols with his blood. There followed good seasons and peace."

"I see. You are a queen, Yrsa."

"And you are my brother's sworn man, Svipdag."

They went on as far as Helgi's barrow, and stayed a while before going back.

That evening, and in the two which came after, Yrsa shared the high seat with Hrolf. If she seldom smiled, none saw grief upon her. The warriors were happy. More and more did they use the nickname Kraki for their king. Vögg blushed at that, and scampered around to tend their wants. Because his life would be in danger here, and because he yearned for it. Yrsa got her son to agree to take him along.

During the days she busied herself readying for Hrolf’s trek home. Otherwise she spent most of her time at his side, listening to his tales of what had happened in the years since he was a tousle-haired boy whom she could kiss goodnight.

On the morning of his leavetaking, folk had gathered from far around. They filled Uppsala town, raising a buzz like bees, as they waited outside the garth to see the Danes go by. Within the stockade, guardsmen and household workers made a wall around the yard. The weather stayed clear and cold, though a wind bore the first damp breath of spring.

King Hrolf and his men stood at the middle, outfitted in the finest of clothes and mail, a shout of color and gleam, spearheads blinking aloft, Yrsa's gifts to replace what the fire had spoiled. For the heightening of his fame, she wanted everybody to see what else he took away. First trundled an eight-horse wagon, Vögg driving, heaped upon it treasures of gold, silver, precious stones, amber, ivory, furs, stuffs, goblets, weapons, coins and goods from abroad. A gasp arose at the sight.

Next grooms led forth twelve tall red Southland horses bearing bridle, saddle, ringmaiL and one for the king which was white as snow.

Then the queen trod from among her warriors, richly clad. In both hands she bore a silver horn as long as an arm, whereon were molded gods, beasts, and heroes. She stood before her son and spoke into the whoo of the wind: "Behold what is yours."

In the hearing of the witnesses, that none might question it afterward, he asked her, "Have you now given me as much as I rightfully own and my father had?"

"This is far beyond what you had a claim on," she answered in pride. "Moreover, you and your men have won great honor."

She lifted the horn. "This will I give you besides. Here are the best rings of King Adhils, among them the one they call Pig of the Swedes and hold to be the foremost in the world." She took it out. Its blaze awakened murmurs and cries. This was no common coil, but a circlet broad and thick, studded with gems, upon it the figure of a boar, the steed of Frey.

"I do much thank you, my lady mother," said Hrolf. He gave the horn to Beigadh to carry. Bjarki nodded. It struck him as good that that mark of renown should ride with one who had been lamed in the king's service.

"Now ready yourselves as best you can, so that none may get at you," Yrsa told them: "for you will have many trials."

She could not help that last useless warning. Earlier she had begged Hrolf to take some of her men along. He felt she needed them more. Besides, those who left families behind would not likely fight well.

"Oh, luck fare with you," she whispered. 'I’ll be offering in the temple and at your father's howe—"

He looked down into the face which was half his own, laid hands on the slight shoulders, and said: "Better than anything else is your wish, my sister. Better than the hoard we've won has been the finding of your love again, my mother." His hawk spread wings above her, his hound licked her fingers.

"That you came to me, that outweighs any gift I could ever make you."

"Men seek fame that their memory may not die with them. Always will you be remembered in Denmark, Yrsa."

"Because of you and Helgi."

"No, because of yourself."

They fell silent, since their voices were breaking in earshot of the crowd. After a little, Yrsa went among the king's men, took the hand of each and bade him farewell in the same way as she did his fellows. Briefly she embraced Hrolf. Then she stood aside while he mounted. He drew his sword and kissed it, looking at her. She waved as he and his men rode out the gate.

When he was gone, she said to her chief guard: "We had better talk over ways of keeping peace within the kingdom. First, though, I have to see the head steward about some matters in this household."

The Danes rode more slowly from Uppsala than they had come in, for the treasure wagon could not move fast. Most of them made their spirited new horses rear and prance. Hjalti kept hailing girls he had met. Otherwise the dwellers were doubtless glad to be rid of these dangerous guests. Yet they uttered no sounds of ill will, where they crowded the ways and windows and walls of their burg. Grandfathers would tell grandchildren of this they had seen when they were small.

The bridge boomed beneath hoofs and creaked beneath wheels. Across the river, King Hrolf led a way straight south over the Fyris Wolds. It would not be easy to fetch home the huge weight of his winnings. He meant to use these open fields, where the road was still firm but snow lingered only in patches amidst puddles, as far as they reached.

Uppsala fell from sight; his last glimpse was of ravens above the temple wood. Day wore on past noon. The land began to roll, the stands of timber to show more often and more thick. Here were no farmsteads; this was summer grazing for livestock, mast for swine. The wind strengthened, tossing Hrolf’s cloak like flames, making him squint and his hawk lean forward with claws clasped hard into the ringmail. It smelled wet, the wind, and was not truly winter-cold. It drove long white clouds over heaven and their shadows swift across earth.

The king rode moodily, eyes turned downward. All at once a cloud blew off the sun and a glare was in the rutted way before him. The men saw too, and called out. There lay a heavy ring of gold. As the king's horse passed over, it belled.

He drew rein. "It makes such a noise," he said, "because it thinks it ill to lie thus alone." He took one from his arm, cast it down to the other, and told his warriors: "This will I leave off, to pick up gold though it lie on the road. And let none of you dare do so either; for it was thrown here to hinder our faring."

"Freely will we promise, lord," said Svipdag. "The hand of Adhils has reached here from afar."

The band had halted. Vögg on the wagon tried not to shudder. The men looked stern. In this stillness, they heard a lowing borne up the wind. Bjarki raised a palm. "Hush," he said, and afterward, "Aye, lurs. The hand of Adhils was not so far off after all."

"Ride on," ordered Hrolf. "Whip up those horses, Vogg.”

The wagon could merely lumber, swaying, clattering, squealing. Erelong the Danes saw a host of men behind them. At first this was no more than a darkness on the ridges; but soon it was banners and weapon-blink, horn-hoots, hoofbeats, and wrathful shouts.

"Mounted," said Svipdag. "That's how Adhils rallied them so soon."

"Two or three hundred, I'd guess," added Hjalti'. "It looks like a busy afternoon ahead."

Bjarki stroked his red beard. "Indeed they're setting briskly after us," he rumbled "I could wish they get something for their trouble."

"Let's not fret about them," said King Hrolf. "Belike they'll hinder themselves."

He took from Beigadh the horn which Yrsa had given him. "Ho-ha!" he cried to his white horse. Off he galloped, a mile to the right and a mile to the left. As he rode, he dipped into the horn and flung his opened fist abroad. Far and wide-he sowed gold rings across the Fyris Wolds.

"Can we be less free than our lord?" asked Bjarki. "A share of this treasure is ours." He went to the wagon, scooped out a double handful of costliness, and did as the king did. Likewise did his fellows. Gold and silver flashed through the air like shooting stars until all the ways lay glowing.

The little troop then hastened onward. When the Swedish host saw the riches which gleamed before them, most sprang from horseback and raced to learn who was quickest to pluck this up. Glancing behind, Hrolf and his men saw how fighting broke out among them; and the Danes laughed aloud.

King Adhils caught up with his levy. However fat, he was a great lover of horses and a good rider; it was just that his weight slowed down any mount. His face burned a cock's-comb hue, his beard streamed in elf-locks over his byrnied paunch. "What is this?" he yelled at the disorder which roiled around him. "Do you call yourselves men? You, gleaning the least and letting the most slip from you!" He flailed about with the butt of his spear. "Listen, you dolts! Stop and hear your king! This shame’ll be noised unendingly in every land of the world . . . that you, uncounted many, let a dozen get away! A dozen who slew your own kinsmen"

Slowly he and a few hard heads brought others to their senses, who in turn beat and scolded more. At last, maybe half the host started off afresh. The rest squabbled on " over their loot. Several were already dead. The feuds from this day would grind on for years.

Now the sun was low, shadows long, rooks seeking their nests in loud streamers across greenish heaven, wind shrill and chill. A few miles away reared the wall of a pinewood, and steeply rising lands beyond it, where out. numbered men could hope to lose their hunters.

"Ride, you coal-biters!" Adhils shrieked. Himself he leaned in the saddle as if to reach ahead of the beast he spurred and flogged. Hoofs thudded, metal rattled, helms and spears flared through gloom. "Ride, ride! Oh, if I had my besom here! If I'd had time to call my trolls—"

Hrolf looked ahead and behind. "We'll not win to safety as we're going," he said. "No matter the hoard. We don't need it. The gaining of it has been enough. Empty the wagon!"

Once more the Fyris Wolds flamed golden. Bjarki cut a draft horse loose for Vögg to ride bareback.

When the Swedes saw that kind of wealth scattered around, greed overwhelmed nearly all of them. They hurled themselves onto those rings and coins and jewels as if onto women. Adhils and a faithful few did not stop to upbraid them. Instead, these sped on; and they still outnumbered the Danes three or fourfold.

King Hrolf reached into the otherwise empty silver horn. A hundred yards from his stepfather, he drew forth the ring called Pig of the Swedes, and cast it on the road. It caught the light like another sun.

Adhils slammed his horse to such a halt that blood broke from its mouth and it screamed. Well might Hrolf have more right to that ring than he did; but this was the greatest halidom in Svithjodh.

His followers went by in full gallop. Hrolf’s sword sprang on high. "Have at them!" he called. He and his twelve champions rushed to meet their oncoming foes.

