Northland Heroes | Page 3

listen to advice and
should test the strength of friendship by use.
"All men will surely perish, with all they prize, But one thing know I,
Frithiof, which never dies,-- And that is reputation! therefore, ever The
noble action strive for, the good endeavour."
It was pleasant to hear Bele and Thorsten talk of their lives together.
Much they told of the wonderful adventures of their youth, when they
travelled to strange lands in their swift-moving boats. They had been
friends through good fortune and ill, with hands clasped together and
hearts united. In battle they had stood back to back, facing their
enemies. If one was threatened by an enemy, the other was on guard
and defended his friend.
The king spoke much of the bravery of Frithiof, and said that his heroic
power was better than all royal birth. Thorsten in return praised the
gifts of Helge and Halfdan. Thus did they give an example of
friendship between a king and his man. With the memory of their long
friendship King Bele urged his sons and Frithiof to be friends too.
"But hold ye fast together, ye children three, The Northland then your
conqueror shall never see; For royalty and power, when duly ordered,
Are like a bright shield golden, by blue steel bordered."
Then again spoke Bele: "These are my last commands. On you, O
Helge, my eldest son, I place a father's care. Guard and love your sister
Ingeborg. Be gentle and guide her with loving words. Noble spirits fret
under harshness, but loving and gentle manners win all to right and
honour.
"And now, farewell, my children. Together Thorsten and I go to the
All-father gladly. Lay us in mounds close to the waves of the restless
gulf singing the song of the sea."
[Illustration: Burial mounds]

Framness
So the old king and his faithful friend were united in death as they had
been in life, and were buried on the shore of the loud-singing sea.
Together by the wish of the people did his sons, Helge and Halfdan,
rule the kingdom.
Frithiof, the son of Thorsten, went to his father's hall, the mighty
Framness. For twelve miles in all directions stretched his broad acres.
The hilltops were covered with birch forests. On the sloping sides grew
the golden corn and the tall rye. Many blue lakes gleamed like mirrors.
Streams rippled over the pebbly beds. In the wide valleys herds of oxen
and sheep were quietly grazing, and in the stables were twenty-four
steeds swift as the whirlwind.
In the great hall built of choicest fir more than five hundred warriors
gathered at Yule-time. A great table of oak, polished and shining, ran
through the middle from end to end. The floor was covered with straw,
and on the hearth in the centre of the hall a warm and cheerful fire was
always burning.
On the great nails in the hall hung helmets and coats-of-mail. Between
them flashed swords and sparkling shields. Round the table sat the
warriors, and as often as the drinking-horn needed filling fair maidens
came with the joyous mead.
All this and other vast treasures did Frithiof receive from his father,
Scarce was there found in the Northland any with richer possessions,
Save were he heir to a kingdom, for of kings is the wealth always
greatest. Though from no king he descended, yet was his mind truly
royal, Courteous, noble, and kind. Daily became he more famous.
Rich was the house of Framness. Everywhere plenty and beauty,
gleaming jewels, gold and silver, met the eye of the stranger. But three
things in Framness were most prized by Frithiof and his brave men.
First of the three was a sword which had descended from father to son.

The sword was called Angurvadel, grief-wader, and brother of
lightning. Made in the far east, it had finally come into the hands of
Viking, the father of Thorsten.
When Viking was a youth of fifteen he heard of a monster ferocious
and shaggy, misshapen and higher in stature than man, who came from
the wood to the palace of a weak old king. This king had a lovely
daughter, and the monster boldly demanded her hand and the kingdom,
offering to meet in hand-to-hand combat any who would say him nay.
No one dared to meet him, for no one had a weapon that could pierce
his hard skull.
Then came Viking gladly to the combat with Ironskull, and with one
blow of his good sword Angurvadel cleft the head of the monster and
rescued the maiden. Viking gave the sword to his son Thorsten, and
Thorsten gave it to Frithiof. The hilt was of hammered gold, covered
with mystic red letters. Whenever he drew the sword light filled the
hall, as when the northern