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

his head proudly, but the last year of his life had been fraught with many lessons. He listened with a heaving breast and beating heart indeed, but with his head bent modestly down, while on his flushed countenance there was a bright expression, and on his lips a glad smile which spoke volumes. His father felt assured, as he looked at him, that he would never bring discredit on his name.

“Ye know the course,” said Haldor; “away!”

In another minute Alric was running at full speed up the glen with the war-token in his hand. His path was rugged, his race was wild, and its results were striking. He merely shouted as he passed the windows of the cottages low down in the dale, knowing that the men there would be roused by others near at hand; but farther on, where the cottages were more scattered, he opened the door of each and showed the token, uttering a word or two of explanation during the brief moment he stayed to swallow a mouthful of water or to tighten his belt.

At first his course lay along the banks of the river, every rock and shrub of which he knew. Farther on he left the stream on the right, and struck into the mountains just as the sun went down.

High up on the fells a little cottage stood perched on a cliff. It was one of the “saeters” or mountain dairies where the cattle were pastured in summer long ago—just as they are at the present day. Alric ran up the steep face of the hill, doubled swiftly round the corner of the enclosure, burst open the door, and, springing in, held up the token, while he wiped the streaming perspiration from his face.

A man and his wife, with three stout sons and a comely daughter, were seated on a low bench eating their supper of thickened milk.

“The war-token!” exclaimed the men, springing up, and, without a moment’s delay, taking down and girding on the armour which hung round the walls.

“King Harald is on his way to the dale,” said Alric; “we assemble at Ulfstede.”

“Shall I bear on the token?” asked the youngest of the men.

“Aye; but go thou with it up the Wolf’s Den Valley. I myself will bear it round by the Eagle Crag and the coast.”

“That is a long way,” said the man, taking his shield down from a peg in the wall.

Alric replied not, for he had already darted away, and was again speeding along the mountain side.

Night had begun to close in, for the season had not yet advanced to the period of endless daylight. Far away in an offshoot vale, a bright ruddy light gleamed through the surrounding darkness. Alric’s eye was fixed on it. His untiring foot sped towards it. The roar of a mighty cataract grew louder on his ear every moment. He had to slacken his pace a little, and pick his steps as he went on, for the path was rugged and dangerous.

“I wonder if Old Hans of the Foss is at home?” was the thought that passed through his mind as he approached the door.

Old Hans himself answered the thought by opening the door at that moment. He was a short, thick-set, and very powerful man, of apparently sixty years of age, but his eye was as bright and his step as light as that of many a man of twenty.

“The war-token,” he said, almost gaily, stepping back into the cottage as Alric leaped in. “What is doing, son of Haldor?”

“King Harald will be upon us sooner than we wish. Ulfstede is the meeting-place. Can thy son speed on the token in the next valley?”

The old warrior shook his head sadly, and pointed to a low bed, where a young man lay with the wasted features and bright eyes that told of a deadly disease in its advanced stage.

An exclamation of regret and sympathy escaped from Alric. “I cannot go,” he said; “my course lies to the left, by the Stor foss. Hast no one to send?”

“I will go, father,” said a smart girl of fifteen, who had been seated behind her mother, near the couch of the sick man.

“Thou, bairn?”

“Yes, why not? It is only a league to Hawksdal, where young Eric will gladly relieve me.”

“True,” said the old warrior, with a smile, as he began to don his armour. “Go; I need not tell thee to make haste!”

Alric waited to hear no more, but darted away as the little maid tripped off in another direction.

Thus hour by hour the night passed by and Alric ran steadily on his course, rousing up all the fighting men in his passage through the district. As he advanced, messengers with war-tokens were multiplied, and, ere the morning’s sun had glinted on the mountain peaks or lighted up the white fields of the Justedal glacier, the whole country was in arms, and men were crowding to the rendezvous.

Daylight had just commenced to illumine the eastern sky, when Alric, having completed his round, found himself once more on the cliffs above the sea. But he was still six or eight miles from Ulfstede, and the path to it along the top of the cliffs was an extremely rugged one. Earnestly then did the poor boy wish that he had remembered to put a piece of bread in his wallet before leaving home, but in his haste he had forgotten to do so, and now he found himself weary, foot-sore, and faint from exertion, excitement, and hunger, far from any human habitation. As there was no remedy for this, he made up his mind to take a short rest on the grass, and then set off for home as fast as possible.

With this end in view he selected a soft spot, on a cliff overlooking the sea, and lay down with a sigh of satisfaction. Almost instantly he fell into a deep slumber, in which he lay, perfectly motionless, for some hours. How long that slumber would have lasted it is impossible to say, for it was prematurely and unpleasantly interrupted.

