The Thrall of Leif the Lucky | Page 4

the death at his side. Again it was a minstrel,
with a harp at his back, who stopped to rest and exchange a song for a
horn of mead. Once the Queen herself, riding in a shining gilded wagon,
came in and bought some of the graceful spiral bracelets. She said that
Alwin's eyes were as bright as a young serpent's; but she did not buy
him.
The doorway framed an ever changing picture,--budding birch trees
along the river-bank; men ploughing in the valley; shepherds tending
flocks that looked like dots of cotton wool on the green hillsides.
Sometimes bands of gay folk from the King's house rode by to the hunt,
spurs jingling, horns braying, falcons at their wrists. Sometimes brawny
followers of the visiting chiefs swaggered past in groups, and the boy
could hear their shouting and laughter as they held drinking-bouts in
the hostelry near by. Occasionally their rough voices would grow
rougher, and an arrow would fly past the door; or there would be a
clash of weapons, followed by a groan.
One day, as Alwin sat looking out, his chin resting in his hand, his
elbow on his knee, his attention was caught by two riders winding
swiftly down a hill-path on the right. At first, one was only a blur of
gray and the other a flame of scarlet; they disappeared behind a grove
of aspens, then reappeared nearer, and he could make out a white beard
on the gray figure and a veil of golden hair above the scarlet kirtle.
What hair for a boy, even the noblest born! It was the custom of all free
men to wear their locks uncut; but this golden mantle! Yet could it be a
girl? Did a girl ever wear a helmet like a silver bowl, and a kirtle that
stopped at the knee? If it was a girl, she must be one of those
shield-maidens of whom the minstrels sang. Alwin watched the pair

curiously as they galloped down the last slope and turned into the lane
beside the river. They must pass the booth, and then...
His brain whirled, and he stood up in his intense interest. Something
had startled the white steed that bore the scarlet kirtle; he swerved aside
and rose on his haunches with a suddenness that nearly unseated his
rider; then he took the bronze bit between his teeth and leaped forward.
Whitebeard and his bay mare were left behind. The yellow hair
streamed out like a banner; nearer, and Alwin could see that it was
indeed a girl. She wound her hands in the reins and kept her seat like a
centaur. But suddenly something gave way. Over she went, sidewise;
and by the wrist, tangled in the reins, the horse dragged her over the
stony road.
Forgetting his manacled limbs, Alwin started forward; but it was all
over in an instant. One of the trader's servants flew at the animal's head
and stopped him, almost at the door of the booth. In another moment a
crowd gathered around the fallen girl and shut her from his view. Alwin
gazed at the shifting backs with a dreadful vision of golden hair torn
and splashed with blood. She must be dead, for she had not once
screamed. His head was still ringing with the shrieks of his mother's
waiting-women, as the Danes bore them out of the burning castle.
Whitebeard came galloping up, puffing and panting. He was a puny
little German, with a face as small and withered as a winter apple, but a
body swaddled in fur-trimmed tunics until it seemed as fat as a polar
bear's. He rolled off his horse; the crowd parted before him. Then the
English youth experienced another shock.
Bruised and muddy, but neither dead nor fainting, the girl stood
examining her wrist with the utmost calmness. Though her face was
white and drawn with pain, she looked up at the old man with a little
twisted smile.
"It is nothing, Tyrker," she said quickly; "only the girth broke, and it
appears that my wrist is out of joint. We will go in here, and you shall
set it."

Tyrker blinked at her for a moment with an expression of mingled
affection and wonder; then he drew a deep breath. "Donnerwetter, but
you are a true shield-maiden!" he said in a wavering treble.
The trader received them with true Norse hospitality; and Alwin
watched in speechless amazement while the old man ripped up the
scarlet sleeve and wrenched the dislocated bones into position, without
a murmur from the patient. Despite her strange dress and general
dishevelment, he could see now that she was a beautiful girl, a year or
two younger than himself. Her face was as delicately pink-and-pearly
as a sea-shell, and corn-flowers among