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_We have said that there are many and strange shadows, memories surviving from dim pasts, in this FANTASTIC UNIVERSE of ours. Poul Anderson turns to a legend from the Northern countries, countries where even today the pagan past seems only like yesterday, and tells the story of Cappen Varra, who came to Norren a long, long time ago._
the valor of cappen varra
by ... _POUL ANDERSON_
"Let little Cappen go," they shouted. "Maybe he can sing the trolls to sleep--"
The wind came from the north with sleet on its back. Raw shudderinggusts whipped the sea till the ship lurched and men felt drivenspindrift stinging their faces. Beyond the rail there was winter night,a moving blackness where the waves rushed and clamored; straining intothe great dark, men sensed only the bitter salt of sea-scud, the nettleof sleet and the lash of wind.
Cappen lost his footing as the ship heaved beneath him, his hands wereyanked from the icy rail and he went stumbling to the deck. The bilgewater was new coldness on his drenched clothes. He struggled back to hisfeet, leaning on a rower's bench and wishing miserably that his quakingstomach had more to lose. But he had already chucked his share ofstockfish and hardtack, to the laughter of Svearek's men, when the galestarted.
Numb fingers groped anxiously for the harp on his back. It still seemedintact in its leather case. He didn't care about the sodden wadmalbreeks and tunic that hung around his skin. The sooner they rotted offhim, the better. The thought of the silks and linens of Croy was a sighin him.
Why had he come to Norren?
A gigantic form, vague in the whistling dark, loomed beside him and gavehim a steadying hand. He could barely hear the blond giant's bull tones:"Ha, easy there, lad. Methinks the sea horse road is too rough for yerfeet."
"Ulp," said Cappen. His slim body huddled on the bench, too miserable tocare. The sleet pattered against his shoulders and the spray congealedin his red hair.
Torbek of Norren squinted into the night. It made his leathery face amesh of wrinkles. "A bitter feast Yolner we hold," he said. "'Twas amadness of the king's, that he would guest with his brother across thewater. Now the other ships are blown from us and the fire is drenchedout and we lie alone in the Wolf's Throat."
Wind piped shrill in the rigging. Cappen could just see the longboat'ssingle mast reeling against the sky. The ice on the shrouds made it apale pyramid. Ice everywhere, thick on the rails and benches, sheathingthe dragon head and the carved stern-post, the ship rolling andstaggering under the great march of waves, men bailing and bailing inthe half-frozen bilge to keep her afloat, and too much wind for sail oroars. Yes--a cold feast!
"But then, Svearek has been strange since the troll took his daughter,three years ago," went on Torbek. He shivered in a way the winter hadnot caused. "Never does he smile, and his once open hand grasps tightabout the silver and his men have poor reward and no thanks. Yes,strange--" His small frost-blue eyes shifted to Cappen Varra, and theunspoken thought ran on beneath them: Strange, even, that he likes you,the wandering bard from the south. Strange, that he will have you in hishall when you cannot sing as his men would like.
Cappen did not care to defend himself. He had drifted up toward thenorthern barbarians with the idea that they would well reward a minstrelwho could offer them something more than their own crude chants. It hadbeen a mistake; they didn't care for roundels or sestinas, they yawnedat the thought of roses white and red under the moon of Caronne, a moonless fair than my lady's eyes. Nor did a man of Croy have the size andstrength to compel their respect; Cappen's light blade flickered swiftlyenough so that no one cared to fight him, but he lacked the power ofsheer bulk. Svearek alone had enjoyed hearing him sing, but he wasniggardly and his brawling thorp was an endless boredom to a man used tothe courts of southern princes.
If he had but had the manhood to leave-- But he had delayed, because ofa lusty peasant wench and a hope that Svearek's coffers would openwider; and now he was dragged along over the Wolf's Throat to amidwinter feast which would have to be celebrated on the sea.