In his cat-like creepings about the coast, Hauskuld the berserk, having obtained all the information that he thought would be of use to his royal master, landed for the last time to reconnoitre the position of Ulfstede, and see as much as he could of the doings of the people before turning his prow again to the north. The spot where he ran his boat ashore was at the foot of a steep cliff, up which he and a comrade ascended with some difficulty.

At the top, to his surprise, he found a lad lying on the grass sound asleep. After contemplating him for a few minutes, and whispering a few words to his comrade, who indulged in a broad grin, Hauskuld drew his sword and pricked Alric on the shoulder with it. An electric shock could not have been more effective. The poor boy sprang up with a loud cry, and for a few seconds gazed at the berserks in bewilderment. Then it flashed upon his awakening faculties that he was standing before enemies, so he suddenly turned round and fled, but Hauskuld sprang after him, and, before he had got three yards away, had caught him by the nape of the neck with a grip that made him gasp.

“Ho, ho! my young fox, so ye thought to leave the hounds in the lurch? Come, cease thy kicking, else will I give thee an inch of steel to quiet thee. Tell me thy name, and what thou art about here, and I will consider whether to make use of thee or hurl thee over the cliffs.”

By this time Alric had fully recovered his senses and his self-possession. He stood boldly up before the berserk and replied—

“My name is Alric—son of Haldor the Fierce, out of whose way I advise thee to keep carefully, if thou art not tired of life. I have just been round with the war-token rousing the country.”

“A most proper occupation for an eaglet such as thou,” said Hauskuld; “that is to say, if the cause be a good one.”

“The cause is one of the best,” said Alric.

“Prithee, what may it be?”

“Self-defence against a tyrant.”

Hauskuld glanced at his comrade, and smiled sarcastically as he asked—

“And who may this tyrant be?”

“Harald Haarfager, tyrant King of Norway,” replied the lad stoutly.

“I thought so,” said Hauskuld, with a grim twist of his features. “Well, young eaglet, thou art worthy to be made mincemeat of to feed the crows, but it may be that the tyrant would like to dispose of thee himself. Say now, whether will ye walk down that cliff quietly in front of me, or be dragged down?”

“I would rather walk, if I must go.”

“Well, thou must go, therefore—walk, and see thou do it as briskly as may be, else will I apply the spur, which thou hast felt once already this morning. Lead the way, comrade; I will bring up the rear to prevent the colt from bolting.”

As he knew that resistance would be useless, the boy promptly and silently descended the cliff with his captors, and entered the boat, which was immediately pushed off and rowed along-shore.

“Now listen to me, Alric, son of Haldor,” said Hauskuld, seating himself beside his captive: “King Harald is not the tyrant you take him for; he is a good king, and anxious to do the best he can for Norway. Some mistaken men, like your father, compel him to take strong measures when he would fain take mild. If you will take me to a spot where I may safely view the valley of Horlingdal, and tell me all you know about their preparations for resistance, I will take you back to Drontheim, and speak well of you to the King, who will not only reward you with his favour, but make good terms, I doubt not, with your father.”

The wily berserk had changed his tone to that of one who addresses a superior in rank while he thus tempted the boy; but he little guessed the spirit of his captive.

“What!” he exclaimed scornfully; “wouldst thou have me turn traitor to my own father?”

“Nay, I would have you turn wise for the sake of your father and yourself. Think well of what I say, and all I ask of you is to guide me to a good point of observation. There is a cave, they say, near Ulfstede, with its mouth to the sea, and a secret entrance from the land. No doubt I could find it myself with a little trouble, but it would save time if you were to point it out.”

“Never!” exclaimed Alric sternly.

“Truly thou art a chip of the old tree,” said Hauskuld, taking Alric’s ear between his finger and thumb; “but there are means to take which have been known to bend stouter hearts than thine. Say, wilt thou show me the cave?”

He pinched the ear with gradually increasing force as he spoke, but Alric neither spoke nor winced, although the blood which rushed to his face showed that he felt the pain keenly.

“Well, well,” said the berserk, relaxing his grip, “this is a torture only fit for very small boys after all. Hand me the pincers, Arne.”

One of the men drew in his oar, and from a locker pulled out a pair of large pincers, which he handed to his chief, who at once applied them to the fleshy part at the back of Alric’s arm, between the elbow and the shoulder.

“When thou art willing to do as I bid thee, I will cease to pinch,” said Hauskuld.

Poor Alric had turned pale at the sight of the pincers, for he knew well the use they would be put to; but he set his teeth tightly together, and determined to endure it. As the pain increased the blood rushed again to his face, but an extra squeeze of the instrument of torture sent it rushing back with a deadly chill to his