Chapter IV: The Song of the Bosham Bell

There is a wondrous joy in the heart of a man who sees his own land again after long days at sea, but none of that joy might be mine as the long lines of the South Downs showed blue through the haze of the late September day. Only the promise of Lodbrok's son, that on English shores I should not fight, helped me a little, else should I have been fain to end it all, axe to axe with Rorik on the narrow deck just now, or in some other way less manful, that would never have come into my mind but for the sore grief that I was in. And these thoughts are not good to look back upon, and, moreover, I should have fully trusted my friend Halfden Lodbroksson.

Hardest of all was it to me when I knew where our landing was to be made; for if Glastonbury is the most holy place in Wessex, so should Bosham, the place of Wilfrith the Saint, be held in reverence by every South Saxon; because there, unmindful of his wrongs {ix}, he was content to labour with the wild heathen folk, teaching them, both in body and soul, the first lessons of our holy faith.

Well knew I the stories of those places which I saw as the ships crept up the haven, for Humbert our bishop had told me them many a time when as a child I sat on his knee and listened, wondering. There was Selsea with its pile of buildings--Wilfrith's own--there the little cliff over which the starving heathen had cast themselves in their despair, and there, at last, the village, clustering round the little monastery that Dicul, the Irish monk, had founded, and where Wilfrith had first taught. And now, maybe, I must see the roofs that had sheltered him, and heard the first praises of his converts, burnt before my eyes, and that while I myself was siding with the destroyers.

Then at last I took Halfden aside and told him my trouble, putting him in mind of the promise he had made me.

"Aye," said he, "I knew what made you so silent, and I have but waited for you to speak. Ill should I have thought of you had you not done so. But I have this plan for you. You shall go ashore with the first, and speak to the Saxons to give us ransom, if they have aught, or if any man is foolish enough to bide in the place when we come. Then, if you will, you shall leave us and make your way homeward, there to give messages to my father and yours, and to look for my coming to Reedham shortly. There will I winter with you, and we will sail to Jutland in the spring."

Then he looked long at me, and put his arm round my shoulder.

"Truly I shall miss you, Wulfric, my brother, yet it is but for a short time."

Now I knew not how to thank him, for this plan was all that I could wish. And he would have no delay, but gave me good Saxon arms and helm, and a chain-mail byrnie {x} of the best, such as Saxon or Dane alike would wear, for he had many such, gathered from the different lands he had raided with his father and brothers.

"Any man, seeing you in Danish arms and helm," he said, "might well mistrust you. So you must needs take these, for you have far to go."

Then, too, he pressed on me a heavy leathern bag, for he said truly enough that I should need gold withal to buy a horse. And this I took willingly, saying that it should be as a loan till he came to Reedham.

"Nay," quoth he, "this is your share of booty; we surely gained enough on yonder shores to bring you this much."

Then I was silent, for I was ashamed of those gains, and I did not look into the bag, but bestowed it inside my mail shirt, for I would not offend him. Then, when I was armed and ready, he gave me many messages for his father, and thanks to mine. A ring, too, he gave me for a sure token of his friendship to me; and so as the ship crept, under oars only, up Bosham haven, we talked of the hunting we would have together, when the leaves were fallen in our forests; and that was pleasant to look forward to.

Now began frightened men to run to and fro on the haven's banks, and then suddenly came the ringing of a bell from the low tower of the church, and the Danes began to look to their arms, stringing bows, and bringing up the pebble ballast for sling stones, in case the landing should be resisted.

But when we came to a little wharf, the other ship being perhaps a mile astern of us, there was no man. Only a small fishing vessel lay alongside, and that we cast adrift, taking its place.

Then Halfden and I and twenty men went quickly ashore and marched up among the trees of the village street. There was no man in sight, but the bell was still ringing.

A great fear for the holy men shut up in the little monastery came over me now, and I asked Halfden to let me warn them, for I knew that he was like his father and would not deny me in this.

"Go and do so if you can," he said, "and so farewell till we meet at Reedham. We shall bide here till Rorik's men join us, and you will have time."

So he took my hand and I went quickly thereafter, the men calling after me "Farewell, axeman!" heartily enough, knowing of my going to Reedham, and caring nothing for the monks, seeing that there would be no fighting.

Now, guided by the bell, I went on quickly, seeing no man. The houses stood open and deserted, and all along the road were scattered goods, showing that the people had fled in haste, so that they had soon cast aside the heavier things they had thought to save.

