CHAPTER VI.
THE SEA KING.
Through a sashless window, the next morning's light came into the roomwhere Ned was sleeping, and woke him. With it poured in the dull roarof the ocean waves upon the rocky coast of Norway.
"What's that?" he exclaimed, sitting up and looking around him. "Wheream I? I say, what would father and mother think of this? Well, I beginto remember it all now! There's Lars. I saw his hawks and the dogs andall the rest. Then came the blacksmith business and the songs and theharping. I know where I am! I'm a Viking, and I heard the messengerfrom King Hardrada. Hurrah! I'm going to invade England! Just the verything I've always wanted to do!"
He was on his feet now, picking up his arms and armour. Hisexclamations and the clatter he was making aroused the other sleepers.They, too, sprang up with shouts of warlike enthusiasm, and began totalk eagerly about the mustering of the army. They helped one anotherwith the mail and the pieces of armour, for clothing of that style hadpeculiar difficulties of its own. Their hero was Hardrada the Sea King,and they had wild tales to tell of his exploits and adventures half-wayaround the world.
"He went almost to the edge of it, once," said Lars. "I'd like to gothere, myself, and see where the sky touches the earth. It's as hard asa brick and has star-holes in it, but you can't climb through."
"He doesn't know that the earth is round," thought Ned, "but he will,some day. What he needs is the primary and then four years in a grammarschool. I want to see Hardrada, and then I'd like a good look atHarold of England and William the Norman."
Out they went to breakfast, and all the while Ned learned more and moreabout the great invasion. It was to be made by the largest force thatever had sailed from the Northland. Even Knud the Great, the conquerorof England, had never gathered such a fleet. He was a Dane, indeed, butall sorts of Northmen had gone with him, or he would have been beatenby the Saxons.
There was no order at the breakfast-table except that of first comefirst served, and nobody lingered long.
Ned's next errand carried him to a place from which he could see thelanding, and he watched the boats that were busily plying to and fromthe ship.
"They're loading her as fast as they can," he remarked. "I'd rather goby land. There'll be sea-going enough--"
A loud summons from Lars interrupted him, and in a few minutes morethey were among a considerable drove of saddled and bridled horses.
"Some of them are big ones," he said, "but Lars and I are to rideponies."
Vebba himself was very well mounted, and he was riding around, in fullarmour, giving orders to his men. These were several scores in number,and they were a ferocious-looking crew. Their arms and equipmentswere of all sorts, for each man had suited himself, and nothing likea uniform was called for by the army regulations. Most of them weretall fellows, but there were also a number of short, broad-shouldered,powerful-looking fighters, with dark skins and black hair, who almostseemed to belong to some other race.
"Who are those fellows?" replied Lars, when Ned asked about them. "Why,knowest thou not who they are? They belong to the old race that washere when Woden and Thor and our people came in here from the east.They are all miners. They live among the mountains, and some of themare wizards. They are good fighters, though, and they never spare anenemy."
Terrible, indeed, were their hard, cruel faces. One of them, inparticular, had a kind of fascination for Ned, he was so tremendouslybroad-shouldered and long-armed, and seemed so strong. It was enoughto make one shudder to look at him and see him move. There could nothave been an ounce of fat on him, but he must have weighed over twohundred pounds. For all that, however, he stepped around as lightly asa fourteen-year-old catcher in a game of baseball.
"He is worth a hundred common men," explained Lars. "He is Sikend,the Berserker, and no spear can hit him. He can catch an arrow on hisax-edge and he can cleave a steel helmet as if it were made of pine.There isn't any Saxon that can stand before him."
Ned and his friends were quickly mounted, and were riding away in asoutherly direction. Vebba remained behind to bring on the main body ofhis following, while a score of his best men went forward with his son.To him he said, at parting:
"Get speech with the king. Say to him that I and mine are coming. Saythat I have sent on great store of provisions and three more good keelswherewith he may ferry his levies. Go!"
Everybody seemed in good spirits, but there was a kind of excitementwhich was in the way of conversation. Even the women at the house andin the village were cheerful.
"I suppose," he thought, "they may do some crying when the men go,but Lars says that the Norway women can fight. His mother killed awolf once. I wouldn't like to have my mother go out for wolf-killing.Wouldn't she run! So would the girls or Aunt Sally. Oh!"
