Havelok the Dane: A Legend of Old Grimsby and Lincoln by Charles W. Whistler (inspirational books to read .txt) 📕

never quite leaves a man until the end. For first the wheat that was winter sown came not up but in scattered blades here and there, and then ere the spring-sown grain had lain in the land for three weeks it had rotted, and over the rich, ploughed lands seemed to rise a sour smell in the springtime air, when one longs for the sweetness of growing things. And then came drought in April, and all day long the sun shone, or if it were not shining the clouds that hid it were hard and grey and high and still over land and sea.

Then before the marsh folk knew what they were doing, the merchants of Lincoln had bought the stored corn, giving prices that should have told men that it was precious to those who sold as to the buyers; and then the grass failed in the drought, and the farmers were glad to sell the cattle and sheep for what they could gain, rather than see them starve.

Then my father bade us dry and store all the fish we might against the time that he saw was coming, and hard we worked at that. And even as we toiled, from day to day we caught less, for the fish were leaving the shores, and we had to go farther and farther for them, until at last a day came when the boats came home empty, and the women wept at the shore as the men drew them up silently, looking away from those whom they could feed no longer.

That was the worst day, as I think, and it was in high summer. I mind that I went to Stallingborough that day with the last of the fresh fish of yesterday's catch for Witlaf's household, and it was hotter than ever; and in all the orchards hung not one green apple, and even the hardy blackberry briers had no leaves or sign of blossom, and in the dikes the watercress was blackened and evil to see.

But I will say that in Grimsby we felt not the worst, by reason of that wisdom of my father, and always Witlaf and his house shared with us. Hard it was here, but elsewhere harder.

And then came the pestilence that goes with famine always. I have heard that men have prayed to their gods for that, for it has seemed better to them to die than live.

With the first breath of the pestilence died Grim my father, and about that I do not like to say much. He bade us remember the words he had spoken of Havelok our brother, and he spoke long to Arngeir in private of the same; and then he told us to lay him in mound in the ancient way, but with his face toward Denmark, whence we came. And thereafter he said no more, but lay still until there came up suddenly through the thick air a thunderstorm from the north; and in that he passed, and with his passing the rain came.

Thereof Withelm said that surely Odin fetched him, and that at once he had made prayer for us. But the Welsh folk said that not Odin but the White Christ had taken the man who had been a father to them, and had staved off the worst of the famine from them.

Then pined and died my mother Leva, for she passed in her sleep on the day before we made the mound over her husband, and so we laid them in it together, and that was well for both, as I think, for so they would have wished.

So we made a great bale fire over my father's mound, where it stood over the highest sandhill; and no warrior was ever more wept, for English and Welsh and Danes were at one in this. We set his weapons with him, and laid him in the boat that was the best -- and a Saxon gave that -- and in it oars and mast and sail, and so covered him therein. And so he waits for the end of all things that are now, and the beginning of those better ones that shall be.

That thunderstorm was nothing to the land, for it skirted the shores and died away to the south, and after it came the heat again; but at least it brought a little hope. There were fish along the shore that night, too, if not many; and though they were gone again in the morning, there was a better store in every house, for men were mindful of Grim's teaching.

Now, of all men, Havelok seemed to feel the trouble of the famine the most, because he could not bear to see the children hungry in the cottages of the fishers. It seemed to him that he had more than his share of the stores, because so mighty a frame of his needed feeding mightily, as he said. And so for two days after my father died and was left in his last resting, Havelok went silent about the place. Here by the shore the pestilence hardly came, and so that trouble was not added to us, though the weak and old went, as had Grim and Leva, here and there.

Then, on the third day, Havelok called Arngeir and us, and spoke what was in his mind.

"Brothers, I may not bear this any longer, and I must go away. I can do no more to help than can the weakest in the town; and even my strength is an added trouble to those who have not enough without me. Day by day grows the store in the house less; and it will waste more slowly if I am elsewhere."

Then Arngeir said quickly, "This is foolishness, Havelok, my brother. Whither will you go? For worse is the famine inland; and I think that we may last out here. The fish will come back presently."

"I will go to Lincoln. All know that there is plenty there, for the townsfolk were wise in time. There is the court, and at the court a strong man is likely to be welcome, if only as one who shall keep the starving poor from the doors, as porter."

He spoke bitterly, for Alsi, the king, had no good name for kindness, and at that Withelm laughed sadly.