Soon I came to the gate of the little stone-walled monastery, over which rose the tower whence the bell yet rang; for the church seemed to make one side of the courtyard into which the gate would lead. A farm cart stood outside; but the gates were closed, and when I looked, I saw that the pin of the wheel was broken, so that the cart could go no further. And that made me fear that more than the monks were penned inside those four walls.

I knocked loudly on the gate, and for a while was no answer, though I thought the ringing of the bell grew more hurried. Then I beat on the gate with my axe, crying:

"Open, in the name of Eadmund the King."

And I used his name because, though a Dane might well call in subtlety on the name of Ethelred, none but a Saxon who knew how well loved was the under-king of East Anglia would think of naming him. And I was right, for at his name the little square wicket in the midst of the gate opened, and through its bars an old monk looked out, and at once I cried to him:

"Let me in, Father, for the Danes are at my heels."

He muttered a prayer in a voice that trembled, and let me in, holding the gate fast, and closing and barring it after me.

And all the courtyard was full of terrified men, women, and children, while among them stood the half-dozen monks of the place, pale and silent, listening to the clang of the bell overhead.

When they saw me some of the women shrieked and clung to children or husbands, scared at my arms. But one of the monks, a tall man on whose breast was a golden cross, came quickly to me, asking: "Is the sheriff at hand with the levy?"

I told him hastily how that the only hope for these helpless ones was in flight to the woods, urging him until he understood me. Gathering his monks around him, and rousing the people, he led them to the rearward gate that opened toward the forest land, calling at the same time to his swineherd, who was there, and bidding him take them by the forest tracks to Chichester.

Then he bade his monks go also; but they lingered, asking to be allowed to stay with him, and also what should become of the holy vessels if the heathen laid profane hands on them.

"Obey, as your vows bid you," said the prior; "I and this warrior will care for the holy things."

So they went, weeping, and were lost in the woods; for there was little cleared land round the village, and the trees came close to the monastery walls.

Now we two, the monk and I, stood at the open gate for a moment and listened. We could hear nothing of the Danes as yet.

Then we closed and barred that gate; and all this while the bell had tolled unceasingly, calling as it were for help that came not.

"Now do you go and call the sacristan from the bell," the prior said, "and bid him lead you to the chancel, where I shall be."

I went to the tower door, unhesitating, for this man seemed to have a wondrous power of command, so that I obeyed him without question, even as had the villagers. And even as I went there came the sound of many rushing feet up the street, and yells from Danish throats, while axe blows began to rain on the gate by which I had entered.

Then the prior bade me hold the gate when he heard that, and he spoke quietly and in no terror, turning and calling to the man in the tower himself; while I stood opposite the gate, looking to see it fall with every blow. Yet it was not so weakly made as that, and moreover I remembered that it was crossed with iron bands in squares so that the axes could not bite it fairly.

Now the bell stopped and the Danes howled the louder. A torch flew over the wall and fell at my feet blazing, and I hurled it back, and the Danes laughed at one whom it struck. Then came the two monks from the tower and ran into the church, while I watched the trembling of the sorely-tried gate, and had it fallen I should surely have smitten the first Dane who entered, even had Halfden himself been foremost, for in the four walls of that holy place I was trapped, and knew that I must fight at last. And now it seemed to me that I was to fight for our faith and our land; and for those sacred things, if I might do naught in dying, I would give my life gladly.

"Come," said the prior's voice, and he was smiling though his face was pale, while behind him the sacristan bore an oaken chest, iron bound, on his shoulders.

He drew me across the courtyard, but I ever looked back at the gate, thinking it would fall; and now they were at the other gate, and blows rained on it. Yet the monk smiled again and went on without faltering, though our way was towards it.

Then we turned under an arch into a second court, and the din was less plain as we did so. There was the well of the monastery, and without a word the sacristan hove the heavy chest from his shoulders into its black depths, and the splash and bubble of its falling came up to us.

"That is safe," said the prior; "now for ourselves."

He hooked the oaken bucket to its rope and let it down to its full length in the well, and at once the sacristan swung himself on it, slid down, and was gone. Then the rope swayed to one side, and stayed there, shaking gently in a minute or so.

The prior drew it up, and maybe fifteen feet from the top, there was a bundle tied--a rope ladder on which were iron hooks. These he fastened to the edge of the oaken platform that covered the well mouth, and let the other end fall down the well. Then he bade me go down to the sacristan.

