Northland Heroes | Page 3

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 lights gleam or the bright lightning flashes.
Lost was the warrior Who met, on the field of encounter, the blade with its red letters glowing. Widely renowned was that sword, and of swords was the chief in the Northland.
The second prize in Framness was the wonderful arm-ring forged by Volund, the lame blacksmith. This ring was made of gold and was very heavy, and upon it Volund had carved pictures. First he showed the house of the gods, with twelve high castles. In one was the sun rising over the ocean. In the second castle were