"Few poor would Havelok turn away," he said, under his breath; "rather were he likely to take the king's food from the very board, and share it among them."

That made us laugh a little, for it was true enough; and one might seem to see our mighty one sweeping the table, while none dared try to stay him.

But many times of late Havelok had gone dinnerless, that he might feed some weak one in the village. Maybe some of us did likewise; but, if so, we learned from him.

"Well, then," Havelok said, when we had had our wretched laugh, "Alsi, the king, can better afford to feed me than can anyone else. Therefore, I will go and see about it. And if not the king, then, doubtless, some rich merchant will give me food for work, seeing that I can lift things handily. But Radbard here is a great and hungry man also, and it will be well that he come with me; or else, being young and helpless, I may fall into bad hands."

So he spoke, jesting and making little of the matter. But I saw that he was right, and that we who were strong to take what might come should go away. It was likely that a day of our meals would make a week's fare for Arngeir's three little ones, and they were to be thought for.

Now for a little while Arngeir tried to keep us back; but it was plain that he knew also that our going was well thought of, and only his care for Havelok stood in the way. Indeed, he said that I and Raven might go.

"Raven knows as much about the fish as did our father," Havelok said. "He will go out in the morning, and look at sky and sea, and sniff at the wind; and if I say it will be fine, he says that the herrings will be in such a place; and so they are, while maybe it rains all day to spite my weather wisdom. You cannot do without Raven; for it is ill to miss any chance of the sea just now. Nor can Withelm go, for he knows all in the place, and who is most in want. It will not do to be without house steward. So we two will go. Never have I been to Lincoln yet, and Radbard knows the place well."

I think that I have never said that Grim would never take Havelok to the city, lest he should be known by some of the Danish folk who came now and then to the court, some from over seas, and others from the court of King Ethelwald, of whom I have spoken, the Norfolk king. But that danger was surely over now, for Havelok would be forgotten in Denmark; and Ethelwald was long dead, and his wife also, leaving his daughter Goldberga to her uncle Alsi, as his ward. So Alsi held both kingdoms until the princess was of age, when she would take her own. It was said that she lived at Dover until that time, and so none of her Danes were likely to be at court if we went there and found places.

So Havelok's plan was to be carried out, and he and I were to set forth next morning. Arngeir was yet uneasy about it, nevertheless, as one could see; but I did not at that time know why it should be so doubtful a matter that two strong men should go forth and seek their fortune but thirty miles away. So we laughed at him.

"Well," he said, "every one knows Radbard; but they will want to know who his tall comrade may be. Old foes has Havelok, as Radbard knows, and therefore it may be well to find a new name for him."

"No need to go far for that," Withelm said. "The marsh folk call him Curan."

"Curan, the wonder, is good," Arngeir said, after a little thought, for we all knew Welsh enough by this time. "Or if you like a Danish name better, brother, call it 'Kwaran,' but silent about yourself you must surely be."

We used to call him that at times -- for it means "the quiet" in our old tongue -- seeing how gentle and courtly he was in all his ways. So the name was well fitting in either way.

"Silent and thoughtful should the son of a king be," says the Havamal, and so it was with Havelok, son of Gunnar.

Now when I came to think, it was plain that we three stood in the mind of our brother in the place which my father had boded for us, and I was glad. Well I knew that Raven, the watchful, and Withelm, the wise and thoughtful, would do their parts; and I thought that whether I could do mine was to be seen very shortly. If I failed in help at need it should not be my fault. It had been long growing in my mind who Havelok must be, though I said nothing of what I thought, because my father had bidden me be silent long ago, and I thought that I knew why.

We were to start early in the morning, so that we should get to the city betimes in the evening; and there was one thing that troubled the good sisters more than it did us. They would have had us go in all our finery, such as we were wont to wear on holidays and at feastings; but none of that was left. It had gone in buying corn, while there was any left to buy, along with every silver penny that we had. So we must go in the plain fisher gear, that is made for use and not for show, frayed and stained, and a trifle tarry, but good enough. It would not do to go in our war gear into a peaceful city; and so we took but the seax that every Englishman wears, and the short travelling spear that all wayfarers use. Hardly was it likely that even the most hungry outlaw of the wild woldland would care to fall on us; for by this time such as we seemed had spent their all in food for themselves and their families, and all the money in Lindsey seemed to have gone away to places where there was yet somewhat to buy.

Busy were those kind sisters of ours that night in making ready the last meal that we should need to take from them. And all the while they foretold pleasant things