That was easy to me, and I went, yet I feared for him who stood listening to the splintering of the nearer gate, for it would soon fall surely. I saw the sacristan's face glimmer white before me from a hollow in the well shaft, as I set my foot on the last rung of the ladder, and I held out my hand to him. Then in a moment I was beside him in a little chamber built in the walling of the well; and after me came the prior.

He jerked the ladder from side to side till the hooks above lost their hold and it fell, so that he drew it in. We were but a few feet above the water, and the well rope hung down into the blackness before us, but I was sure that no man could see the little doorway of the chamber from above, for the trapdoor in the well cover was small, and light there was hardly any.

"Now all is safe," said the prior; "and we may be careless again."

"They will burn the monastery," I said. "One torch has been thrown already."

He smiled a little, as I thought, for my eyes were growing used to the dim light.

"They may burn some things, but roof and benches are soon made afresh. There is oaken timber in plenty in Andredsweald, and ready hands to hew it. Our stone walls they cannot hurt."

Those were all the words we spoke of the matter at that time, for there came a great shouting. One of the gates had fallen at last, and the Danes were in the place.

"Father," said the sacristan, "surely they will find this place?"

The prior laughed a short laugh.

"That is a thought born of your fears, Brother," he answered; and I who had had the same fear was rebuked also, for indeed that I should go down the well had never come into my mind, even in our need of shelter, so why should the Danes think of it?

Then we were silent, listening to the feet and voices overhead. The Danes found the belfry presently, and began to toll the bell unskillfully while the men below jeered at those who handled the ropes. Then the bell clashed twice strangely, and the prior laughed outright.

"The clumsy churls have overthrown her," he said, "now I hope that one has had his head broken thereby."

I marvelled that he could jest thus, though maybe, after the strain and terror of the danger we had so far escaped, it was but natural that his mind should so rebound as it were.

Very soon after this the Danes came clattering into the little court where the well was, and straightway came to its mouth, casting stones down it, as no idle man can help doing. The sacristan crept to the furthest corner of our little den and sat there trembling, while I and the other monk listened with set teeth to the words that came down to us. Nor will I say that I was not somewhat frightened also, for it seemed to me that the voices were unknown to me. They were Rorik's men, therefore, and not our crew--who likely enough would but have jeered at me had they found me hiding thus.

"Halfden's men have drunk all the ale in the place, and that was not much," said one man; "let us try the water, for the dust of these old storehouses is in my throat."

Then he began to draw up the bucket, and it splashed over us as it went past our doorway.

"There is naught worth taking in this place," growled another man. "Maybe they have hove their hoards down the well!"

Now at that the sacristan gave a stifled groan of terror, and I clutched my axe, ready for need.

"All right, go down and see!" answered one or two, but more in jest than earnest.

Then one dropped a great stone in, and waited to hear it bubble from the bottom, that he might judge the depth. Now no bubbles came, or so soon that they were lost in the splash, and the prior took some of the crumbling mortar from the cell walls, and cast it in after a few moments. And that was a brave and crafty thing to do, for it wrought well.

"Hear the bubble," said the Dane; "the well must be many a fathom deep--how long it seemed before they came up!"

So they drank their fill, saying that it was useless to go down therefore, and anyhow there would be naught but a few silver vessels.

"I have seen the same before," said one; "and moreover no man has luck with those things from a church."

No man gainsaid him, so they kicked the bucket down the well and went away.

Now I breathed freely again, and was about to whisper to the prior that his thought of making what would pass for bubbling was good; but more Danes came. And they were men of Halfden's ship; so we must wait and listen, and this time I thought that surely we were to be found. For the men began to play with one another as they drank from the bucket; pushing each other's heads therein, and the helm of one fell off and fled past us to the bottom; and some words passed pretty roughly. And after they had done quarrelling they crowded over the trapdoor, as one might know by the darkening of the shaft. Then one saw the helm, for it was of leather, iron bound, and had fallen rim upward, so that it floated. Now one was going to swarm down the rope to get it, but as he swung the rope to him, the bucket swayed in the water under the helm, and he saw that it did so. Whereon he wound both up, and they too went away.

"That was a lucky chance!" I whispered.

"No chance at all, my son; that was surely done by the same Hand that sent you here to warn us," answered the prior. And I think that he was right.

Now came a whiff of biting smoke down the well shaft, borne by some breath of wind that eddied into it. The Danes had fired the place!

"Father," I whispered, pulling the prior forward, for he had gone into the little cell to give thanks for this last deliverance.

He looked very grave as he saw the blue haze across the doorway, hiding the moss and a tiny fern that grew on the shaft walls over against us.