"Had we but fire--" Torbek thrust his hands inside his cloak, trying towarm them a little. The ship rolled till she was almost on her beamends; Torbek braced himself with practiced feet, but Cappen went intothe bilge again.
He sprawled there for a while, his bruised body refusing movement. Aweary sailor with a bucket glared at him through dripping hair. Hisshout was dim under the hoot and skirl of wind: "If ye like it so welldown here, then help us bail!"
"'Tis not yet my turn," groaned Cappen, and got slowly up.
The wave which had nearly swamped them had put out the ship's fire anddrenched the wood beyond hope of lighting a new one. It was cold fishand sea-sodden hardtack till they saw land again--if they ever did.
As Cappen raised himself on the leeward side, he thought he sawsomething gleam, far out across the wrathful night. A wavering redspark-- He brushed a stiffened hand across his eyes, wondering if themadness of wind and water had struck through into his own skull. A gustof sleet hid it again. But--
He fumbled his way aft between the benches. Huddled figures cursed himwearily as he stepped on them. The ship shook herself, rolled along theedge of a boiling black trough, and slid down into it; for an instant,the white teeth of combers grinned above her rail, and Cappen waited foran end to all things. Then she mounted them again, somehow, and wallowedtoward another valley.
King Svearek had the steering oar and was trying to hold the longboatinto the wind. He had stood there since sundown, huge and untiring, legsbraced and the bucking wood cradled in his arms. More than human heseemed, there under the icicle loom of the stern-post, his gray hair andbeard rigid with ice. Beneath the horned helmet, the strong moody faceturned right and left, peering into the darkness. Cappen felt smallerthan usual when he approached the steersman.
He leaned close to the king, shouting against the blast of winter: "Mylord, did I not see firelight?"
"Aye. I spied it an hour ago," grunted the king. "Been trying to steerus a little closer to it."
Cappen nodded, too sick and weary to feel reproved. "What is it?"
"Some island--there are many in this stretch of water--now shut up!"
Cappen crouched down under the rail and waited.
The lonely red gleam seemed nearer when he looked again. Svearek's toneswere lifting in a roar that hammered through the gale from end to end ofthe ship: "Hither! Come hither to me, all men not working!"
Slowly, they groped to him, great shadowy forms in wool and leather,bulking over Cappen like storm-gods. Svearek nodded toward theflickering glow. "One of the islands, somebody must be living there. Icannot bring the ship closer for fear of surf, but one of ye should beable to take the boat thither and fetch us fire and dry wood. Who willgo?"
They peered overside, and the uneasy movement that ran among them camefrom more than the roll and pitch of the deck underfoot.
Beorna the Bold spoke at last, it was hardly to be heard in the noisydark: "I never knew of men living hereabouts. It must be a lair oftrolls."
"Aye, so ... aye, they'd but eat the man we sent ... out oars, let'saway from here though it cost our lives ..." The frightened mumble waslow under the jeering wind.
Svearek's face drew into a snarl. "Are ye men or puling babes? Hack yerway through them, if they be trolls, but bring me fire!"
"Even a she-troll is stronger than fifty men, my king," cried Torbek."Well ye know that, when the monster woman broke through our guardsthree years ago and bore off Hildigund."
"Enough!" It was a scream in Svearek's throat. "I'll have yer cravenheads for this, all of ye,
if ye gang not to the isle!"
They looked at each other, the big men of Norren, and their shouldershunched bear-like. It was Beorna who spoke it for them: "No, that yewill not. We are free housecarls, who will fight for a leader--but notfor a madman."
Cappen drew back against the rail, trying to make himself small.
"All gods turn their faces from ye!" It was more than weariness anddespair which glared in Svearek's eyes, there was something of death inthem. "I'll go myself, then!"
"No, my king. That we will not find ourselves in."
"I am the king!"
"And we are yer housecarls, sworn to defend ye--even from yerself. Yeshall not go."
The ship rolled again, so violently that they were all thrown tostarboard.