He and Lars were now riding together at the rear of their littlecompany, and just then he heard the sound of galloping hoofs behindhim. He turned his head to look, and a horseman wearing a long blackrobe and a peculiar cap reined in at his side, exclaiming loudly, inLatin:
"Thou art Ned, the son of Webb. I am Brian, the missionary, from theClontarf School and Abbey in blessed Ireland. Good-will to thee!"
Ned summoned up all the Latin he had ever worked upon, but there wasdanger of its falling somewhat short. He had begun with it early, andUncle Jack and his father had bored him horribly with it, year afteryear, making him talk it as well as read it. He could, therefore,really do something in this sudden emergency, but he was willing to saylittle and to let the rosy-faced and friendly priest do most of thetalking,--which he was ready to do.
"Alas, my son!" he remarked to Ned. "These men of the North are nobetter than heathen. They are not at all civilised Christians such aswe have in Ireland. Even after they are converted, they stick to theirold gods,--such as they are. They are all murderous pirates, anyhow. Ifit were not for the like of them and the Danes there would be peace andprosperity in Ireland all the while. Even the Saxons trouble us lessthan do the Danes and the Jutlanders and the sea kings."
Ned was entirely able to ask questions, and he was likely to learn agreat deal concerning the piety and enlightenment of the land of St.Patrick, the land of education, from which more missionaries were goingout than from any other. Already had they done wonders for the Englishand Scotch and similar idolaters. Alfred the Great, said Father Brian,had welcomed the Irish scholars gladly, giving them houses and landsand cattle. Edward the Confessor had also done well by them, and thepresent King of England, Harold, the son of Godwin, had been theirfriend when as yet he was only an earl.
"What if Hardrada and Tostig are going to beat him?" asked Ned.
"That is yet to be determined," replied Father Brian, thoughtfully."They may indeed divide the island of Great Britain with Duke Williamof Normandy. He is a pious man. He speaketh Latin. He will bring withhim shiploads of teachers and missionaries. He will build churches andfound schools, as he hath already done in Normandy. It hath been on mymind that these Vikings may but cripple the Saxons and open the way forWilliam the Norman."
"King Harold of England is said to be a hard fighter," suggested Ned.
"Thou art but a boy," exclaimed Father Brian. "I was a soldier once,myself. Mark thou! Harold fighteth with two at a time instead of withone enemy only, and each of the twain is his equal, I think. I hearthat the English themselves are little more than half-hearted forHarold. Were there not seven kingdoms of them not so long ago? They area bundle of sticks that is badly tied together."
Somehow or other, although Ned was now one of Hardrada's warriors, hefelt a strong feeling of admiration, if not of sympathy, growing in himfor Harold of England. The Saxon king was to be forced to defend thenorthern and southern ends of his kingdom at the same time, and therewas no fairness in it. A great deal that he was hearing was new to him,but he could dimly remember having read something somewhere concerningthe great development of the early Irish Church.
"St. Patrick himself set it going," he said, thoughtfully, "but FatherBrian doesn't s
eem to know much about him. Perhaps his biographyhasn't been published there yet. As soon as it is, he'd better get acopy and read it."
Something like that idea was wandering around in his mind when he spoketo Father Brian in modern English concerning the telegraphic reports ofHarold Hardrada's landing in England.
"What's that thou art saying, my boy?" sharply inquired the missionary,in good Clontarf Latin. "Change thy tongue."
Ned strove to explain the matter, but he found himself altogether atsea, for his reverend friend had not the smallest idea concerningeither printing or electricity.
"It's the lightning, is it?" he gruffly remarked. "Let me tell thee,then, thou wilt get little good out of that."
Ned was silenced completely, and gave the matter up.
"It's a curious piece of business," he thought. "I have been living inanother world than his. The world that he and all these others live inis pretty near a thousand years behind time. I wish I could give them aphotograph of the _Kentucky_ or show them an express train going sixtymiles an hour."
He and the Vikings were going along at pony trot, and he wasdiscovering that a steel mail overcoat, put on over leather andflannel, was a pretty warm kind of summer clothing.
"I wonder if a fellow ever gets used to it!" he remarked to FatherBrian. "Those Vikings don't seem to mind it much. They're alliron-clad, too, like so many war-steamers."