Northmen are not wont to fight from the saddle. They have neither the skill nor the trained mounts. But to Leidhra had come the best of warriors. They not only sought to become peerless in the manly crafts known everywhere; they were always thinking of new ones and trying these out. Thus they could make their beasts crowd near a foeman's, and themselves wield weapons without losing reins or stirrups.

Swords sang. Axes crashed. Spears went home. The hawks came down to snatch at Swedish eyes; the great hound Gram worried Swedish steeds. Not one of those who stayed true to King Adhils went home alive.

He himself dared not dismount. While his horse jittered about, frightened by this movement and racket, he tried to pick up the ring on his spear. Again and again he poked; always it slipped off the point. He slugged his beast to a standstill, bent far down, and groped two-handed after the thing of gold.

Hrolf had slain a man who threatened weaponless Vögg. Looking around, he saw what went on. His warriors heard him laugh: "Now stooped like a swine is the lord of the Swedes!" Forward he hurtled on the stallion that Yrsa had given him.

Adhils had almost looped the Pig on his spear. Hrolf sped by. Up went the sword Skofnung and down, a whine like the wind's, a thud like a butcher's cleaver. Blood spurted. Adhils yammered. Hrolf had cloven his buttocks to the bone.

"Bear that shame for a while," the Dane-King shouted, "and know who he is that you've sought for so long!"

Adhils toppled from his saddle. Hrolf swept about. Leaning over in mid-gallop, a single foot in a stirrup, he caught the ring. That would let him say he had gotten back his inheritance. And he had avenged King Helgi better than if he had slain the murderer.

Those who wrangled over the strewn loot saw what had happened. In horror, some of them remounted and rode to help Adhils. By then he had swooned for loss of blood. They had no will to do more than staunch his wound and carry him off. Unfollowed, Hrolf and his men rode on their way.

Since that time, skalds have often called gold "the seed of Kraki" or "the sowing on the Fyris Wolds." If riches were left behind, honor was brought home which would never be forgotten.

King Hrolf and his twelve came into the woods. Tall and thick were those pines; level sunbeams that struck between them only deepened the gloom everywhere else. The air was too cold for smelling of any sweetness. The trail was free of snow and windfalls but covered with duff, so that the horses traveled in an eerie quiet. They were tired out and often stumbled. The riders felt the same weariness upon themselves.

Then the way brought them to a clearing. They could barely see a house under the trees, though little of its shape or how big it was. A tall old man stood outside, leaning on a spear, decked with a blue cloak and a broad-brimmed hat

The king halted. "Good evening, Hrani," he said.

"Good evening, Hrolf Kraki," answered the yeoman.

"How does he know that nickname?" whispered Vögg. "And I. .. I've been on this path ... no garth was ever here."

"Hush," Hvitserk the Swede told him. "We've met this being before—whoever or whatever he is."

"Be welcome under my roof," said Hrani.

"You are most kind," said tie king.

"I think your faring was not unlike what I foresaw."

"That's right. You were not smoke-blinded."

The yeoman stabled their horses and brought them inside to the long, remembered room of fire and shadows. Again they were taking things as these happened, as if in a dream; but however guest-free the old one seemed, they felt something nightmarish.

Hjalti muttered about that to Bjarki. The Norseman nodded. "Aye, me too," he said in his fellow's ear. "Well, after what we saw at the hall of Adhils, we're bound to be wary of what comes from beyond our world."

Hrolf himself must strive to show politeness. Hrani's hand was bony on his elbow, leading him toward a table. Thereon lay a sword, a shield, and a bymie. They were black and strangely made.

"Here are weapons, lord, which I will give you," said Hrani.

Hrolf frowned. "Those are some ugly weapons, yeoman," he answered.

Hrani let go of him. Beneath the hat, an eye caught the flickering bloody fire-glow like a leap of lightning. Within the long gray beard, his mouth drew into a line. "What do you mean by that?" he snapped.

"I would not treat my host rudely—" the king began.

"But you think my gift unworthy of you?"

Hrolf stared upward into the half-hidden face, braced himself, and said: "We're newly come from a lair of witchcraft and trolls. There may well be spells working against us yet, or traps set to catch us in an ill doom. The sword Tyrfing goes about in the world, and each owner gets victory from it, but he becomes an evildoer and in the end the sword is his bane."

"Do you hold that these also are accursed things I have made?"

"I know not. Therefore I cannot take them."

Cold as a wind off the Swart Ice blew Hrani's words: "Little do you reckon me for, when you spurn my gifts. I deem you will get woe as great as is this demeaning of me."

"I meant no such thing, friend." Hrolf tried to smile.

The yeoman cut him off. "Call me no longer friend. You are not as wise in this as you believe, King Hrolf—" his glare stabbed each man to the marrow—"and none of you are as lucky as you think."

"It seems best we leave," said Hrolf slowly.

"I will not hinder you," answered Hrani.

No further word did he speak. He fetched their horses back out, saddled and bitted to go, and leaned on his spear in the murk. Grim was he to see beneath his brows. The men thought nothing was to be won by bidding him farewell. They mounted and rode hastily off, to get as far as they could before night was altogether upon them.

But they had gone barely a mile, enough for the mist to lift in their heads, when Bjarki stopped. The rest did likewise. Dim in twilight, he told them: "Too late do the unwise come to understanding. So is it with me. I have a feeling we did not behave very sagely when we said no to that we ought to have said yes to. We may have bidden victory go from us."

"I begin to believe the same," spoke King Hrolf. "That could have been old Odin. Truly—only now do I know what I saw—he was a man with one eye."

Svipdag's own single light glimmered. "Let's hurry back," he said, "and find out about this."

They trotted under the spearhead pines and the first wan stars. Save for muffled thuds of hoofs, faint creak of leather and clink of metal, the whimper that Vögg could not wholly quell, they went in silence. Dark though the way was, they knew the place when they reached it. The garth and the yeoman were gone.

King Hrolf sighed. "No use searching for him," he said, "for he is an angry wraith."

They turned around again, and at length found a meadow to camp in. None wanted food or drink, and it was now too murky to gather sticks and tinder for a fire. They slept badly or not at all.

In the morning they fared on. Nothing is told of them until they reached Denmark.

Surely, though, they were quick to lift up their hearts anew. They were bold men, homeward bound from mighty deeds. As for their weird, they had never supposed they could escape that, whatever it was and whenever it would find them. Meanwhile, in leaf and blossom, bird-song and the bright glance of maidens when they rode by, spring was coming to birth.

But in Leidhra, Hrolf the king and Bjarki the marshal talked long under four eyes. It was Bodhvar-Bjarki who gave the rede that henceforward the Danes should hold away from battle. Both felt they would not be attacked while they themselves stayed at peace. However, the Norseman said he was afraid the king would not be the winner as hitherto, should war seek him out; for Odin is the Father of Victories.

Hrolf answered: "His own doom sets the life of every man, and not yonder spook."

"You would we lose last, if we might have our way," Bjarki said. "Nonetheless I have a heavy feeling that things will be happening to us."

So they ended this talk, but were most thoughtful thereafter.

Yet high stood their name. Low had they brought the murderer of King Helgi. The troll he served and the best of his men were fallen. The hoard he had withheld was lost to him, borne off the Fyris Wolds in a hundred different saddlebags. Shamed and lamed, lonelier than one who has been wrecked on a reef, at night in the hollowness of his hall King Adhils wept.

VII

THE TALE OF SKULD

I

Now for seven years there was no warfaring out of Denmark or into it.

This does not mean that everything was quiet.

Upon his homecoming, Bjarki was gladly greeted by his wife Drifa—who had a little son to show him—and by the folk, not just on the lands he owned but widely around. They knew that, as the king's right arm, he was their warder against outlaws and outlanders. Those guardsmen who had been sent back were less happy; they felt their honor had suffered. Hrolf found words to ease the pain: Eldritch powers had been at work, and their manhood was not less because the Norns had cut no runes above their cradles to say they should fare outside the bailiwick of mankind. Thereafter he gave them such gifts of gold and weapons that the whole kingdom could know how well he thought of them. Meanwhile Bjarki's bluff mirth got them to smiling again.

Twelve could not be soothed: the berserkers. Besides being mostly too dim-witted to grasp that no man is fitted for all tasks, they were restless. For them was nothing in life but fighting, guzzling swilling, and swiving. The peaceful three soon palled, and Hrolf Kraki no longer sent them forth to battle.

Late in the summer, Agnar their headman flared up at Bjarki, one eventide in the hall at Leidhra. Hrolf stopped the quarrel and chided the berserker before the whole company. Agnar went off to brood. At last he slouched back to seek out the king. For the shame that had been put on him, he grumbled, no amends would do save that he got Hrolf’s daughter Skur to wife, and the kind of dowry that befitted her.

In horror, the girl fled to her sister Drifa, who gave comfort and spoke to her husband. Bjarki trod before the king. Hrolf was sorely puzzled as to how to keep the peace on one hand, without breaking any oaths to his men, and on the other hand how to keep that clod out of his kin. "Lord," said the Norseman, "you have rightly forbidden fights when we are met in a body. But nothing was said about holmgangs, was it? I'd rather be dead than have this son of a mare for my brother-in-law; and surely he'll oblige me."

Agnar bellowed. Hrolf tried to mend the breach, mostly because he feared he would lose his marshal, but it could not be done. In the end, Agnar and Bjarki rowed to a small island and set out the wands.

The berserker got the first stroke. His sword that he called Hoking crashed on Bjarki's helmet, broke the rivets and sent iron plates screaming from each other. Barely did it stop short of the wearer's skull; blood ran past the noseguard. Ere it could be withdrawn, the other blade was up, left hand gripping right wrist and one foot on a stump to give more strength.

