The Thrall of Leif the Lucky | Page 9

time to come."
Helga leaned from her saddle to press his hand in a friendly grasp.
"You have come to the right place, for nowhere in the world could you
be more welcome. Only wait and see how Rolf and Egil will receive
you!"
She gave the thrall a curt shake of her head, as he stepped to her
bridle-rein; and they rode off.
As Helga had said, the camp was not far away. Once across the river,
they turned to the left and wound along the rolling woody banks toward
the fiord. Entering a thicket of hazel-bushes on the crest of the gentle
slope, they were met by faint sounds of shouting and laughter.
Emerging into a green little valley, the camp lay before them.
Half a dozen wooden booths tented over with gay striped linen and
adorned with streaming flags, a leaping fire, a pile of slain deer, a string
of grazing horses, and a throng of brawny men skinning the deer,
chasing the horses, scouring armor, drinking, wrestling, and
lounging,--these were Alwin's first confused impressions.
"There it is!" cried Helga. "Saw you ever a prettier spot? There is
Tyrker under that ash tree. And there,--do you remember that black
mane? Yonder, bending over that shield? That is Egil Olafsson. Now it
comes to my mind again! To-night we go to a feast at the King's house;
that is why he is so busy. And yonder! Yonder is Rolf wrestling. He is
the strongest man in Greenland; did you know that? Even Valbrand
cannot stand against him. Whistle now as you were wont to for the
hawks, and see if they will not remember."
They swept down the slope, the high sweet notes rising clear above the
clatter. One man glanced up in surprise, then another and another; then

suddenly every man dropped what he was doing, and leaped up with
shouts of greeting and welcome. Sigurd disappeared behind a hedge of
yellow heads and waving hands.
Alwin felt himself clutched eagerly. "Donnerwetter, but I have waited a
long time for you!" said the old German, short-breathed and panting.
"That beast was like the insides of me to have out-shaken. Bring to me
a horn of ale; but first give me your shoulder to yonder booth."

CHAPTER IV
IN A VIKING LAIR
Leaving in the field his arms, Let no man go A fool's length forward:
For it is hard to know When, on his way, A man may need his weapon.
Ha'vama'l
The camp lay red in the sunset light, and the twilight hush had fallen
upon it so that one could hear the sleepy bird-calls in the woods around,
and the drowsy murmur of the river. Sigurd lay on his back under a tree,
staring up into the rustling greenery. From the booth set apart for her,
Helga came out dressed for the feast. She had replaced her scarlet kirtle
and hose by garments of azure-blue silk, and changed her silver helmet
for a golden diadem such as high-born maidens wore on state occasions;
but that was her only ornament, and her skirt was no longer than before.
Sigurd looked at her critically.
"It does not appear to me that you are very well dressed for a feast,"
said he. "Where are the bracelets and gold laces suitable to your rank?
It looks ill for Leif's generosity, if that is the finest kirtle you own."
"That is unfairly spoken," Helga answered quickly. "He would dress
me in gold if I wished it; it is I who will not have it so. Have you
forgotten my hatred against clothes so fine that one must be careful of
them? But this was to be expected," she added, flushing with
displeasure; "since the Jarl's son has lived in Normandy, a maiden from

a Greenland farm must needs look mean to him."
She was turning away, but he leaped up and caught her by her
shoulders and shook her good-naturedly. "Now are you as womanish as
your bondmaid. You know that all the gold on all the women in
Normandy is not so beautiful as one lock of this hair of yours."
At least Helga was womanish enough to smile at this. "Now I
understand why it is that men call you Sigurd Silver-Tongue," she
laughed. Suddenly she was all earnestness again. "Nay, but, Sigurd, tell
me this,--I do not care how you scold about my dress,--tell me that you
do not despise me for it, or for being unlike other maidens."
Sigurd's grasp slipped from her shoulders down to her hands, and shook
them warmly. "Despise you, Helga my sister? Despise you for being
the bravest comrade and the truest friend a man ever had?"
She grew rosy red with pleasure. "If that is your feeling, I am well
content."