The Thrall of Leif the Lucky | Page 3

such
smooth words as the thrifty old Norse proverbs advise every man to
practise.
"Greeting, Gorm Arnorsson! Here is great industry, if already this
Spring you have gone on a Viking voyage and gotten yourself so good
a piece of property! How came you by him?"

Gorm gave his "property" a rough push forward, and his harsh voice
came out of his bull-thick neck like a bellow. "I got him in England last
Summer. We ravaged his lather's castle, I and twenty ship-mates, and
slew all his kinsmen. He comes of good blood; I am told for certain that
he is a jarl's son. And I swear he is sound in wind and limb. How much
will you pay me for him, Karl Grimsson?"
The owner of the booth stroked his long white beard and eyed the
captive critically. It seemed to him that he had never seen a king's son
with a haughtier air. The boy wore his letters as though they had been
bracelets from the hands of Ethelred.
"Is it because you value him so highly that you keep him in chains?" he
asked.
"In that I will not deceive you," said the Dane, after a moment's
hesitation. "Though he is sound in wind and limb, he is not sound in
temper. Shortly after I got him, I sold him to Gilli the Wealthy for a
herd-boy; but because it was not to his mind on the dairy-farm, he lost
half his herd and let wolves prey on the rest, and when the headman
would have flogged him for it, he slew him. He has the temper of a
black elf."
"He does not look to be a cooing dove," the trader assented. "But how
came it that he was not slain for this? I have heard that Gilli is a fretful
man."
The Dane snorted. "More than anything else he is greedy for property,
and his wife Bertha advised him not to lose the price he had paid. It is
my belief that she has a liking for the cub; she was an English captive
before the Wealthy One married her. He followed her advice, as was to
be expected, and saddled me with the whelp when I passed through the
district yesterday. I should have sent him to Thor myself," he added
with a suggestive swing of his axe, "but that silver is useful to me also.
I go to join my shipmates in Wisby. And I am in haste, Karl Grimsson.
Take him, and let me have what you think fair."
It seemed as if the trader would never finish the meditative caressing of

his beard, but at last he arose and called for his scales. The Dane took
the little heap of silver rings weighed out to him, and strode out of the
tent. At the same time, he passed out of the English boy's life. What a
pity that the result of their short acquaintance could not have
disappeared with him!
The trader surveyed his new possession, standing straight and slim
before him. "What are you called?" he demanded. "And whence come
you? And of what kin?"
"I am called Alwin," answered the thrall; "and I come from
Northumbria." He hesitated, and the blood mounted to his face. "But I
will not tell you my father's name," he finished proudly, "that you may
shame him in shaming me."
The trader's patience was a little chafed. Peaceful merchants were also
men of war between times in those days.
Suddenly he unsheathed the sword that hung at his side, and laid its
point against the thrall's breast.
"I ask you again of what kin you come. If you do not answer now, it is
unlikely that you will be alive to answer a third question."
Perhaps young Alwin's bronzed cheeks lost a little of their color, but
his lip curled scornfully. So they stood, minute after minute, the sharp
point pricking through the cloth until the boy felt it against his skin.
Gradually the trader's face relaxed into a grim smile. "You are a young
wolf," he said at last, sheathing his weapon; "yet go and sit with the
others. It may be that wolves thrive better than lambs in the North."

CHAPTER II
THE MAID IN THE SILVER HELMET

In a maiden's words No one should place faith, Nor in what a woman
says; For on a turning wheel Have their hearts been formed, And guile
in their breasts been laid. Ha'vama'l
Day after day, week after week, Alwin sat waiting to see where the next
turn of misfortune's wheel would land him. Interesting people visited
the booth continually. Now it was a party of royal guardsmen to buy
weapons,--splendid mail-clad giants who ate at King Olaf's board, slept
a his hall, and fought to