Lövi smote home. Afterward Bodhvar-Bjarki made a stave:

"This will I say you for sooth, the wildest of stags did I strike,

starkly hitting in strife with the long lean weapon hight Lövi,

winning a wealth of fame on the day when I brought him down,

Agnar, the son of Ingjald; highly they hailed our names!

Höking aloft he lifted and hurled it onto my helmet

Well that that blade was worn so its wailing edge could not wound me!

Bitterly would it have bitten if the steel had stayed on its road.

Swiftly then did I swing, and my sword did cleave him asunder,

hewing his hand off to right and leaving no foot on the left,

while in the whirling between, it ripped out the roots of his heart.

Truth will I tell: I never saw man more doughtily die.

He sank but he did not swoon, and up on his elbow raised him,

laughing let go of his life, unscathed in his scorn for death.

Happily fared he hence to whatever home is for heroes.

Boldness dwelt in that breast, and grinned at the gathering dark. Sorely I think he suffered, in both his body and soul,

for that he had not felled me; yet stricken, he still could laugh."

And Bjarki saw to it that Agnar got an honorable burial. This did not dampen the rage of the rest of the berserkers. They set upon him while he was homebound. Hjalti and Svipdag had come along as witnesses. The upshot was that two more berserkers lay dead and none of the others lacked wounds.

For what they had tried to do, King Hrolf outlawed them. They left bawling vows of revenge. But unlike those who had been cast from Uppsala, they seemed to have nowhere to go for help, so strong were the peace at home and the awe abroad of Hrolf’s Denmark. Everyone agreed that not only the royal halls, but the whole land was better off without them.

Skur later became the bride of Svipdag. They say she was happy enough, dour though he was.

Next year came mighty tidings: King Adhils was dead.

He had been taking the lead in springtime offerings to the female Powers. As he rode around their bloodstained shrines, his horse stumbled. No longer able to keep well the saddle, he was cast off and struck his head against a stone. The skull burst, the brains flowed forth. The strange gods they served were not overly kind to the Ynglings.

The Swedes raised a mound over him and took for their king Eystein, his son by a leman of years ago. Yet they, and he, still felt love for Queen Yrsa; and was she not both mother and sister to the great Dane-King? Thus she stayed in the councils of the land, and had many men at her beck. She would fain have visited Hrolf, but age was beginning to weaken her. He, for his part, deemed it unwise to thrust himself upon a new lord of Svithjodh, as if to be overbearing rather than friendly. So he and Yrsa kept putting off a new coming together.

One thing that had Hrolf Kraki busy a while was that he stopped making offerings of his own. "Odin has become our foe," he said. "Besides, I never did like the hanging and drowning of helpless men, and always gave only beasts. As for those, I can't see that the slaughters which Adhils held were of much use to him." At first the folk dreaded famine and worse, when their king would not even enter a temple. He had to talk down a number of their spokesmen. But one good year followed another; trade waxed and widened; the peace seemed unshakeable.

Everyone could do what he thought best Aside from gifts at the graves of their forebears and to the little beings which haunt house and home-acre, the king and his men called no more on any Powers, but trusted in their own strength.

Of course, this was not true of his under-kings—least of all Hjördvardh at Odin's Lake, husband of his sister Skuld the Elf-Child.

In the years since their wedding, they had mostly kept to themselves. After Bjarki slew the cattle-raiding beast, Hjördvardh particularly grew anxious to show goodwill. A few seasons he went along in the Jutland wars, and he never failed to send men, as well as paying his scot of gold and goods. Otherwise he tended the lands he owned and the work of steering northern Fyn. He was somewhat of a sluggard, content to have things done for him, and might have ended his days happily as he was were it not for his queen.

In all that mattered, the balding plump man was ruled by the black-haired slender woman whose eyes were like changeable green lakes in a snowfield. Because of her, his judgments were harsh. Folk soon learned that it was as unwise for them to protest as it was for Skuld's own thralls. Those who gave trouble to her or her husband
were likely to have bad luck: sickness, a murrain on their
livestock, a blight on their crops, a fire, or worse. She made no secret of her witchcraft, though none ever dared spy on her when she fared alone into the woods or out on the heaths. Some whispered they had seen her riding at night, on a gaunt horse which galloped faster than any live beast, and that a troop of shadows and misshapen things came after.

Yet she and Hjördvardh must stand well with the gods, for toward these they were lavish. At the holy times they would give to each of the Twelve lives of his or her own kind—goats to Thor, swine to Frey, cats to Freyja, bulls to Heimdal, horses to Tyr, and on in that wise until it came to Odin. He got men.

They throve, keeping a big hall, a full household, stuffed coffers. If they did not show forth a splendor like Hrolf Kraki's, it was rather because Skuld was stingy than for lack of the wherewithal.

Bitterly did she hate that her husband was her brother's underling. Each year when the scot went off to Leidhra, it was as if her heart's blood were in the cargo.

Always she nagged Hjördvardh about his lowliness. This way of hers grew worse after the High King returned from Uppsala, to make war no longer and to stand aloof from the gods. "It must not go on," she said.

Hjördvardh sighed, where he lay in bed next to her. "Best will be for us as for the others, to suffer this and let things stay calm."

"Small manhood do you have," she spat through the dark, "seeing how you brook the shame that's put on you."

"It's unwise to brave King Hrolf. None dare raise a shield against him."

"You don't, so skimpy is the strength in you. He who risks naught, wins naught. Who can know before it's been tried, whether anyone can beat King Hrolf and his warriors? I think he's become altogether victoryless, and he himself knows that, and this is why he stays at home. Well, we can come to him!"

"Skuld, he's your own brother—"

"I'd not spare him on that account."

"Be glad of what we have, my dear." He groped for her, feeling the cool smoothness of her skin, breathing the summeriness of her hair. She thrust him away and turned her back. Hjördvardh did not try to have her. He had long since learned he could only do that when she wanted it, and then it was oftenest her who bestrode him.

She did not push the matter further for a while, aside from a growing shrewishness. Indeed, the overthrow of King Hrolf was nothing to undertake lightly. For four more years she busied herself in the deeper lore of witchcraft.

"Have a care with those spells," Hjördvardh begged her. "King Adhils was a great wizard. It did him no good."

Skuld's laughter froze him. "Adhils? That poor wretch? He only thought he knew something; and few were the beings that heeded him. I have teachers—" She broke off and said no more.

Then a Yule Eve came when she rode off alone as was her wont. Folk glimpsed her from afar, mounted on the ugly old nag she used at such times, her hair and a cloak of the same blackness tossing around her shoulders. She was armed only with a knife and a rune-carved staff; but from men she had nothing to fear. She vanished in twilight, and those who had seen her go by hastened indoors to their hearthfires.

Some miles from Odense, on the shore of the bay, stood a hill. Wind-wrenched trees and brush, bare now in winter, grew around its bottom. Whins and ling decked the rest of it, up to the top where a dolmen squatted. Snowfall had been scant thus far in the year; the land lay dark, bushes snickering an answer to tie whine of a north wind. Clouds drove over heaven, rimmed in paleness by a crooked moon which flew between them. Waves clashed on the strand, making stones rattle. The air flowed raw. A taste of salt was on it, and the stench of a dead seal which had washed shore. Inland, wolves gave tongue.

Skuld dismounted and went into the dolmen. There she had a kettle and firewood for the seething of spells. Something had already filled it for her; and she needed no toil with flint and tinder to kindle a blaze. Those were low flames, blue, heatless on the skin if not the water, making shadows move so monstrously on the stone walls that the murk was not lifted but came nearer.

Crouched in the low, narrow room, Skuld held her rune-staff over the brew and cried certain words.

A sound came as of sucking. She stepped forth. Any other horse than hers would have screamed and bolted at how the water bubbled down below, how something rose from it and moved ashore. Earth shivered at the weight of each slow footstep. He who climbed the hill dripped water which glowed coldly white. Chill breathed from his wet flesh, with a rankness of fish and undersea reaches. Like kelp were his hair and beard, and his eyes like lamps.

"Bold must you be to have called me," he whispered. She looked up the hulk of him and said: "I have need of your help, kinsman." He waited.

"I know how to raise beings from outside the world of men," she told him, "but they may well rend me unless a might like yours bids them stay their fangs."

"Why should I ward you?"

“That the High King's peace may be broken."

"What is that to me?"

"Do not ships plow your waters, more every year, and never a manslaughter aboard to feed your conger eels? Do men not fare out in yearly greater numbers, unfrightened, to club your seals, harpoon your whales, raid the nests of your cormorants and gannets, drag then-nets full of your fish, and wreck the sky-clad loneliness of your outermost islands? I warn you, I who am half human, I warn you: man is the foe of the Old Life, whether he knows it or not, and in the end his works will cover the world—never again will it know freedom or wild magics—unless we bring him down, haul him before it is too late back into the brotherhood of Beast, Tree, and Waters. For your own sake, help me!"

"Would you not merely replace one king with another?"

"You know I would not. Not really. I would use folk."

Long and long he stared at her, there in the windy dark, until she herself grew frightened. At last he laughed, a strangely shrill gull-noise out of so vast a throat. "Done! You know how such a bargain is made fast,"

"I do," said Skuld.

When she had taken off her clothes and followed him into the dolmen, she must bite her lips against the cold weight and scaliness and smelL clench her fists against the hugeness that battered her bloody. She knew this would happen often again.

But he would stand by her when she called horrors out of the earth.

