CHAPTER XLII.
VIKINGS ALL! AN OLD TIME SAGA.
"Sonorous metal, blowing martial sounds; At which the universal host upsent A shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night."
Milton.
Not many months after the foregoing, Sigurd, followed by a score of hiswild Vikings, sought the cave of the priest Olaf, and they received ofthe old priest a very hearty but a very grim welcome.
"Welcome, Jarl! welcome, skalds! all of ye. Ye are the bonniest warriorsI have seen for many a day," he croaked. Truly the sunken eyes of thegnarled old Viking sparkled with strange delight, at the sight of somany hardy-looking warriors. He went round to every man of them, andfelt severally the stoutness of their limbs, examined their weapons,capering gleefully at the old-style weapons he was so familiar with, andgrunting and muttering gibberish all the time of his inspection. Such adisplay of force, unmistakably of the old stock, seemed almost to makehim young again; and he mumbled snatches of old time sagas, and weirdfolk-talk of bygone generations.
Truly they were a desperate, and a desperate-looking band,--wild,daring, and uncouth; having all the instincts of wild beasts,--reckingnothing of life, unless it were accompanied by some wild triumph overtheir enemies, and caring nothing for death; for it meant to them anentrance into Valhalla, the Viking's heaven.
"Priest," said Sigurd, "have ye any message of _forth-telling_ for us?We are hotly pursued by these foreign dogs; they have hunted us out ofour mountain fastnesses, and now they tread on our heels closely. Theyare encamped for the night in a neighbouring valley, and we cannot shakethem off, for they are tracking us with sleuthhounds. Shall we give thembattle to-night? Our stomachs are empty, and we shall be sore pressed onthe morrow."
"Skalds, tarry ye here a little while and eat, and I will inquire forye. Skuld is our friend, and he rules all _man slaying_. He will hear methis night, and if he ride with you to battle, woe will be to theseNormans--ye shall sweep them before ye. We will set up the_Skaldstong_[7] also, presently, and invoke our ancient god Odin, thathe may send his '_Maidens of Victory_,' the '_Valkyrias_,' and if theyhelp, what shall hurt ye? Ye shall hurl your enemies to the ground andslay them every one. Come into my cave, the night falls in."
[Footnote 7: Imprecation pole.]
So saying, the old priest led the way into a spacious cavern, whichopened out from the vast cleft where they stood. To the right of thecave a wood fire was burning low, and along the edge of it there were anumber of natural seats, formed by ledges of the rock. Olaf bade hisvisitors be seated, then he lighted several torches at the fire, andsuspended them against the rocky sides of the cave. In their flickeringand fitful light the cave presented a very weird appearance. Here andthere the white and jagged surfaces of the limestone rock seemed likehuman figures standing in the shadows, whilst the dark recesses threwthem out like sentinels on guard.
Evidently it was a great occasion for the priest Olaf,--his ghostlyoffice had fallen greatly into disuse of late years, to his great griefand chagrin. But troublous times had come, and men, unable to cope withtheir enemies, came now humbly to him for aid in their dire distress;and as he rambled about the cave, his mumbling, muttering and chantingnever ceased. First he ransacked the cave for food for these famishingguests, and whilst they were eating he mended his fire. Then, from astone coffin in one of the recesses, he fetched the whitened bones ofsome famous chieftain who had led them in the olden time. These heproceeded to fasten around his neck and body. Next he fetched fromanother recess a long pole with runes carved upon it. This he erected,and made it to stand by inserting its lower end in a hole evidentlyprepared for it. This was the "_Skaldstong_" or _Imprecation pole_: itsuse being to invoke the curses of Odin upon their enemies, and to invokethe help of the "Valkyrias," whom warriors often saw riding on fierysteeds to their help.
All this time Olaf never ceased the horrid chant, or song. Strangegibberish indeed--sometimes running into metric verse, which he chantedin a rude sing-song voice--at other times it was wild imprecations andinterjections, which he flung out with frenzied gestures, and inthrilling tones and loud.