"This is what I feared, though I must needs make light of it," he said.

"It cannot harm us here," I answered.

"All round this court on three sides the buildings are of wood; sheds and storehouses they are and of no account, but if one falls across the well mouth--what then?"

"Then we are like to be stifled," said I; for even now the smoke grew thicker, even so far down as we were. And when I looked out and up there was naught but smoke across the well mouth, and with that, sparks.

"Pent up and stifled both," said the quavering voice of the sacristan from behind us. "How may we get out of this place till men come and raise the ruin that will cover us? And who knows we are here but ourselves?"

"Forgive me for bringing you to this pass," said the prior gravely, after a little silence.

The smoke grew even denser, and we must needs cough, while the tears ran from my eyes, for the stinging oak smoke seemed trapped when once it was driven down the well.

"I have known men escape from worse than this," I said, thinking of Lodbrok, and turning over many wild plans in my mind.

"I had forgotten this danger of wooden walls," said the prior to himself, as it were. "Doubtless when this well chamber was made it was without the inclosure."

Now it seemed to me that this could not be borne much longer, and that soon the walls he dreaded would fall. So as one might as well die in one way as another, I thought I would climb to the well's mouth and see if there were any chance of safety for these two monks. Yet I had no thought of aught but dying with them, if need were, though as for myself I had but to walk across the courtyard and go away. The Danes would but think I lingered yet for the sake of plunder.

"If we may not stand this smoke, neither can the Danes," I said. "I am going to see."

So I set down my axe and sword and leapt sailor-wise at the rope--which the men had dropped again when they had taken the helm from the bucket--catching it easily and swarming up to the trapdoor. I only raised myself to the height of my eyes and looked out.

I could see nothing. The dense smoke eddied and circled round the court, and the Danes were gone, leaving us in a ring of fire on three sides. The wooden buildings were blazing higher every moment, and the heat seemed to scorch my head and hands till I could scarcely bear it. But as the wind drove aside the smoke I could see that the way to the rear gate, the last we had barred, was clear. So I slid down and hung opposite the chamber. The monks looked out at me with white faces.

"It may be done," I said. "Come quickly! it is the only chance."

The prior gave me the rope-ladder end without a word, not needing to be asked for it; nor did I wait to say more, for at that moment a roof fell in with a great crash, and a red glare filled the well as the flames shot up, and the sparks and bits of burning timber came down the shaft and hissed into the water below me.

I clomb up, fixed the ladder, and called down to the prior to bring my arms with him. There was a burning beam not three feet from the well mouth, part of the fallen roof that had slipped sideways from it. The flames that shot up from the building were so hot that I could barely abide them, and I shaded my face with both my hands, crying again to the monks to come quickly.

In a few seconds came the sacristan, white and trembling--I had to help him out of the well mouth. The prior was close to him; he was calm, and even smiled at me as he saw me clutch my arms eagerly.

"To the rear gate," I said, turning and kicking the ladder into the well, and thinking how cool the splash was compared with this furnace of heat. "Kilt up your frocks and go swiftly, but run not," for in that smoke, save their long garments betrayed them, a man might be armed or unarmed for all that one could see.

So, walking quickly, we came to the court entrance, and even as we stood under its archway the building nearest the well fell with a crash and rumble, covering the well mouth with a pile of blazing timber. The smoke and flame seemed to wrap us round, while the burning timber flew, and the Danes from the great courtyard yelled with evil delight; but before that cloud had cleared away we three were outside the monastery gate, and were safe.

"Just in time," I said.

But "Deo gratias" said the monks in a breath.

"Now run," said I, and into the nearest spur of woodland we went, and stayed not till we were beyond reach of the yells of the destroyers, who, as it seemed, had not even seen us.

When we were sure that we were not pursued, the prior took my arm and pressed it.

"Thanks to you, my son, our people are safe, and we have come out of yon furnace unscathed. May you find help in time of need as near and ready. Now when I read the story of the Three Children, I think I shall know all that they suffered, for we have been in like case."

And I could make no answer, for it seemed to me that I had forgotten that I was a Christian of late. And that was true.

Now the prior bade the sacristan hasten to Chichester and tell all this to the sheriff, and he left us, while we went on alone. Presently I asked who made the chamber in the well, for the silence weighed on me, and my thoughts were not so lightsome.

"Doubtless by Wilfrith's men," he said, "and for the same turn it has served us. For in his days there were many heathen round him, and flight or hiding might be the last resort at any time."

