Erling the Bold by R. M. Ballantyne (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

“I pray the Lord to help us in our extremity,” said Christian; “but I believe it to be His will to help those who are willing to help themselves, depending upon Him for strength, courage, and victory. It may be that Ulf and his men will soon return from the Springs, so that if we could only hold out for a short time all might be well. Have ye nothing to suggest?”

“As to Ulf and the men returning from the Springs,” said Finn, “there is small chance of that before morning. With regard to holding out, I know of nothing that will cause fire to burn slow once it is well kindled. An hour hence and Ulfstede will be in ashes, as that sound surely tells.”

He referred to a crashing blow which occurred just then at the north door. Nearly all present knew full well that it was the first bundle of a pile of faggots with which the assailants meant to set the house on fire.

“Had this arm retained but a little of the strength it once knew,” continued Finn bitterly, as he stretched out the huge but withered limb, “things had not come to this pass so quickly. I remember the day, now forty years ago, when on the roof of this very house I stood alone with my bow and kept thirty men at bay for two full hours. But I could not now draw an arrow of Alric’s little bow to its head, to save the lives of all present.”

“But I can do it,” cried Alric, starting forward suddenly; “and if thou wilt show me the window in the roof I will—”

“Brave boy,” said old Ivor, with a kindly smile, as he laid his hand on Alric’s head, “thy heart is large, and it is sad that one so full of promise should come to such an end; but it needs not that ye should fall before thy time. These shafts may do against the crows, but they would avail nothing against men in mail.”

“Is there not a warrior’s bow in the house?” asked Christian quickly.

“There is,” replied Ivor, “but who will use it?”

“I will.”

“Thou?” exclaimed Ivor, with a slight touch of contempt in his tone.

“Hold thy peace, Ivor,” said Hilda quickly. “This man has saved my life once, as thou knowest, and well assured am I that what he undertakes to do he will accomplish.”

“Now thanks to thee, Hilda, for that,” said the hermit heartily; “not that I boast of being sure to accomplish what I undertake, yet I never offer to attempt what I have not some reasonable hope of being able to do. But it is not strange that this old warrior should doubt of the courage or capacity of one who preaches the gospel of peace. Nevertheless, when I was a youth I fought in the army of the great Thorfin, and was somewhat expert in the use of the bow. It is possible that some of my ancient skill may remain, and I am willing to use it in a good cause. I pray thee, therefore, let us not waste more time in useless talk, but fetch me a bow and quiver, and show me the window in the roof.”

Ivor went at once to the place where the armour was kept, and brought out the desired weapons, which he placed in the hands of the hermit, and watched his mode of handling them with some curiosity. Christian, unconscious of the look, strung the bow and examined one of the arrows with the air of a man who was thoroughly accustomed to such weapons. Ivor regarded him with increased respect as he conducted him to the loft, and opened the window.

The hermit at once stepped out, and was instantly observed by the Danes, who of course seized the opportunity and let fly several arrows at him, which grazed him or stuck quivering in the roof close to the spot where he stood. He was not slow to reply. One of the vikings, who was approaching the house at the moment with a bundle of faggots on his back, received a shaft in his shoulder, which caused him to drop his bundle and fly to the woods, where he took shelter behind a tree. Almost before that shaft had reached its mark another was on the string, and, in another instant, transfixed the biceps muscle of the right arm of one of the vikings who was preparing to discharge an arrow. He also sought shelter behind a tree, and called to a comrade to come and assist him to extract the shaft.

“Mine ancient skill,” said the hermit in an undertone, as if the remark were made half to himself and half to Ivor, whose head appeared at the window, and whose old countenance was wrinkled with a grin of delight at this unexpected display of prowess; “mine ancient skill, it would seem, has not deserted me, for which I am thankful, for it is an awful thing, Ivor, more awful than thou thinkest, to send a human being into eternity unforgiven. I am glad, therefore, to be able thus to render our assailants unfit for war without taking away their lives—ha! that was better aimed than usual,” he added, as an arrow passed through his jerkin, and stuck deep into the roof. “The man shoots well, he would soon end the fight if I did not—stop—that.”

At the second-last word the hermit bent his bow; at the last, which was uttered with emphasis, he let the arrow fly, and sent it through the left hand of his adversary, who instantly dropped his bow. At the same moment it seemed as though the whole band of vikings had become suddenly convinced that they stood exposed to the shafts of a man who could use them with unerring certainty, for they turned with one consent and fled into the woods—each man seeking shelter behind the nearest tree.