Toward dawn she rode home. Clouds had wholly shrouded heaven. Her nag stumbled in the gloom. Dry snow blew over the ground. Shuddering with cold, her body one ache of weariness where it was not in pain, she nonetheless held her head aloft in a pride no hawk could have matched.

Of sudden, hoofs resounded. They did not thud, they rang, and went swifter than moonbeams. The steed which overhauled hers was the hue of milk and silver, unearthly fair. Likewise was the woman in the saddle. In robes which gleamed and shimmered as if woven of rainbows, she had the face and midnight hair which were Skuld's; but her eyes were golden, and sorrow was upon her.

"Daughter," she cried, "wait! Hear me! You know not what you are doing—"

Other hoofs—too many hoofs—roared over the sky. Hounds bayed up yonder, horns blew, iron flashed. He who rode before that troop was on a stallion which had eight legs, and wore a cloak which flapped like wings and a wide-brimmed hat which shaded his one eye. He hefted his spear as if to cast it at the woman. She wailed, wheeled her horse around, and fled weeping. Skuld sat where she was, watched the Wild Hunt rush by, and laughed.

In the morning, as she and her husband made themselves ready for the Yule offerings, she sent their servants away. Across the room she strode to grab Hjorvardh's wrist. Her nails drew blood. He looked at her: worn out, darknesses around the sunken eyes, yet a flame clad in flesh.

"Hear me!" Though her voice was low, somehow it shook him. 'I’ve told you before how unfitting it is that you bow down to Hrolf Kraki. I tell you now, it need not go on, and it will not"

"What—what—" he stammered, "What are you thinking of?"

"I have gotten signs that promise us victory." "My oaths I swore—"

"The night which is past heard other oaths. Hjördvardh, you are my man. You must then be man enough to take revenge for the scurvy trick my brother played on you long ago—and moreover get the lordship of Denmark." He opened his mouth. She laid a finger across those lips, smiled, and purred: "I've thought out a plan which should work. Listen.

"Strong is King Hrolf’s household. However, we can raise more fighters than that, and if we take him by surprise, he'll have no chance to send a war-arrow among the yeomen. You ask how we'll get such a band of our own, without his knowing? Well, there are many who've no love for him, chieftains he's humbled, berserkers he's sent away, outlaws skulking hungry, Saxons, Swedes, Götar, Norsemen, aye, even Finns who'd be glad to see him cast down, and... others I know of.

"We need wealth for bribes and to pay for weapons from abroad, smuggled hither. I've hit on a way to get that—keep it, rather, keep what's rightfully ours. We'll send word to Leidhra, asking leave to withhold payment of the scot for three years, and at the end of that time to bring it all at once."

"Why?" Hjördvardh got out

"We'll explain that we need it to buy ships and goods which'll further outland trade. Hrolf ought to like that. And it'll help make the work, the comings and goings hereabouts, seem harmless to him.'' "But—but—"

"What's the risk? At worst he'll refuse us, and then we must stay at peace. I don't think that'll be needful. If we can keep back the wealth, why, we'll feel our way forward, doing nothing till we're sure of our next step, making no move till any doubt is dead that we can overwhelm him.''

Hjördvardh was unwilling, but Skuld kept after him day by day, night by night. At length he agreed, and messengers went off across the Great Belt.

They brought back word that King Hrolf was happy to let his brother-in-law put off payment for as long as was asked, and wished him well in his undertakings.

Thereafter Hjördvardh began searching out those who had grudges against his overlord, and every kind of ill-doer. Egged on by Skuld, his eagerness waxed as he saw his strength building up. For her part, she found cunning ways to keep hidden from Leidhra what was really going on. If one who was loyal to Hrolf Kraki began wondering aloud about some of the men who came to Odense, and if the story given out did not set his mind at ease, she had spells to blind and dazzle.

No longer did she pester her husband. Instead, she was so Löving to him that he became like a worshipful puppy. Even then, he never got the courage to ask what she did on those nights when she rode alone from the hall.

Thus three years went by.

As for King Hrolf and his men during this time, what can be said other than that they lived in happiness, and the land which he steered did likewise? In the welfare and safety of folk, in righteous laws and judgments, in good harvests and burgeoning markets, in growth of towns and sowing of new fields, in man dwelling at peace with his neighbor, are no tales to tell—only, afterward, memories.

Surely the troopers found much to do. Besides attending the king, they had their own ships and farms to look after. No doubt Bjarki went back to the Uplands and greeted his mother and stepfather, taking along many fine gifts; and Svipdag fared away off to Finland in search of furs; and Hjalti sailed to England to see what he could see; and it may well be that they rowed up the rivers of Russia or along the Rhine to Frankish countries. If so, they were traders. Big and well-armed as they were, nobody tried attacking them.

At home they had merriment, every night a feast in the king's hall where the boards well-nigh buckled under the meat and horns were always filled, skalds chanted, wanderers yarned about their travels, and Hrolf Kraki the ring-breaker stinted nothing. There would be daily weapon drill, and the care of steel, and such-like chores; but there would also be hunting, fishing, fowling, wrestling matches, races afoot or on horseback or in boats, stallion fights, games of skill like draughts or gambling with knucklebones, long lazy talks, gadding about and chaffering with yeomen, planning, daydreaming; and somewhere in or near Leidhra burg, each man had at least one woman, and thus fell into those bonds which the hands of small children weave.

There is nothing to tell about those seven years of peace, save that Denmark has never forgotten them.

At the end, King Hjördvardh and Queen Skuld sent word to their kinsman King Hrolf. They would come spend Yule with him, bringing the scot they owed.

Said he to the messengers: "Tell them how glad I am of that, and how welcome they shall be."

II

The week around midwinter was a time for feasts, fires, meetings in mirth and love, a break in that season when a day was no more than a glimmer in the night But never was there more honest joy than in the hall of Hrolf Kraki.

On this Yule Eve the flames bawled, horns and cups clashed together, laughter and song and talk surfed everywhere around till the walls boomed. In a sable-trimmed kirtle embroidered red and blue, trews of white linen, gold heavy on arms and neck and brow, the king in his high seat glowed before them all. At his feet panted the hound Gram, on his shoulder perched the hawk High-breeks, close to him were the sharers of his farings, beyond them the best men and ladies of the whole wide realm he had forged. He smiled, happy to see this much happiness. Yet a slight sorrow was in him and he said to Bjarki: "Why are Skuld and Hjördvardh not among us? Could they have been shipwrecked?"

"Hardly, lord, on that short a trip and calm as the weather's been," answered the Norseman. "Belike something came up that held them back from starting, and they're beached for the night on Zealand's west coast and will row into Roskilde harbor tomorrow."

"Unless she's come to grief from one of those businesses she's forever running and runing after," muttered Svipdag. He had never liked the king's sister or her dark crafts.

"Hoy, that's too uncheerful." Bjarki drained a silver goblet of beer, wiped the foam off his red mustache, and shouted for more.

Vögg sprinted to obey. The boy from Uppsala was become a young man. It could hardly be told; he was still short, scrawny, almost beardless upon what little chin he had, his hair tangled regardless of how hard he combed it. The troopers had given up trying to make a warrior of him. At weapon practice, weak, slow, awkward, he won merely bruises, and a few times broken bones. However, they liked him well enough—his pale eyes dwelt upon them with such endless awe—spoke kindly to him, saw to it that he was well-fed and well-clad. In return he fell over himself in his eagerness to run any errand or do any job. His proudest boast was that he had worked his way up to being cupbearer to the king and the twelve great captains.

"Thank you," said Bjarki. He peered through the roiling, juniper-smelling warm smoke and added across the din: "Why, you've sweated yourself as wet as a fresh-caught haddock. Sit down, lad, have a stoup and let the women serve for a while."

"M-m-my honor is to be at your beck," stuttered Vögg.

He turned his head birdlike back and forth along the row of them. "D-does anybody, any of my lords want more?"

"Aye, you can fill this," said Hjalti and handed him an aurochs horn twined with gold. As Vögg scuttled off, his arms and legs pumping, Hjalti laughed, "You know, I think his trouble is he needs to get laid. So do I, as far as that goes."

"Well, you've a right pretty sweetheart," said the king. "Why didn't you bring her tonight?"

"She was too scared at the thought of going home after dark on Yule Eve. And home she'd've had to go, because here's no place to bang her, guests stacked like cord-wood." Unlike Bjarki and the other ranking guardsmen, Hjalti owned no full-sized house in or near Leidhra. He felt it was too much trouble, when he could be out hunting or fishing.

Vögg came back and bent the knee as he offered the full horn. Hjalti stroked his own short fair beard—he still did not have thirty winters behind him—and said, "Of course, we do have haymows and such around. Vögg, my friend, how would you like for a Yuletide gift that I told off a thrall girl to pleasure you?"

The youth's jaw dropped. A while he blushed, sputtered, shifted from one foot to the next, before it dragged from him: "I, I, I thank you, lord, b-b-but—no, if she didn't want—" He jerked a bow and fled.

Hjalti chuckled and shrugged. Bjarki turned a look more earnest onto the king. "My lord," he began, "I've spoken of this to you before, but being reminded—your only living children are female."

"And I should beget a son, best by a wedded wife?" said Hrolf Kraki.

"Yes. An heir for us or our own sons to raise on a shield, that Denmark may go on beyond your life."

"Goodly matches can be had in Svithjodh since King Adhils got rid of himself," Svipdag said.

Hrolf Kraki nodded. "You're right, all of you, and I've waited too long. There was a girl once—" Pain touched his voice. "She died. I ought to set her ghost free of me. Let's talk further about this, the next few days."