"There was never mail made yet," replied the good man, "but somethingwould go through it. I've split a shield with a pole-ax."
He was looking somewhat unpeaceful, just then, for his pony was kicking.
"Even a Berserker, though," said Ned, "would want no bearskin shirtto-day."
"They never wear them," said the missionary. "Thou art all wrong withthe name. The word Ber meaneth bear, that's so, but some weak mindswill spell it b-a-r-e, as if they'd fight in their linen, if they hadany. No more do they take bearskins for mail."
"What do they, then?" asked Ned, in Latin.
"Like other men," said the priest, hotly. "The meaning is that they'redescended from bears, and fight like wild beasts. There are otheropinions, indeed, but mine is as good as any other man's, any day."
Perhaps that was a good enough reason for sticking to his own notionsand lashing his pony into good behaviour. At all events, Ned did notcontradict him. He was just then recalling the savage countenance ofSikend the Berserker, and it had reminded him of a grizzly bear he hadseen in the Central Park menagerie.
"It's the same expression in the eyes," he said to himself, "but theold grizzly had a better-tempered look than Sikend has."
On went the cavalcade, halting at noon for a rest and for luncheon.Only an hour or so after that they halted again on the crest of aridge. Beyond this lay a wide, deep valley, bordered westerly by theblue waters of the North Sea. With one accord the Vikings raised anenthusiastic shout, and clashed their spears against their shields.
"The host of Hardrada the Sea King!"
"The hundred keels of Norway!"
"The flag of the World Waster!"
"Hail to the banner of Woden!"
"Hail to Harold Hardrada!"
"The spears will be many and sharp!"
"Swords will cleave helms!"
"Axes will break the mail of the Saxons!"
The war-cries of the men of Vebba, young and old, were fierce andexulting as they gazed down upon the valley and out upon the sea.Scattered upon all the slopes and levels and along the shore were thehouses of a considerable town. At the upper end of the valley, and alsoat the right of the very commodious harbour, were what looked likeextensive fortifications. These were composed mainly of strong palisadeworks, surrounded by ditches or moats. Nowhere was to be seen anythinglike a castle of stone. In the open spaces, everywhere, were tents andbooths. These must now have been empty, for the afternoon sun glitteredupon the polished arms and armour of long lines and serried columns ofwarriors drawn up in battle array as if for inspection.
"Ships! Ships! Ships!" exclaimed Ned. "Scores and scores of them,big and little. I don't see any square-rigged ships, with yards andtopsails, but a good many of them have two masts and some have three orfour. They are all single sticks without topmasts, and with brig andschooner rigging. I shall know better what they are like after I getdown among them."
Now came up from the valley a loud sound of harping and the braying ofthousands of war-horns, followed by a great shout that ran along thelines as one body of troops after another caught its meaning and passedit on.
"On, men! Ride forward! Lars, son of Vebba, yonder cometh KingHardrada. He revieweth his army before it goeth on ship-board. Thouwilt hasten to deliver to him the greeting of thy father. Let Ned, theson of Webb, ride with thee. I go to the shore speedily, to seek ourshipping. This errand is thine." So spoke the veteran warrior in chargeof this party of Vebba's men, and all rode rapidly onward.
"This is awful!" thought Ned. "I hope the king will have little to sayto me. I wouldn't know what on earth is the correct way of talking backto him."
He did not have many minutes more of riding, nevertheless, before Lars,the son of Vebba, said to him:
"Pull in, Ned. We will halt at the right front of this nearest squareof men, and wait for the king. See thou! He and his jarls and captainscome this way. I am not of full age that I may ride to meet him."
Only a man of rank or a warrior of fame, it appeared, might presume togo out in front of the lines to greet the royal company, and Ned beganat once to breathe more freely.
"I will keep a little back," he said to Father Brian. "We will let Larsdo the talking."
"That will not I!" exclaimed the rosy-faced Irishman. "Any half-heathenking like him is no better than the rest of us; besides that, I am amissionary from Clontarf. I will speak my mind to him."
He consented, however, to halt with the rest and wait for the king tocome.
Loud rang the cheers and war-cries, fiercely brayed the war-horns, asthe great Sea King rode slowly nearer. His keen, flashing blue eyeswere searching the array of his warriors, man by man, and rank by rank,while his proud face flushed with exultation. Never before had anymonarch of the North gathered such a mustering of the best fighting menof the broad flat earth.
