Part 27 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXIV

FOR DEAR LOVE'S SAKE

He alone knows, Who wanders wide And has much experienced, By what disposition Each man is ruled Who common sense possesses.

Ha'vama'l

The first night out was a moonless night, that shut down on the world of waters and blotted out even the clouds and the waves that been company for the solitary vessel. The little s.h.i.+p became a speck of light in a gulf of darkness, an atom of life floating in empty s.p.a.ce. Under the tent roofs, by the light of flaring torches, the crew drank and sang and amused themselves with games; but beyond that circle, there was only blackness and emptiness and silence.

Sigurd gazed out over the vessel's side, with a yawn and a s.h.i.+ver combined. ”It feels as though the air were full of ghosts, and we were the only living beings in the whole world,” he muttered.

A tow-headed giant known as Long Lodin overheard him, and laughed noisily, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the deck where Leif's eagle face showed high above their heads.

”_His_ luck could carry us safe through even the world of the dead,” he rea.s.sured him.

But Rolf paused in his chess game to throw his friend a keen glance.

”The Silver-Tongue has been one not apt to speak womanish words,” he said, gravely. ”Something there is on your mind which disturbs you, comrade.”

Sigurd pulled himself together with an attempt at his usual careless laugh. ”Is it your opinion that I am the only person who is thinking of ghosts to-night?” he parried. ”Look yonder at Kark, how he fears to turn his back on the shadows, lest the Evil One overtake him! It is my belief that he would like it better to die than to venture into the dark of the foreroom.”

Following his glance, they beheld the bowerman, leaning against the mast with a face as pale as a toadstool. When a sailor threw a piece of dried fish at him, he jumped as though he had been struck by a stone. Rolf's gentle smile expanded into a broad grin, and he let himself be turned thus easily from his object.

”Now that is true; I had not observed him before. He appears as if the G.o.ddess Ran already had hold of his feet to pull him down under the water. Let us have a little fun with him. I will send him to the foreroom on an errand.”

Robert of Normandy set down his drinking-horn with a sharp motion, and Sigurd leaned forward hastily; but the Wrestler's soft voice was already speeding his command.

”Ho there, valiant Kark-with-the-white-cheeks! Get you into the foreroom and bring my bag of chess-men from the bra.s.s-bound box.”

Kark heard the order without a motion except an angry scowl, and Sigurd drew back with something like a breath of relief. But Rolf made a sudden move as though to rise to his feet, and the effect was magical.

”I am going as soon as is necessary,” the thrall growled. ”You said nothing of being in haste.” And he shuffled over to one of the torches to light a splinter in its flame, and pushed his way forward with dragging feet.

Sigurd and the Norman both sprang after him.

”I tell you, Rolf, I have something against this!” Sigurd stormed, as the Wrestler's iron hand closed upon his cloak. ”My--my--my valuables are in the same chest. I will not have him pawing them over. Let me go, I say!” He managed to slide out of his cloak and dodge under Rolf's arm.

A spark of something very like anger kindled the Wrestler's usually mild eyes; he caught the Norman around the waist, as the latter tried to pa.s.s him, and swung him bodily into the air. For an instant it seemed possible that he might hurl him over the s.h.i.+p's side into the ocean. But he finally threw him lightly upon a pile of skin sleeping-bags, and turned and hastened after the jarl's son.

Guessing that some friendly squabble was in progress, the sailors made way for him good-humoredly, and he reached the forecastle only a moment behind Sigurd. Kark's taper was just disappearing among the shadows beneath the deck.

Before the pursuers could speak, the bowerman leaped back upon them with a shriek that cut the air.

”Ran is in there! I saw her hair hanging over a barrel. It was long and yellow. It is Ran herself! We shall drown--”

Sigurd Haraldsson dealt him a cuff that felled him like a log.

”The simpleton is not able to tell a piece of yellow fox-fur from a woman's hair,” he said, contemptuously. ”Since you are here, Rolf, hold the light for me, and I will get the chess-bag myself.” He spoke loudly enough so that the men on the benches heard, laughed, and turned back to their amus.e.m.e.nts. Then he drew Rolf further into the room, laid a hand over his mouth, and pointed to the farthest comer, where barrels and piled-up bales made a screen half-way across the bow.

Hair long and yellow there was, as the simpleton had said; but it was not the vengeful Ran who looked out from under it. Tumbled and dishevelled, paling and flus.h.i.+ng, short-kirtled and desperate-eyed, Helga the Fair stood before them.