The Golden Boar was borne in. Though the king and his men no longer had much to do with any gods, they had not given up the old usage of making Yuletide vows. He himself was first. He rose, laid his right hand on the image, gripped a beaker of wine in his left, and spoke the words he did each year: "As best I can, I will strive to be Landfather . . . for everyone." His tone was low but carried from end to end of the room. Men sat hushed while he drained the cup. Then they cheered forth their love.

Soon after, Hjalti asked leave to say goodnight. He had several miles ahead of him before he could cool his lust A groom, sleepy and shivering, brought his harnessed horse out into the courtyard. Over the crupper were slung mail and shield, and he bore a spear as well as a sword and knife. Unlikely did it seem he would need any of this in the king's peace. He mounted. Hoofs clattered on flagstones, pounded down lanes where houses loomed like cliffs, passed through the gates and left the burg behind.

He rode north at a brisk pace. The night was quiet and chill; breath smoke white from man and beast, hoarfrost formed on iron, the clop when a rock in the road was kicked rang far across rime-gray meadows and murkily huddled farmsteads. Overhead were many stars and a vast, shuddering sheaf of northlights, from whicti rays of wan red and glacier green fanned out over half the sky. The Bridge glittered, the Wains wheeled on their unending ring around the year. Once an owl went soundlessly by, and Hjalti thought of fieldmice huddled in fear of those wings ... like men in fear of the Powers?

He lifted his head. Not him!

Thyra his leman dwelt alone in a hut, small but stout, which he had bought for the use of those women he found among thralls or poor crofters. When they grew swollen with child, or he otherwise wearied of them, his custom was to send them off with enough gold—and their freedom, if they had not had this before—that they should be able to marry fairly well. Nonetheless they sometimes wept.

He stabled the horse himself, feeling his way, and beat on the house door. "Who's that?" trembled from behind shutters.

"Who do you think?" Hjalti teased.

"I... I'd not looked for you—"

"Well, here I am, and badly in need of warmth!"

Having left a clay lamp lit, she could unlatch the door and lead him inside at once. His hands roved in the light of that wick and the embers of a banked hearthfire. Thyra was a big young woman, fair-haired, full-breasted, goodly to see.

She clung to him, her fingers so taut as to belie the rounded softness of everything else. "Oh, I'm glad, I'm glad," she whispered. "I was frightened. I kept having gruesome dreams, and waking, and trying to stay awake, only they came back—"

He scowled; for strangeness walks ever abroad on Yule Eve. "What dreams?"

"Eagles tearing at dead men, men who'd been horribly hacked . . . ravens above them, and darknesses beyond, lit by flashes like those lights out there tonight. . . . We had an old neighbor when I was little, he called the northlights the Dead Men's Dance.... Then a voice went on and on in my dreams, forever, as if it and I fell down a bottomless gash in the world, but I couldn't understand what it said—"

For a heartbeat Hjalti was daunted. Remembering his thought as he rode hither, he then smiled. "I've that which'll soon drive such things out of you, my dear."

They hastened to bed, where he made love to her thrice in a short time. Afterward they fell asleep in each other's arms.

But the dreams came upon him too: gallopings and shouts through a windy sky, wingbeats, cruel beaks and claws, a feeling of loss unspeakable and unbounded.

He struggled awake. "I will not fall back to that!" he said aloud. Thyra moaned at his side. And did he catch another noise, in the thick night where he lay?

Aye, something moved and shrilled, miles away across the loneliness. Hjalti glided from beneath the covers. Cold gnawed at his bare flesh. He fumbled across the floor to a window and threw back its shutters.

Still the land lay hoar and empty, beneath leaping spears of light and the utterly withdrawn stars. Here and there, trees stood like blackened skeletons. Quartering the world-rim, from Roskilde Fjord toward Leidhra, moved a host.

Hjalti had keen eyes; and he knew too well what the gleam of iron meant, the bulk of men by the many hundreds massed together, muffled sound of boots and hoofs, trundling of carts laden with war-gear. Yet this was no wholly human gang. Wings toiled dark and ragged overhead; monstrous shapelessnesses stalked, crawled, writhed on the flanks of the warriors.

The truth burst upon him. He shouted.

Thyra started from sleep. "What is it?" she wailed.

"Come here." The answer was raw in his throat "Look."

He pointed. "Friends don't fare like that," he said. "Too late, I see what was keeping King Hjördvardh and Queen Skuld. They got fighters to meet on Fyn, landed on an unpeopled strand, and now—and now—it has to be them! Who else but that witch would bring such beings ... and she withheld the scot—O gods!"

They have a revenge in the North which they call cutting the blood-eagle. The man is held down on his belly, and a blade loosens ribs from backbone till they spread out like wings. It would not have drawn from Hjalti the shriek which the woman heard this night.

"Outnumbered, unwarned," he groaned. In another yell: "Light! Start the lamp, you lazy slut! I have to get ready—and find my king!"

It may be that she was hurt by the sudden nothingness which she had become in his eyes, and wanted to strike back a little, to remind him of herself. Or maybe she was only shallow, did not grasp what danger was upon King Hrolf, who had been almighty as long as her young memory reached, and she hoped to brighten her lover's mood by a jest. She is dead these hundreds of years and cannot speak. As Hjalti, in mail and helmet, led forth his horse, Thyra stood in the doorway. The lamp she bore cast a yellow flicker on a cloak she had thrown over her shoulders and the pride of her beauty beneath. She smiled and called, however shakily: "If you fall in battle, how old a man should I marry?"

Hjalti stopped as if frozen under the stars. At length he grated, "Which would you like best, two fellows of twenty years or one of eighty?"

"Oh, the two young men," she barely laughed. Maybe she was about to add something like, "Not that they could really replace the one of you, my darling." But he screamed:

"Those words will you suffer for, whore!" He sprang at her; his knife flared; he caught her by the hair and slashed off her nose.

She staggered back. Her lamp smashed on the earth and went out. Blood poured from between the fingers she lifted. "Remember me if any come to blows over you," jeered Hjalti, "though I think most'll find little to want in you hereafter."

Too stunned to weep, she said—her voice which had been sweet gone flat and strangled—"I’lI have you dealt with me. I never looked for that... from you."

The knife clattered out of Hjalti's hand. He stood a while, seeing how dread on behalf of his lord and his brothers in arms had made a berserker of him. Stooping, he picked up the weapon, for it might be needed, and sheathed it, red though it was.

"None can think of everything," he said in his sorrow.

He might have tried to kiss her, but she shrank from him with horror. And . . . they were asleep at Leidhra. He soared to the saddle and was off.

The enemy host was moving fast and had gotten far ahead of him. Over the land he rushed. Wind roared in his ears, through lungs and blood. It was as if the north-lights filled his skull. He did keep in mind that he must go a long way around, not be seen by his foemen or, worse, that night made flesh which walked and flapped about them. He came to the stockade of Leidhra burg with some time to spare just as his horse fell dead.

He sprang clear, rolled over on the ground, picked himself up and shouted at heaven: "Then take it if you want!"

Past the drowsy watchmen he stormed, through the lanes to the slumbering hall. There he snatched a brand from a low-burning trench, whirled it till flames blossomed high, and cried his warning.

Out among the houses he sped, calling on every man who ever gave troth to Hrolf Kraki to rise and arm himself. An old Bjarkamaal puts words in his mouth:

"Warriors, waken to ward your king!

All who fain would be friemds to their lord,

know that our need is now to fight.

I tell you that here, bearing hardened weapons,

Hrolf, there has come a host against you,

and they ring our dwellings around with swords.

I think that the scot of Skuld, your sister,

no gold has bought to gleam in the halls,

but strife with the Skjoldung seeks instead

Unfriendly he fared here, the false King Hjördvardh,

to lay you low, that lordship be his.

Doomed to the death we are indeed

if no revenge we take on the viper.

Athelings, rise up and honor your oaths,

all that you swore when the ale made you eager!

In foul winds as fair, keep faith with your lord,

he who withheld no hoard for himself

but gave us freely both gold and silver.

Strike with the swords he bestowed, and the spears,

in helmets and hauberks you got from his hand;

let shine the shields that he shared with you,

thus honestly earning the wealth he gave.

In manhood we now must be making our claim

on the goods we got in a time more glad.

Feasting and fondness have come to an end.

Horns we hoisted in drinking of healths;

broad were our boasts as the food-laden board;

we gleeful played games with girls on the benches,

and maidens grew merry when marking our passage

in colorful cloaks that we had from the king.

But leave now your lemans! Our lord has a need,

in the hard game of Hild, for a hewing with blades

to throw back the threat at his throat and at ours.

Frightened men are not fit to follow him;

rather we rally none but the dauntless

who ask no quarter from ax or arrow

and eye unblinking the ice-cold edges.

His champions hold the chieftain's honor;

best he goes forth when bold men follow

shoulder to shoulder and ready to shield him.

Hard shall the housecarl grip the haft,

swiftly to swing a sword at the foeman

or beak of ax that it cleave his breast.

Hang not back, though the odds be heavy.

Ill did it always become an atheling

if ever he truckled to tricksy luck."

They sprang up: Hromund the Hard, Hrolf the Swift-Coming, Svipdag and Beigadh and Hvitserk the fifth, Haaklang the sixth, Hard-Hrefill the seventh, Haaki the Bold the eighth, Hvatt the Highborn, Starulf the tenth, and in the forefront Bodhvar-Bjarki and Hjalti the High-Minded himself; and many another man, until the burg roiled with their noise and the clang of their weapons.