Whilst this proceeding was confined to himself, it acted with electricaleffect upon these wild men. Slowly at first, then with accelerated pace,they were worked up into a strange frenzy; first giving utterance to lowpassionate interjections, then, as the infection became more feverish,they seemed completely carried away,--shouting, starting to their feet,and brandishing their swords, as though in deadly combat. Ere long everyman, Sigurd included, was in a state of overwhelming excitement,capering round the Skaldstong, holding aloft their weapons in the air,and making the cave ring again with their shouts and shrieking.
The following is a sample of the rude and uncouth song which Olafchaunted:--
"Odin, the Norse god, Skaldstong we rear; Curse us the foe near, Cold-ribbed[8] and foul. Nithing[9] is the Saxon, Marrowless his bones; Jotun,[10] we call thee, Loose us the watch-dogs. Snarls the fierce wolf, Creeping light[11] bearing; Gyg, woman of Jotnar, Haste on before; Gird on the Hel-shoes,[12] Freeze up the blood. Terror-full and shaking, The sallowy kite hovers; The wolf digs his fangs, Drinks up the blood. Skuld[13] has gotten him Vedrfolnir's[14] prey; Told o'er the corpses Fattened with gore. Water sprinkled heroes, Nornir hath life fated; Valkyrias hath guarded, Shout for the prey."
[Footnote 8: Cold-hearted.]
[Footnote 9: Coward.]
[Footnote 10: Race of gods.]
[Footnote 11: Lantern.]
[Footnote 12: The dead were fitted with Hel-shoes.]
[Footnote 13: Ruler of man-slaying.]
[Footnote 14: fabled Hawk.]
Gibberish it seems to modern ears; but upon these rude men,--withgrossly over-grown superstitions, and dwarfish reasoningfaculties,--this song, jerked out in frenzied exclamations and fanaticalintensity, the effect was electrical and intensely contagious.
Whilst the excitement was at its height, above the din the priest'svoice was heard as he shouted,--
"_Skalds, hoi! I scent the battle_; I smell the blood of the Normans."Gyg,[15]" the woman of Jotun race, has gone before ye, to confound thefoe. _Scalds, hoi!_ Arise! scatter your enemies!"
[Footnote 15: Witch.]
As he said this he handed to every man a small piece of wood, with runescarved upon it, and each one hid it under his garment. It was a sureprotection against wounds and death. Then, catching up an image of Thorand carrying it before him, he cried,--
"Follow me."
So saying, he led the way, followed by Sigurd and the rest in a state ofintense excitement. Together they scrambled out on the limestone hillsabove them. It was quite dark, saving as the boisterous wind sent thebroken and ominous-looking clouds scurrying before it, across the faceof the heavens, and permitting the stars to look down to earth. Theelements seemed, indeed, to have caught the fierce infection, for thewind howled and whistled against the huge boulders, and the barelimestone precipices on the hillside; and it soughed and roared throughthe woods below, rocking and tossing the tree-tops until they seemedpossessed by the furies. The fierce band of men responded in savage gleeto this tempest of the elements; every man amongst them believing thatthis fierce raging of nature was the work of the supernatural agenciesinvoked, and already hastening to help them in this work of revenge. Theold priest's vigour and animation was marvellous: he seemed to haveshaken off the infirmities of age; the wild fanatic spirit withinachieving a complete triumph over the weak and shattered body. He ledthe band at a brisk pace, chanting as he went the same weird song. Erelong, the downward trend which they had followed led them within sightof the Norman camp fires, at the sight of which they could not resistthe impulse to shout and savagely brandish their swords. But the stateof the elements was such that scarcely any liberties of that sort wouldbetray them.
The Normans were encamped in an open glade, with the wood all aroundthem and w
ithin twenty yards of their camp fires. Previous bitterexperience, however, had taught them extreme caution. Two or threesentinels paced to and fro, and several fierce dogs lay curled up in theglow of the fire. Besides this, every sleeper, as he lay wrapped in thearms of peaceful sleep, grasped the hilt of his sword.
Presently one of the dogs raised his head and listened, then he startedto his feet with a fierce growl.
