Northland Heroes | Page 8

the blackened ruins. Then his faithful dog, Bran, ran up to welcome him. A powerful dog was he, and often had he been master of wolves. The milk-white steed with swan-like neck and golden mane came bounding up the valley. Both asked for food of Frithiof, their master; but he, poorer than they, had nothing to give them.
Then came Hilding, the foster-father with silvery hair. "My message," he said, "I fear will bring you little gladness. Scarce had you sailed when King Ring came. Five shields had he to our one. Not long did the battle last. King Helge yielded and fled. In his flight he passed Framness and fired the lordly dwelling.
"Ring gave the brothers, Helge and Halfdan, this choice: to give their sister to him or to lose their throne. The brothers chose, and now Ingeborg has gone with old King Ring."
Then Frithiof blamed Ingeborg for her broken vow and declared he would never believe her again. And yet his heart grieved for her, and he could never forget the friend of his childhood.
"You wrong the maid," said old Hilding. "As the sea-fowl, when its breast is wounded, dives far away from the eyes of daylight, and, with its life-blood flowing, yet gives no sign of weakness or misery, so Ingeborg in the darkness bore her suffering and I only saw her anguish. When the wedding day came, she, pale as death, rode a black steed, following the white-robed maidens and the steel-clad men.
"From off the saddle I took the sad maid and went with her to the altar, where she uttered her vows and prayed long to Balder. When Helge saw your ring on her arm he tore it off with angry words. Then I in anger drew my sword, but Ingeborg gently said: 'Let the All-father judge between him and me.'"
"The All-father will judge," calmly replied Frithiof, when Hilding had told his story; "I, too, will judge. Now is the time when the king who sold his sister sits in the temple of Balder as priest. Him will I seek."

Balder's Funeral Pile
Midnight's sun fell upon the mountain. The beams seemed to threaten fire and war, so blood-red were they. The heavens glowed; it was night contending with day.
On Balder's altar burned a fire--the emblem of the sun--and priests stood around the wall of the temple, grasping burning brands. Near the altar stood King Helge, wearing his crown. All at once he heard the war-cry, and the clash of weapons resounded through the forest.
"Bjorn, stand fast by yonder door!"
Helge heard the cry and turned pale. Well he knew the ringing voice of Frithiof. Fiercely as autumn winds fell the hero's bitter words:--
"Here's the ordered tribute; it came Safe through the tempest's rattle; Take it; then here by Balder's flame, For life or death we'll battle.
"Shields behind us, our bosoms free, Fair the fight be reckoned; As the king the first blow belongs to thee, Mind thou, mine's the second."
With these words he threw the purse filled with gold in Helge's face. The heavy blow stunned the king, and he fainted near the altar. Frithiof laughed and called in scorn: "Are you then overpowered by a purse of gold? No one shall blame my sword for felling so cowardly a foe, for he deserves not to fall by a brave man's sword."
Then Frithiof put up his sword and turned to the statue of Balder that stood near the altar. Calm and kind seemed the god. On his arm was the ring given by Frithiof to Ingeborg but taken from her by Helge.
"Holy Balder," spake Frithiof, "be not angry with thy servant. Well dost thou know that the arm-ring which thou wearest was stolen, and that Volund's work was never meant for thee." With these words he strove to take the ring, but arm and ring seemed to have grown together. Then he became angry and with a supreme effort he loosened the ring; but the image fell into the flames of the altar.
Up leaped the fierce fire! Bjorn at the door was pale with dread. Frithiof with equal anxiety called to him: "Open the doors, Bjorn, and let the people go. The temple is burning; bring water, yea throw on an oceanful!"
The warriors quickly formed a chain from the burning grove to the sea and the water was passed with speed from hand to hand. Frithiof sat like the god of rain and gave his orders in a calm, clear voice. Long they strove, but in vain. The flames borne on the wings of the wind mounted to the sky. The grove was dry with summer heat and the hungry fire-king revelled midst the quick-burning branches.
Fiercely leaping from height to height, Aiming yet still higher; Oh, what wild and terrific light! Strong is Balder's pyre!
Soon in smouldering ashes