Hardrada was almost a giant in size, being said to measure over sevenfeet, and to be strong in proportion. His armour was richly ornamentedwith gold and jewels. His gilded head-piece had no visor in front tohide his features, and his abundant, bright red hair, from which hetook his name, flowed down his shoulders in a mass of ripples, insteadof being worn in braids like those of numbers of his followers. At hissaddle-bow was slung a huge battle-ax, which few arms but his couldwield. From his belt hung a long, straight sword, in a jewelled sheath.His broad, round, gorgeously decorated shield was thrown over hisshoulder. In his hand was a long spear, not unlike the lances whichwere carried by the men-at-arms of France and Normandy.
"Isn't he magnificent!" exclaimed Ned. "Hurrah! I have seen thegreatest of the Vikings, Lars! The Saxons will find him a hard man tomeet. Who is that other man at his side? He is almost as splendid asthe king."
"That must be Tostig the Earl," said Lars. "They said he was away withhis ships, but he hath come to talk with Hardrada. He is a brother ofHarold Godwinson, the King of the Saxons. Men say he is a good fighter,but not so good as his brother. What a match it would be between thetwo Harolds of Norway and England!"
"That's so!" said Ned. "Or between Tostig the Earl and Sikend theBerserker."
"No man on earth is a match for Sikend," said Lars. "He beareth acharmed life. There are witches and wizards among his people. Theyread the old runes on the tombstones. They boil snakes and lizards andevil roots, to make charms with, and salve ointments for hurts. Some ofthem can make a sword-cut close up and heal over, but I think I wouldnot be smeared with any witch grease."
"Salve is a good thing for a cut," said Ned. "It's good for a burn,too. You can find out the right thing from the advertisements. I don'tremember any liniment, though, that t
hey said was made of snake-fat.They couldn't get snakes enough, I guess, unless they raised themthemselves."
The reviewing party of great men, headed by the king and the earl,halted as it reached the head of the column, with which Vebba's menwere posted. Its captain had not yet left it, and the king may haveknown him by sight, for he at once beckoned him forward.
With him rode out Lars, Father Brian, and, by their direction, Ned, theson of Webb.
"Speak," said Hardrada to the warrior. "What word hast thou for me?"
"It is not mine," he replied. "O king, Lars, the son of Vebba, willdeliver unto thee the greeting from his father."
"Let it be brief," said the king. "Time passeth."
"O Harold the King," spoke Lars, freely and boldly, "my father bade megreet thee with this, that all swordsmen are ready. They march this dayto join thee. The last of the provision ships lifteth her anchor atsunset. He himself cometh with the miners and the mountain men."
"It is well," said Hardrada. "I know the value of thy father. Who isthe youth with thee? O priest, hold thou thy peace!"
"That will I not," responded Father Brian, sturdily. "I have first thisword for thee that came by sea. Haste, thou and thine, or William theNorman will reach England before thee. This do I speak for thy good,if thou art able to take friendly advice, like a man of sense."
"Thou art late with thy warning," grimly responded the king. "Well didI know that matter, already. Nevertheless, I will freely hear it fromthee. Thou hast spoken loyally. And now I would know concerning theyouth that is with the son of Vebba."
It had come to pass, by the way, as they rode hitherward, that Ned,the son of Webb, had given to the missionary the Latin charter name ofthe American city that he came from, and from it a somewhat crookedunderstanding had arisen, for Eboricum is nothing but York, whether newor old. Therefore his reverend friend at once replied for him:
"He is Ned, the son of Webb, the chief, or it might be he is somewhatof a jarl. He is an Angle, and he cometh from York. And a fine boy heis, if I say it myself."
The next remark came promptly from Tostig the Earl.
"O Harold the King, my friend, did I not tell thee of my many faithfuladherents in my earldom of Northumberland and in mine own city of York?He is welcome. He shall sail with us, and we shall be joined by manymore as soon as our standards are seen at the Humber. I pray thee, forthe present, let him remain with Vebba, his friend."
"It is well," said the king. "What sayest thou, Ned, the son of Webb?"