Here they called to one another to stand forth and shoot at the hermit.

“Go thou, Arne,” cried the leader; “thine aim is true. Surely one old man is not to keep us all at bay. If my left hand were unscathed I would not trouble thee to do it, thou knowest.”

“I have no desire to get an arrow in mine eye,” cried Arne; “see, I did but show the tip of my right elbow just now, and the skin of it is cut up as though the crows had pecked it.”

In the excess of his wrath Arne extended his clenched fist and shook it at the hermit, who instantly transfixed it with an arrow, causing the foolish man to howl with pain and passion.

“I have always held and acted on the opinion,” said Christian to Ivor, who was now joined by his comrade Finn, “that whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well. Thou seest,” he continued, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat, “it is only by being expert in the use of this weapon that I have succeeded in driving bark the Danes without the loss of life. There is indeed a passage in the Book of God (which I hope to be spared to tell thee more about in time to come), where this principle of thoroughness in all things is implied, if not absolutely taught—namely, ‘Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.’”

“A just maxim,” said Finn, shading his one eye with his hands and gazing earnestly into the woods, “and if acted upon, makes a man fit for every duty that falls upon him; but it seems to me that while we are talking here, there is some movement going on. See, Christian (since that is thy name), they are retiring in haste, and exposing themselves. Now, I pray thee, as thine eye is so sure, do drop a shaft on the nape of yonder fellow’s neck, that we may have something to show of this night’s work.”

“I told thee, Finn, that my desire is to avoid taking life.”

“Humph,” said Finn testily, “whatever thy desire may be matters little now, for he is beyond range. Hark! That shout accounts for the flight of the Danes. Ulf must have returned.”

As he spoke, a loud cry, as if of men in conflict, arose from the fiord. Immediately after, the vikings who had not already taken to flight left their places of shelter and dashed into the underwood. The hermit let them go without moving a hand; but Alric, who was actuated by no merciful principles, suddenly opened the north door, sprang out, and let fly an arrow with so true an aim that it struck one of the Danes between the shoulders. Fortunately for him, the Dane had, in accordance with the usual custom of the time, hung his shield on his back when he took to flight, so that the shaft rebounded from it and fell harmless to the ground.

By this time the hermit had descended from the roof. Running out he seized Alric, and, dragging him into the house, reclosed the door.

“Ye know not, foolish boy, whether or not this is Ulf whom we hear.”

As he spoke, the tramp of approaching footsteps and the voices of excited men were heard outside. The door flew open, and Ulf, Erling, and Haldor, with a number of the house-carles, strode into the hall and flung down their arms.

“Not much too soon, it would seem,” said Ulf, with a look of stern joy.

“Thou wouldst have been altogether too late, Ulf,” said Astrid, “had not Christian been here to save us.”

“How so?” exclaimed Ulf, turning with an enquiring look to the hermit; “hast turned warrior after all thy preaching of peace? But thou art pale. Ho! fetch a horn of ale here; fighting has disagreed with thy stomach, old man.”

“I think,” said Christian, pressing his hand to his side, “that one of these arrows must have—”

He paused suddenly, and would have fallen to the ground had not Erling caught him. Letting him gently down at full length, our hero raised his head on his knee, while Hilda came forward with a horn of ale. As she kneeled by the old man’s side she glanced anxiously at her lover’s face, which was covered with blood and dust, and presented anything but an attractive appearance.

“Hast thou been wounded?” whispered Hilda.

“No, not wounded,” muttered Erling, “but—”

“Not wounded!” exclaimed Ulf, who overheard the words, but misunderstood their application, “not wounded! Why, Erling, where have thy wits gone? The man is wellnigh dead from loss of blood. See, his jerkin is soaking. Bring hither bandages; come, let me see the wound. If the old man has indeed saved Ulfstede this day, eternal disgrace would be our due did we let his life slip out under our roof-tree for want of proper care. And hark’ee; get ready all the dressings thou hast, for wounded men enough will be here ere long, and let the boards be spread with the best of meat and ale, for we have gone through hard work to-day, and there is harder yet in store for us, I trow.”

Thus admonished, the women went to make preparation for the reception of the wounded, and the entertainment of those who had been more fortunate in the recent conflict. Meanwhile the hermit was conveyed to Ulf’s own bed, and his wound, which proved to be less serious than had been feared, was carefully dressed by Hilda, to whom Erling, in the most attentive and disinterested manner, acted the part of assistant-surgeon.