King Alfreds Viking | Page 8

speak
with Sigurd.
"Bide here, and I will go at least to the door," said I.
So I stepped boldly before it, standing on the heap of newly-fallen earth
that had slipped from across it. The posts and lintel of the door were of
stone slabs such as lay everywhere on the hillsides, and I stood so close
that I could touch them. The doorway was not so high that I could see
into it without stooping, for it was partly choked with the fallen earth,
and I bent to look in. But I could only see for a few feet into the
passage, as I looked from light to darkness.
"Ho, Jarl Sigurd! what would you? Why have you opened your door
thus?"
Very hollow my voice sounded, and that was all.
"Sigurd of Orkney--Sigurd, son of Rognvald--I am the son of Vemund
your friend. Speak to me!"
There was no answer. A bit of earth crumbled from the broken side of
the mound and made me start, but I saw nothing. So I stepped away
from the door and back to my comrade, who had edged nearer the place,
though his face showed that he feared greatly.
"I think that the mound has been rifled," I said. "Sigurd would have us

know it and take revenge."
"No man has dared to go near that doorway till you came, Ranald
Vemundsson," Kolgrim answered. "Now I fear that he plans to lure you
into the mound, and slay you there without light to help you. Go no
further, maybe you will be closed up with the ghost."
That was not pleasant to think of, but I had seen nought to make me
fear to go in. There was no such unearthly light shining within the
mound as I had heard of in many tales of those who sought to speak
with dead chiefs.
"Well, I am going in," I said stoutly; "but do you hide here, and make
some noise that I may know you are near me. It is the silence that frays
me.
"What can I do?" he said. "I know no runes that are of avail. It would
be ill to disturb this place with idle sounds."
That seemed right, but I thought I could not bear the silence--silence of
the grave. I must know that he was close at hand. Then a thought came
to me, and I unfastened the silver-mounted whetstone that hung from
my belt and gave it him.
"Whet your sword edge sharply," I said. "That is a sound a hero loves,
for it speaks of deeds to be done."
"Ay, that is no idle sound," he said, and drew his sword gladly. The
haft of the well-known blade brought the light into his eyes again. I
drew my own sword also.
"If you need me, call, and I think I shall not fail you," he whispered. "It
shall not be said that I failed you in peril."
"I know it," I answered, putting my hand on his shoulder.
Then I went boldly, and stepped into the passage. The whetstone sang
shrill on the sword edge as it kissed the steel behind me, and the sound

was good to hear as I went into darkness with my weapon ready.
I half feared that my first step would be my last, but it was made in
safety. Very black seemed the low stone-walled passage before me, and
I had to stoop as I went on, feeling with my left hand along the wall.
The way was so narrow that little light could pass my body, and
therefore it seemed to grow darker as I went deeper into the mound's
heart.
Five steps I took, and then my outstretched hand was on the post that
ended the passage, and beyond that I felt nothing. I had come to the
inner doorway, and before me was the place where Sigurd lay. Yet no
fiery eyes glared on me, and nothing stirred. The air was heavy with a
scent as of peat, and the sound of the whetstone seemed loud as I stood
peering into the darkness.
I moved forward, and somewhat rattled under my foot, and I started.
Then my fear left me altogether, for I had trodden on dry bones, and
shuddered at the first touch of them in that place. I had faced fear, and
had overcome it; maybe it was desperation that made me cool then, for
it was certain now that I must be slain or else victor over I knew not
what.
So I took one pace forward into the chamber, and stood aside from the
doorway; and the grey light from the passage came in and filled all the
place, so that it fell first on him whom I had come to