Vandrad the Viking | Page 2

again, as the stir increased, and he could see the men
beginning to troop on board the long ships,--
"This voyage shall be as the falling of snowflakes into the sea; but what
man can escape his fate?"
Meanwhile a party of men had just left the woods, and were coming
down the path to the fiord, ten or twelve in all, headed by an
exceedingly broad, black-bearded man, clad in a leather coat closely
covered all over with steel scales, and bearing on his shoulder a
ponderous halberd.
The path was very narrow at that point, and he of the black beard called
out gruffly,--
"Make way, old man! Give room to pass."
Roused abruptly from his reverie, the dreamer turned quietly, but made
no movement to the side. The party by this time were so close that they
had perforce to halt, with some clash of armour, and again their captain
cried,--
"Are you deaf? Make way!"
Yet there was something daunting in the other's pale eye, and though

the Viking moved the halberd uneasily on his shoulder, his own glance
shifted. With the slightest intonation of contempt, the traveller asked,--
"Who bids me make way?"
The black-bearded man looked at him with an air of some astonishment,
and then answered shortly,--
"They call me Ketill; but what is that to you?"
Without heeding the other's gruffness, the old man asked,--
"Does King Hakon sail from Hernersfiord to-day?"
"King Hakon has not sailed for many a day. His son leads this force."
"Ay, I had forgotten, we are both old men now. Then Estein sails
to-day?"
"Ay, and I sail with him. My ship awaits me, so make way, old man,"
replied Ketill.
"Whither do ye sail?"
"To the west seas. I have no time for talking more. Do you hear?"
"Go on then," replied the old man, stepping to one side; "something
tells me that Estein will have need of all his men before this voyage is
over."
Without stopping for further words, the black-bearded captain and his
men pushed past and continued their way to the fiord, while the old
man slowly followed them.
As he went down the hillside he talked again aloud to himself:--
"Ay, this then is the meaning of my warning dreams--danger in the
south lands, danger on the seas. Little heed will Estein Hakonson pay to
the words of an old man, yet I am fain to see the youth again, and what

the gods reveal to me I must speak."
Down below, near the foot of the path that led from the pier up to the
hall of Hakonstad, a cluster of chiefs stood talking. In the midst of them,
Hakon, King of Sogn, one of the independent kinglings who reigned in
the then chaotic Norway, watched the departure of his son.
He was a venerable figure, conspicuous by his long, wintry locks and
embroidered cloak of blue, straight as a spear-shaft, but grown too old
for warfare. His hand rested on the shoulder of Earl Sigvald of Askland,
a bluff old warrior, long the king's most faithful counsellor and
companion in arms. Before them stood his son Estein, a tall,
auburn-haired, bright-eyed young man, gaily dressed, after the fashion
of the times, in red kirtle and cloak, and armed as yet only with a gilded
helmet, surmounted with a pair of hawk's wings, and a sword girt to his
side. His face, though regular and handsome, would have been rather
too grave and reserved but for the keenness of his eyes, and a very
pleasant smile which at times lit up his features when he spoke.
After they had talked for a while, he glanced round him, and saw that
the bustle was subsiding, and most of the men had gone aboard.
"All is ready now," he said.
"Ay," replied Thorkel Sigurdson, one of his ship captains, "they wait
but for us."
"Farewell then, Estein!" cried the earl. "Thor speed you, and send you
worthy foemen!"
"My son, I can ill spare you," said the king. "But it becomes a king's
son to see the world, and prove his valour in distant lands. Warfare in
the Baltic seas is but a pastime for common Vikings. England and
Valland, [Footnote: France] the countries of the black man and the flat
lands of the rivers, lie before you. There Estein Hakonson must feed the
wolves."
"And yet, Estein," he added in a lower tone, as he embraced him, "I

would that Yule were here again and you with it. I am growing old, and
my dreams last night were sorrow-laden."
"Farewell, son of Hakon!" shouted a loud-mouthed chieftain. "I would
that I too were sailing to the southern lands. Spare not, Estein; fire and
sword in England, sword and fire in Valland!"
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