Meanwhile the troop of Hjördvardh and Skuld had arrived, to surround Leidhra with numbers which swarmed further than eye could reach through the gloom. Some readied rams to break down the stockade, though doubtless they would rather spare the town by fighting in the open if the defenders agreed. In the offing, houses began to flare where the torch was put to them. Overhead rustled queer flights, and from amidst the grumble and clash of the men came unhuman grunting noises. Black tents had been raised, of ugly shapes; it could be seen that within them glowed witch-fires.

"Now does King Hrolf have need of unfrightened fellows," said Bjarki "They who'd not huddle behind his back must have boldness in their breasts."

"You speak oddly, old friend," his lord told him.

Bjarki shook himself. Standing hunched on a watch-tower, his big shaggy form seemed less a man's than a bear's. "The air reeks of spells," he muttered. "I feel—a stirring? Something my father knew ere I was born, and his ghost remembers—?" He shambled back into the hall.

There King Hrolf sat down in his high seat and let the messengers of Hjördvardh and Skuld come before him. They said, with a firmness that wavered under the grim looks upon them, that if he would save his life, he must become the kept man of his brother-in-law.

Hrolf Kraki's red-gold mane burned amidst firelit shadows. "Never shall that be," he answered. "I owe too much to those who have trusted me. Hearken, and bear back this word I give to my guards." He raised his voice. "Let us take the best drink we have," he called, "and be merry and see what kind of men are here. Let us strive for only one thing, that our fearlessness live on in memory—for hither indeed have the strongest and bravest warriors sought from everywhere about." To the messengers: "Say to Hjördvardh and Skuld that we will drink ourselves glad before we take their scot"

When this was told the queen, where she sat in her tent on her witching stool, above a blaze which made a cauldron seethe, she was quiet for a time. At last she breathed, "There is no man like King Hrolf, my brother. A shame, a shame—" Sorrow flickered out and she said, altogether bleak: "Nevertheless we will make an end."

So the king's men sat in friendship and good cheer. Bjarki, Hjalti, and Svipdag showed for their different reasons a sadness which they tried to keep from spreading. The rest talked of olden days, and bragged of what they would do, and praised their king; and he was the blithest in that whole house.

Dawn came across the winter land. Hrolf Kraki and his men took their weapons. Forth they went out of the gates of Leidhra.

III

Clouds had arisen. Away from the stockade wall, earth rolled dun, thinly white-streaked, under a sky the hue of dull iron. The air was frosty but windless. Not much color was in the troop of King Hjördvardh. Even its banners seemed murky. That was a mixed lot he had gathered wherever he could, among them outlawed murderers and robbers, evil to see beneath the helmets he had gotten for them. Against this, King Hrolf s band wore cloaks of all bright shades; his own was as red as living flame. Birds and beasts romped over the many-toned standards of his captains, that were spaced along the swine-array on either side of his own green ash tree on a golden field.

"Forward!" he cried. The sword Skofnung flew free. His followers made deep-throated answer, lur horns dunted, war-hounds bayed. As one, the fighters from the burg moved toward their foes. Though badly outnumbered, they were not few. Along their ranks went that ripple as of wind across rye, which bespeaks a peak of training.

Arrows whistled aloft. Spears flew gaunt between them. Slingstones thudded on shields. Hrolf shifted from a walk to a trot to a run. His band came with him like a part of his flesh.

They crashed upon Hjördvardh's lines. Iron sang. A man smote at Hrolf with a halberd. The king was less tall and more slender than him. Yet the king was not halted. He took that booming blow on his shield while his blade leaped and shrilled. The man went down. Hrolf sprang over him and hewed a way deeper into the rebel ranks. On his right rang Hjalti's Goldhilt, on his left thundered Svipdag's ax. The hound Gram tore at legs, jumped at necks. Overhead the hawk Highbreeks soared on shining wings.

Stroke after stroke resounded on helm, shield, hauberk, on into meat and bone. Spears and arrows went thick above. Men sank, pierced, slashed, spurting forth blood. Over them trampled the onrushing warriors from Leidhra. Horsemen on the flanks, who sought a weak spot to guide an attack, found naught but a human storm, or their own deaths.

Hjalti the High-Minded chanted in glee:

"Many a byrnie is now in tatters,

many a helmet cloven

and many a bold rider

stabbed down from the saddle.

Still our king is of good heart,

as glad as when he cheerily drank ale,

and mighty are the blows of his hands.

Like no other king is he in the fray,

for meseems he has the strength of twelve,

and no few hardy wights has he already slain.

So now King Hjördvardh can see

that the sword Skofnung bites;

now it sings high in their breasts."

Laughing, calling to his men, red-splashed but himself hardly touched, Hrolf Kraki led the way on. Slowly the rows before him broke apart, scattered to right and left where they did not fall or flee. Stern was that strife. Had the numbers of the two sides been more nearly even, it would have ended then and there.

But the Leidhra lord had not enough to overrun the enemy host. Though he clove through its middle, its flanks were unscathed. Beneath the banners and horn-hoots of their captains, these moved aside in an order not much shaken.

There was nothing Hrolf’s folk could do but catch their breath while they waited for the onslaught. Svipdag roared at some who were over-eager: "Get back where you belong! They want us to wear ourselves out, chasing after them!

"However," he added starkly to his master, "if we can't break them soon, if we can't get to yonder tents where Queen Skuld is brewing her spells, we'll have worse to fight against than men. Those trollish things we glimpsed may be shy of daylight, but she'll do something about that if she gets time, the witch." His single eye smoldered across the angry dead and the writhing, groaning wounded, to the lines which rallied for a new battle.

Hjalti mopped sweat from his face, looked around and said in astonishment: "Why, where's Bjarki? I thought... he must have been our right-hand anchor . . . there's his banner, his men, but I don't see him anywhere."

His mirth left the king. He turned about, and blinked when he spotted little Vögg nearby. The Swedish youth had scrabbled up a leather doublet, a rusty old kettle-helm, and a butcher's cleaver. His knees knocked together. Blood trickled from his bitten lips. "Come here!" Hrolf hailed.

Vögg obeyed. "You should have stayed back, lad," said the king.

"I ... I am your man too, lord," he answered. "I am!"

"Well, you can be a runner, then. Go find out what's happened to Bodhvar-Bjarki. Has he been slain or captured or what? Somebody will have seen—a man of his size, his ruddy beard."

Vögg scuttled off. Hrolf gazed after him. "I don't think he shudders from fear," the king murmured. "There's a heart in that thin breast."

Hjalti gnawed his mustache, stamped feet and slapped arms, trying to keep warm during a wait which felt endless. Would the fight never start again? The first clash had taken no small part of this shortest day in the year. He failed to find the sun behind the grayness that hid her.

Vögg returned. "Lord," he panted, "none have seen anything of Bjarki. Not a thing since w-w-we left the hall."

"How can this be?" broke from Hjalti. "How can he spare himself and not come near the king ... he who we thought was the most fearless we had?"

King Hrolf clapped him on the shoulder and said: "He must be where he can help us best. His will could be for nothing else. See to your own honor, go forward and scoff not at him, for none of you can measure yourselves against him." He added in haste, "I slander nobody, though; you're all outstanding warriors."

Hjördvardh and his captains had been haranguing their own men and getting them into better order than hitherto. Now the mass of them rolled at the defenders. Hrolf raised a new shout and led his folk ahead.

Once more spears and arrows whistled, once more came shock and clang and hoarse yells. Meeting foemen who had not had to do battle before, they of Leidhra might have been in an ill case. Yet they cut and beat their way on. Nothing could stand before them.

For ahead of their wedge, close to their king, went a great red bear. Each blow of his paw sent a dead man to earth; his jaws ripped; rising, he hauled riders from their seats or slew the very horses; and upon him, no edge would bite.

Few on either side could see this, so closely were the fighters crowded together. Hrolf’s folk, who suffered not from the bear, knew for the most part only that the ranks against them were giving ground anew. Lustily they hewed, with thought for nothing else. Meanwhile terror began to spread through Hjördvardh's gang. He, mounted and some ways off to overlook the field, spied what happened. He called for his captains to sound retreat before their followers should bolt.

Hjalti himself had been little aware of the beast. He was too busy warding and smiting. Across weapon-clash, shields, helmets, faces that hated him, he could not make out what the bear really did. Dimly he supposed it was a sending of Queen Skuld's, which however could not help her while daylight lasted.

Mainly, through the hammering and howling, he brooded on Bjarki, his more than father—on the undying shame that would be Bjarki's, that he was not here this day.

When the foe melted away afresh, when he saw there would be another halt in the strife, Hjalti ran. Back to the burg he went, overleaping the dead and dying, setting foot in pools of blood where they steamed, frightening off the carrion birds which had settled at the rear. Through open gates he dashed, down empty streets, past barred doors and shuttered windows behind which women and children crouched in dread, until he reached the house of Bjarki.

Here no latch stopped him. He flung the door wide and burst into the room beyond. It was cold and winterdark, hardly touched by a small hearthfire. He glimpsed Bjarki's wife, Hrolf Kraki's daughter Drifa, in the shadows of a corner, her children close around her. On a bed lay the man. He wore a byrnie, but his sword was sheathed and he stared straight upward.

The woman cried out and moved to block Hjalti. He brushed by her unheeding, grabbed one broad shoulder, shook it and screamed:

"How long must we wait for the first of warriors? This is unheard of, that you're not on your feet, using your arms that're strong as a bear's! Up, Bodhvar-Bjarki my master, up or I'll burn this house and you inside it! The king's in danger of his life, for our sake! Would you wreck the good name you've borne so long?"