"O king," said Ned, hoping that he was bowing correctly, although henearly pitched out of the saddle in doing it, "I will do as Tostig theEarl hath said. Lars and I are chums. I would give much to see Sikendthe Berserker in a battle. I would like to see thee fight also, O KingHardrada, or Tostig the Earl."
Loudly laughed the red-haired king, and as loudly roared Tostig andother of the great warriors.
"Well spoken!" shouted Hardrada. "Thou shalt have thy will in thatmatter."
"O Hardrada the King," interposed Vebba's captain, "I will say this forhim, that he is the best sword, for his age, that I ever saw, and hecatcheth a flying spear like an old fighter."
"I like him well," said Tostig. "So let him show the Northmen of whatsort are my men of Northumberland. It is a good thing that he hathdone, to even flee from York to join us as we sail."
No more was said, and the royal party rode slowly on along the lines.
"I'm out of that scrape, tip-top," said Ned to himself, as he and hisfriends wheeled back to their post at the head of the Viking column."But what explanation can I give if we ever get to old York? It beatsme all hollow."
At that moment the old Viking at his side said to him:
"I go, now, to the shore. Thou hast a strong friend in Tostig the Earl.I am glad to know this much more concerning thee and thine. We werequestioning much in our minds as to how we might deal with thee, andsome said it were well to take off thy head. It is ever wise to makesure of all comrades who march with us, for at times there have beenfalse companions."
Ned was silent, for he was not pleased with the suggestion concerninghis head, and the warrior rode away.
A few hours later, Vebba arrived with another force of his men, and heexpressed great gratification upon learning that he would now be underno necessity for giving an account of his young friend.
"Aha!" he exclaimed. "The youth appertaineth to Tostig the Earl, and hebiddeth him to remain with me. He is the son of a Saxon under-jarl. Iam glad to be upon better terms with Tostig."
Therefore it was duly settled in the minds of all men, and Ned wasacknowledged as being the right sort of youth to associate with Vikingsof good degree. The review having been finished, the army had scatteredto its camps. Vebba's men had been assigned an open space a littlenorth of the town, and to this his first detachment had marched. Theirfirst duty was to prepare all things for further arrivals, and thiswork began, of course, with the kindling of camp-fires. Fuel enough hadbeen provided, and Ned at once discovered something that was new tohim. The making of a fire was an affair of toil and trouble. He saw hiscomrades carefully splitting splinters and hunting for handfuls of drygrass.
"That's all right," he thought, "but just look at that fellow hammeringout sparks with his flint and steel. It'll take him all night! Whydoesn't he go for an old newspaper and some matches?"
The mailed stoker did nothing of the kind, and his sparks fell vainlyupon his insufficient tinder.
"That's it!" exclaimed Ned. "What a stupid I am! There isn't a box ofmatches in all the world! I guess I'll show them a point they don'tknow. I've a whole box of lighters in my pocket.--Now! I won't let oneof them see just what I am doing. It's a good joke."
The would-be fire maker was getting disgusted with his bad success, andhe was standing erect at the moment when Ned stooped and put somethinginto the little heap of pine splinters. Nobody had seen him scratch hismatch upon a stone, and, in a moment more, all eyes turned curiously tostare at the sudden blaze which sprang up so brightly as the resinousfuel kindled.
"It is the work of the young Saxon of Tostig the Earl!" one of themsaid.
"Ay!" remarked another. "He hath rare skill with a flint. Who ever sawsuch fire making? He hath been well taught."
He was thenceforth to be admired and valued, for one who could kindlecamp-fires readily was a welcome comrade in a campaign. Ned alsolearned from their talk that in a Norway dwelling great care was alwaystaken to keep fire from day to day, the whole year round. If the fireof one household should at any time be extinguished, it was betterto send elsewhere and bring to it a torch, from even a considerabledistance, than to toil over the creation of a brand new blaze withflint and steel.
"It only cost me one match," thought Ned. "I'll be stingy about burningthe rest. They may last me clean through the conquest of England, ifI'm careful. Old newspapers are the right thing to start fires with,though, and I can't even get an old school-book to tear up."
Tents there were none for Vebba's men, but the night was clear andwarm, and the supposed favourite of Tostig, the great Earl, slept likea top in his first bivouac as a soldier in the army of Hardrada the SeaKing.