"What is the matter, Gripper?" said one of the sentinels stooping andpatting him on the head. "'Tis only the shrieking of the wind amid thetrees."
The dog listened intently with his eyes on the wood, and gave one or twoimpatient snarls as though somewhat appeased, but not satisfied.
"Lie down again, sir," said the sentinel, again patting him.
The dog very reluctantly obeyed this command, stretching himself againwith a low, fierce growl, and placing his nose between his forepaws,whilst his eyes shone in the darkness, and rolled from side to side mostominously. Not a minute had elapsed before he sprang to his feet again;this time sending forth a loud, fierce bay, which woke the echoes andeffectually roused every sleeper in the camp. Immediately the dog sprangtowards the adjacent thicket with savage fierceness. But just as quicklyhe beat a cowardly retreat with his tail between his legs, like awhipped spaniel, for he had fronted the weird and unearthly form of thepriest Olaf bearing the image of Thor before him, and the bones of thedead hero dangling from his neck and girdle.
With a savage yell and impetuous rush the Vikings burst into the centreof the camp, sending up their fierce war cry--SKALDS HOI!--to the utterterror and bewilderment of the half-awakened Normans. Like infuriateddemons they laid about them with terrible effect; and as the Normansrealised the position, many of them sprang forward on the instant, swordin hand, only to recoil abashed with terror as they faced the weird formof the old priest, who, without weapon, or implement of war of any kind,headed the fierce onslaught. In their terror and superstition theythought that the devil himself fought for the Vikings, and they gaveback in mortal terror. Meantime their assailants made good use of thesemoments of abject consternation of their enemies, yelling frantically,and cutting down the Normans wholesale; they themselves being thoroughlypossessed with the belief that the supernatural powers fought for them.The onslaught was so furious that the Normans staggered and reeledbefore them, and hovered for a moment on the verge of an utter rout andstampede. But one Norman in this desperate strait broke the spell, forhe sprang towards Olaf shouting,--
"_Witch or devil, have at thee!_ I'll try cold steel upon thy pate," andwith a blow he cleft the skull of the old priest.
The effect of this was magical, the Normans sent up a shout which madethe greenwood ring again, and the echoes in the distant hills to sendback long reverberations.
Now the Normans laid about them with vigour, and to some purpose. Theyoutnumbered the Saxon by two or three to one, but fully one-third hadbeen cut down ere they had courage to face the foe. Now the battle ragedwith more equal fortunes. Blow upon blow, no quarter, no mercy given ortaken. At a terrible pace the ranks of each party dwindled, and ere longSigurd alone of the Saxons was left to do battle with three of theNormans. A giant he was in strength compared with his antagonists.Better equipped also he was for defence, for he wore a coat of mail, andon his head a spiked helmet, with a shield of bronze upon his arm. Buthis antagonists wilily beset him behind and before. With a spring and ablow he cut down the man who fronted him; but whilst doing it, one ofthe others cut a deep gash in his thigh from behind, and the third dravethe point of his sword between two of his ribs. Furiously Sigurd turnedupon them, and with a blow cut down another of his assailants. But againa cowardly stroke from behind severed the sinews of his left arm, andhis shield dropped immediately from the powerless limb. So these twoalone remained of two stalwart bands of men, who a quarter of an hourago revelled in the pride of health and vigour. Sigurd was fearfullywounded, with a deadly faint coming over him from pain and loss ofblood. He still, however, retained his sword arm unimpaired. Had theNorman fought an evasive battle, time was in his favour, and the burlygiant would have been helplessly at his mercy. But the Norman was notsufficiently alive to this fact, though he knew Sigurd was deeplywounded. On he came, furiously attacking his man, and the battle wasended, for with one sweep of his long broadsword Sigurd cut him down.Then for a moment he swayed to and fro, with strength all gone. Next, hestaggered forward a step or two, rolling his eyes around as though inquest of further foemen. Stumbling eventually over the corpse of afallen enemy, he fell forward amid a heap of mangled corpses; and, witha deep groan, consciousness was gone.