The Norseman stirred. He turned, sat, rose to loom over his friend. Heavily he sighed before he answered:

"You need not call me fearful, Hjalti. I have not been afraid. Never have I fled from fire or iron; and today you'll see how I still can fight. Always has King Hrolf called me the foremost of his men. And I've much to repay him for, that he gave me his daughter and twelve rich garths and every kind of treasure besides. I fared against vikings and robbers; I warred the length and breadth of the Denmark we built with our blood; I went against Adhils, and Agnar I slew, and many another man—"

His words, which he had almost crooned as if in dream, broke off. His gaze sharpened on Hjalti, who was stabbed by a sudden chill. Bjarki's voice quickened:

"But here we have to do with more and worse witchcraft than ever before. And you have not done the king the service you think; for now it is not long till the end of the fight." With a breath of kindliness: "Oh, you've done this unwittingly, not because you did not wish the king well. And none save you and he could have called me forth as you did; any others I would have slain." Sadly: "Now things must go as they must. There is no longer any way out, and less help can I give King Hrolf than I did before you came."

Hjalti bent his head, knotted his fists, and said through unshed tears, "Bjarki, you and he have always stood highest before me. It's so hard to know what one ought to do!"

The Norseman put coif and helmet on his head. Drifa came to him. He took her hands in his. "It hurts that I can no more look after you," he said. "Ward well the children we got together."

"With a father like theirs," she told him, "they will need little help."

He hugged them too. Shield in his grip, another slung across his back to use when the first was beaten to ruin, he followed Hjalti out.

Day had started to dim. Bjarki trod before King Hrolf and said: "Greeting, my lord. Where can I best stand?"

"Where you yourself choose."

"Then it will be near you." The sword Lövi gleamed free.

A runner came to King Hjördvardh from the black tent where Queen Skuld squatted. He peered through dusk and saw no more of the red bear; nor was it ever seen again. Heartened, he told his captains to egg on their troops.

His host moved forward slowly and raggedly. They had taken frightful losses. Far fewer of the Leidhra men were down, and fierceness had not slackened in those who were left. Yet—maybe because they were still more afraid of the witch—the rebels went back to battle.

Alone and yet not alone, Queen Skuld cast her runes and chanted her staves. The fire flowed higher; things moved in the smoke and in the steam out of her cauldron.

Forth from the ranks of King Hjördvardh ran a hideous boar. Wolf-gray, huge as a bull, he made earth shake beneath his hoofs. His tusks flashed like swords. The sound of his grunting and squealing struck fear into the stoutest souls.

At him sprang the hounds of Leidhra. Baying and yelping, they ringed him in. He hooked his snout to right and left. Slashed, broken, the war-dogs soon lay heaped around him. For a while Gram hung on his throat. At last the boar tossed him aloft, and as he came down gored him open.

Then onward the beast raged. From the bristles upon him, arrows began to fly. No shield would stop them. Before that sighing death, the guardsmen of King Hrolf fell in windrows. Gaps showed throughout their lines which could not be filled.

Svipdag whirled his ax on high. "Close in!" he bawled. "Have at that troll before it reaches the king!"

He sped forward. Over his head swooped the hawk Highbreeks. An arrow drove through the warrior's left shoulder. He did not feel it. The galloping beast was well-nigh upon him. He kept his weapon moving, ready to cleave that grisly skull. Two ravens flew at Highbreeks. The hawk met them with beak and claws. Unscathed, they pecked him to death. The sight caught Svipdag's one eye—only in a corner, but enough that he did not see how close the swine was. Tushes ripped into byrnie and belly. Flung heavenward in a cloud of blood, Svipdag's body was long in falling.

The boar hit Hrolf Kraki's array. Through and through it tore, swung about and gored.

It could not be everywhere. One wing it might crumple. The other went on. So did the middle, where flickered the swords of the king, of Bjarki, and of Hjalti.

Soon, however, the press broke everybody's lines. The fray became man against man, shield-burg against shield-burg, ramping, swirling, striking, gasping, falling across reddened winter earth where twilight and cold grew ever deeper.

More loudly than the beast roared Bodhvar-Bjarki. His sword shrieked, thundered, belled, crashed. Here a head went, a hand, a leg; there a shield or helmet gave way, and the bones behind; one foeman toppled across the next, and his arms were bloody to the shoulders. Nothing did he want but to fell as many as might be before he also went down.

Hrolf Kraki no longer laughed. He only struck. Hjalti stayed near, trying to fend blows off his king. The rest of the Leidhra men fought no less boldly.

Yet as darkness gathered, it did not seem that their slaying made less the flock of their enemies. Bjarki knew one warrior from of old, when the kingdom was whole. This man was now Hjördvardh's and came at him. Worn out, many times wounded, the Norseman did not ward himself well. He felt a spear strike home through a rent in his byrnie, though that was a dull and far-off knowledge. His sword split a shield. For a while he and the man traded blows. Bjarki cut off an arm and a foot, and with a backhand return cleft the fellow through the breast. He fell so fast he did not even sigh.

The strife brawled on. Hrolf Kraki's warriors were steadily driven backward. Bjarki met the same man as before. The thing grinned at him; its eyes were empty; still it struck. Bjarki stood fast till the tide of battle parted them. This was not the only time he came upon such a being.

Those of Hrolf’s captains who lived, sounded their horns. Those of his followers who could, joined each other before the gates of Leidhra. There, for a little while, they held their ground, hewing so heavily through murk that the host before them fell back from their throats. For a few breaths, then, they got rest.

Bjarki knew Hjalti in the gloom and croaked: "Mighty is our foe. I think the dead are swarming here and rising anew; and bootless it is to struggle against drows. Where is the man of King Hrolf who called me afraid?"

Hjalti answered: "You tell the truth, you say no scorn. Here stands he who hight Hjalti, nor is the way between us wide. I feel a need of fearless friends, for shield and byrnie and helm are shorn from off me, oath-brother. And though I'm slaying as often as always, I cannot avenge those cuts I take. Now less than ever may we spare ourselves."

Through the gates streamed the last of the Leidhra folk. Their king and a few others held the way—until the troll-boar came. Its thrust drove shields into ribs; men tumbled, men reeled aside. Bjarki stepped to meet the beast. His sword Lövi flared like a shooting star. The boar sank dead. First it had rammed a tusk through the marshal's ring-mail.

"Greatest is my grief," rattled in his mouth, "that I can't help my lord—"

Hjalti gave him an arm to lean on. He staggered nine paces before he fell. The shields around King Hrolf drew inside the stockade. Their enemies followed. Forth darted a slight shape. "I'll hold them!" screeched Vögg. A warrior barked laughter and swung an ax. It did not go through the kettle-helmet, but Vögg toppled, stunned.

Still the fight went on. The Bjarkamaal has Hjalti call out:

"Our lives have we lost, our last horn drained.

To death are we given, to doom our hopes.

We shall not see yet another sunrise—

unless among us, all manhood lacking,

one grew fearful and fled the battle

or does not die at the feet of his lord

but cravenly crawls to beg for ruth.

The burg is breached and the foe storms inward,

the din of axes is on our doors;

bitten too often, our byrnies hang ragged,

baring our breasts to the manyfold blows,

shattered our shields and hacked our shoulders.

Wildly the weapons crash and clang.

Who is so heartless that hence he would flee?

Men I see fallen upon the field,

battered and broken the bones of their jaws;

teeth he ablink in the running blood,

like stones in a stream that laves their bodies.

Few are the folk I have left beside me,

though far from my king I will not fare.

Hard is our need, and help is not coming.

Our shields have been gnawed to nothing but handgrips,

our weapons blunted, and we made weary.

Then wrap around wrists the golden rings

we got from our lord in goodlier days

that the wealth he gave may give weight to the blow!

In weal and in woe we did well with our king,

and even in hell will uphold his honor.

Let us die in the doing of deeds for his sake;

let fright itself run afraid from our shouts;

let weapons measure the warrior's worth.

Though life is lost, one thing will outlive us:

memory sinks not beneath the mould.

Till the Weird of the World stands unforgotten,

high under heaven, the hero's name."

Dying, Bjarki lay on the frozen earth. Hjalti knelt above him. The marshal peered skyward and mumbled, "Here are so many gathered against us that we have no hope of holding them off. But Odin have I not seen. I think he must be hovering somewhere around, the son of a troll, the foul and faithless. Could I only know where he is, that wretch would go home with a wound to make him howl, for what he has done to our king."

"It is not easy to bend a doom," said Hjalti, "nor to stand against overhuman might." After a while he closed Bjarki's eyes and got stiffly up to meet his own death.

The last warriors of King Hrolf made a ring around him. Skuld herself had come through the night Sheerly mad, she cried forth monster after monster. Before that tide of witchiness, which they did not know save as horrible shadows and stenches, snarling and fangs, the guards and the great captains went down. Hrolf Kraki trod out from the breaking shield-burg. Man after man he felled. No one of them slew him; it took them all

When she had her victory, Skuld made haste to send her trolls back whence they came and bid her dead lie quiet. Thereafter, by torchlight she sought her husband and hailed him High King of Denmark. That was in a few flat words, for she and he alike were too weary for happiness. They sought shelter in the hall. Darkness and stillness owned the burg Leidhra, save where Vögg woke alone and wept

VIII

THE TALE OF VÖGG

I

Later that night it began to snow, and this went on the whole following day and evening. It walled in the world, made earth and sky one, filled the utterly hushed air. The snow lay heavy on every roof, on trampled, bloodied ground, on heaped and strewn dead as if to hide them from the ravens.

Forth into the dim morning went the women of Leidhra. Drifa Hrolfsdottir led them. They wore cowls which hid their faces. With besoms to uncover the fallen, they sought their men and, as these were found, helped each other bring them home. King Hjördvardh gave orders that nobody was to trouble them. It may have been needless. The wildest robber, leaning on his spear as he stood guard, must have felt awe of those dumb shapes which moved in and out of the blindness tumbling everywhere around him. Too much had happened yesterday that was eerie. Too high had the cost been. Winning was ashen.

Those who saw the queen return from the tent she had sought, near the day's end, felt yet more unease. She went like a sleepwalker, green eyes staring blankly, narrow face pinched. The snow on her uncovered hair made her look old.

Within the hall, her husband drew her aside, into a corner away from the woefully trudging housefolk. "Well, what signs did you get?" he whispered. His fingers plucked at her cloak.

"Bad ones," she said, her tone empty, her gaze afar. "Over and over I cast the runes. Always they came up direful. When I gazed in the cauldron, I got no sight or hearing save that . . . that far off in a highland, someone bellowed till the mountains tolled back his grief and wrath; and he was not human.... I think maybe we have been used, you and I." She shook herself. Her eyes cleared, her head lifted. Haughtiness rang forth: "Well, we are the king and queen of Denmark. Let the world know that!"

Hjördvardh must needs hold a feast at eventide, wherein he thanked his warriors and bestowed gifts on them. It was not a merry time. The hall seemed huge and hollow. The highest-leaping fires could not drive night out of it nor fill a silence which grunted talk failed to deck over. Though King Hrolf’s guests were unable to go home in this weather, nearly every one of them had found lodging with a widow of a man of his, or with common families who likewise mourned their lord, and was not on hand. Aside from thralls, no women sat on the benches or bore around food and drink. Shadows stirred like the ghosts of those who had been here aforetime, crowding in on their huddled-together shabby killers. The fire-crackle was like an echo of their laughter. The air was cold and stale, as if this were the inside of a barrow.

"Hu," shivered Hjördvardh, and drank and drank. They came before him for their wages of gold and land, the hirelings, the outlanders, the outlaws, the Danish nithings, his men, and he must praise them, the whole while remembering those others. Queen Skuld's shrill mirth woke no answer in him.

When he had done what he must, and heard a skald he had brought along say a few lame staves in his honor, he was quite drunk. Suddenly he filled his lungs and cried forth:

"Well have you wrought, my fighters, yes, yes, that you have. But what a wonder it is to me, that not a one of King Hrolf’s many warriors saved his own life by flight or surrender. Not a one. Am I right? See how faithfully they loved their lord . . . they didn't even want to outlive him. Eh? Unlucky am I—oh, I say nothing against you, my good men, not a word, never misunderstand me— but am I not unlucky . . . might it not take away the bane ... if just one of those brave fellows lived, and would become true to me? I do want to be a righteous king. . .. Lives there a man of Hrolf Kraki's, and will he now come under my banner?"

Skuld frowned. Those on the benches muttered sourly.

Then: "Aye, my lord. I outlived yestereven," called a cracked voice. From the foreroom limped a thin, shock-headed youth in a leather doublet grimed and blood-clotted. Awkwardly he made his way down the length of the hall till he stood before the high seat.

Queen Skuld sharpened her look. "You, a man of my brother's?" she said. "Who are you?"

"I night Vögg, my lord and lady. I ... I own I am—I was not the best of them. But I did help them when they met King Adhils, and I, I was there yesterday, and am only alive because I happened to get kn-kn-knocked out."

"Will you become my man?" asked Hjördvardh.

'I’ve nowhere else to go, and, and you did win, my lord."

"Why, this is at least a hopeful sign!" Hjördvardh had a sword on his lap. He drew it. "Yes, a sign, wouldn't you say, Skuld, my dear? What was doesn't forever make war on what is. Ha." He nodded, much taken with his own wise saying. "Well, Vögg," he went on before his wife could speak, though she tried to cut him off, "you shall be most welcome, Vögg, and do better with me than it seems you did with my brother-in-law. Yes." He held forth the blade. "Swear me troth upon this my sword, and you shall, um, shall know at once how good I am."

The newcomer squared his narrow shoulders. "Lord, I can't do that. We did not swear earlier on the point. It was on the hilt. King Hrolf was wont to hand men his sword and let them hold it before him while they plighted faith."

"Eh? Hm? Well—"

"No!" Skuld began. But Hjördvardh had already leaned down, Vögg had already taken the steel from him. "Now give your faith," Hjördvardh said.

"Yes, lord," said Vögg steadily. "Here it is."

He lunged. The point rammed into the king's breast. For an eyeblink Hjördvardh gaped astounded at his own blood leaping. He crumpled. His body rolled and flopped to sprawl on the ground.

Skuld shrieked. The guards howled and snatched out their own blades. Vögg went to meet them. While they slaughtered him, he laughed and called out the name of Hrolf Kraki.

II

Over the heights of the Keel, through wilderness, across plowland where folk shuddered to see him, swifter than any war-horse sped the great ungainly shape of Elk-Frodhi. No snowbank or blizzard could halt him; his shortsword slashed whatever he needed to eat and he gulped as he fared; he seldom rested, and never for long. Within a few days he had reached that hall in West Götaland where dwelt King Thori Hound's-Foot.

The warriors aimed spears and bows at this horror which galloped toward them. Frodhi stopped and roared for his brother to come out. The king did. Frodhi spoke: "Bjarki is dead—killed. Blood fills the track I left for a mark of him."

Thori stood very still before he said beneath winter heaven, "I'll need weeks, this time of year, to gather men for revenge. Meanwhile we can send after news."

Among their scouts and messengers was one to Uppsala in Svithjodh. Queen Yrsa heard of his coming, guested him, and told him what she knew about the fall of King Hrolf. "Set a day and a place," she promised, "and you shall find waiting there a host of my own men." She sat for a little, reckoning up on fingers which age had started to gnarl. At last she nodded. "Yes, my Hrolf knew somewhat fewer years than did my Helgi, though he wrought more. They are not a long-lived breed, the Skjoldungs. They seek too far."

The troop gathered at the Scanian border. As they passed through, Danes flocked to join them. Queen Skuld was ruling harshly and heedlessly; they wanted to be done with her.

One thing she had not dared, to keep his folk from burying King Hrolf. They laid him in a ship, drawn onto a headland above the Kattegat he had warded for them. By him was his sword Skofnung, and beside him were his men, each likewise armed and richly clad. Treasures were heaped about, and thereupon was raised a hill-tall howe to stand for a landmark. The balefires burned, the women keened, and around and around the grave rode the chieftains, slowly clanging sword on shield, ringing farewell to their lord of the good days and the luck of Denmark.

From them the queen would get no help. She had none to turn to but the ruffians who brought her to power. They must be rewarded with things seized from others. So the hatred of her grew. Soon, from end to end of the land, the red cock crowed on the roofs of her jarls. Under-kings held back their scot and their faith from her; and as they stood on their Thingstones, the yeomen hailed them as free lords who owed nothing to anyone.

The runes she cast, the beings she summoned, gave Skuld foreshadowings of woe. They could not or would not tell that which would let her make ready. Another strangeness elsewhere was working against her spells, blocking her off from tomorrow.

"I think," she cried once to him who rose from the sea, "Odin wanted me for naught but to wreak his spite."

"Do you think it was mere spite?" he answered. "The Father of Victories must cast down whoever might bring a stop to war. He may well have made welcome King Hrolf Kraki and his men, to feast with him till the Weird of the World. Whether or not that is true, about the afterlife of heroes, sure it is that their names will live."

"And mine?"

"Yes, yours too, in its way."

Skuld sought her husband's grave. She missed him more than she would have awaited, the man she mocked and scourged while he humbly loved her. The thralls she told off to tend the barrow had been slothful about their work.

Early in spring, the host of King Thori and Queen Yrsa took ship over the Sound. Skuld had filled those waters with nicors and krakens. They swarmed at the fleet, saw Elk-Frodhi in the prow of the first dragon, and fled to their lairs. Likewise did the trolls and drows she had set to keep Zealand for her. His was a might more grim than theirs.

He led the attack on Leidhra. He burst through the rows of her fear-weakened guards and into the hall. He caught her in his ugly hands, clapped a sealskin bag over her head and drew the strings tight. "Not for nothing was I born," he said. His brother fought to his side, and between them they put to death Skuld the witch-queen.

During that fray, fire broke loose. The whole burg burned. "That is well," said Thori Hound's-Foot. "This ground is cleansed."

The avengers gave what was left of the kingdom to the daughters of Hrolf. Thereafter each went back to his own: Thori and his Götar to their dales, the Swedes to old Queen Yrsa, Elk-Frodhi to his loneliness.

Drifa and her sister were well-liked. However, women could not steer when things were breaking asunder, and their sons were too young. Erelong the lordship passed, in friendly wise, to a grandson of Helgi through a leman. He saved something from the wreck.

Long would the years and the hundreds of years be until Denmark was whole again. Now watchfires burned anew to warn of foes on their way. Vikings, outlaws, wild men harried dwellers throughout the North. They wrought no worse harm than did the kings, unnumbered and uncurbed: torch, sword, free folk dragged off to thralldom, the wariness of men and the weeping of women. Nothing but a tale was left of a day which had been.

Here ends the saga of Hrolf Kraki and his warriors.