Then I wondered, saying that I deemed that surely it was a greater thing to be a martyr and to die, than to save life.

"Not always so," he answered, and then he told me of the ways of holy men of old time. "We may by no means save life by denying our faith, but we are bidden to flee into another place when persecuted. We may not choose the place of our death, nor yet the time."

So he showed me at last what it was to be truly a martyr, fearing not, nor yet seeking death.

"Of a truth," he ended, "the Lord may need my death by the hand of the heathen at some time, and when the time comes I shall know it, and will die gladly. But while He gives me the power to save life blamelessly, I know that He needs me on earth yet, though I am of little worth."

So we were silent after that, ever going on through the woods. At last he laughed a little, and looked sidewise at me.

"We two are alone," he said, "therefore I do not mind saying that I have been fairly afraid--how felt you?"

"I would I might never be so frightened again," I answered, for truly I had made myself so at one with this brave man that I had forgotten that there was little fear for myself, as I have said, unless that it had been Rorik's crew who had found us, for only a few of them knew me.

We came now to a place where the trees thinned away on the brow of a hill, and I could see the broad waters of the haven through their trunks. We had reached the crest of that little cliff over which Wilfrith's heathen had cast themselves in the great famine from which he saved them.

"Let us see the last of Bosham," the prior said sadly. So we crept through the fern and long grass, and lying down looked out over haven and village. Even if a prying Dane looked our way he would hardly see us thus hidden, or if he did would take us but for villagers and care not.

Now I saw that the tide was on the turn, and that Halfden's ship--my own ship, as I have ever thought her--had hauled out, and her boats waited for the last of the crew at the wharf side. But Rorik's ship was there still, and her men were busy rigging a crane of spars as though they would lower some heavy thing on board her. Nor could I guess what that might be.

Then I looked at the village, which was burning here and there, and at the monastery. They had not fired the church, and the Danes clustered round the tower doorway, busied with something, and I could see them well, for the smoke from the burning buildings blew away from us.

Now I asked the prior what heavy things worth carrying away might be in the monastery.

"Naught," he said; "since they have drunk all the ale that was in the cask or two we had.

"But," he added, "there is the great bell, it is the only weighty thing else."

Then I knew what was toward, and said:

"I fear, Father, that your bell is going to be taken to become metal for mail shirts, and axe heads, and arrowheads, and helms."

"Holy St. Wilfrith!" cried the monk, in great grief; "would that we could have saved it. There is no such bell in all England, and if they take it, many a sailor will miss its call through fog and driving mist, and many a shepherd on yonder downs will wait for its ringing, and be the wearier for lack thereof."

"Never have I seen bell too large for one man to handle," I said; "this must be a wondrous bell!"

So it was, he told me, and while we watched the busy Danes, he began to sing to me in low tones the song of Bosham bell which his people would sing by the fireside.

"Hard by the haven, Wilfrith the holy Bade men a bell tower Sturdily build. Thence should a bell sound Over the wide seas, Homeward to hail The hardy shipmen. Thus was the bell wrought By skilful workmen: Into the fierce fire, When it was founded, Helm and harness The warriors hove; Willingly women, The jewel wearers, Golden and silver gauds Gave for the melting; And a great anchor The seamen added. Thus was a wealth Of wondrous metal. When all was molten More grew its marvel! Cast in a chalice, Cuthred the priest."

"Aye, Father," said I, "that is a wondrous bell."

He nodded, and went on, with his eyes fixed on the monastery.

"Thus as the bell swings Soothly it speaketh: Churchward it calleth With voice of the chalice, Speaking to shipmen With voice that is sea born. Homeward the husband Hailing with voices Fresh from the fireside, Where flashed the gold gifts-- Clashing the war call, Clear with its warrior voice."

"That was the voice of the bell that sounded as we came," I thought; and even as I would have said it, the bell of Bosham spoke again, and the prior stopped with an exclamation, and pointed.

Out of the gateway came four Danes, bearing the bell between them, and as they crossed the threshold, one stumbled, and the bell clanged as they dropped it on the courtyard pavement. The tears ran down the holy man's face as he saw this mishap to his beloved bell, which was kept bright as when it was first founded, by the loving hands of his people.

Now the Danes put it on that farm cart I had seen, and which they had mended, and took the bell down to the wharf, and we watched them sling it to the crane they had rigged, and place it amidships on deck. Then they all went hastily on board, and put out into the haven, down which Halfden's ship was already a mile distant, and dancing on the quick waves of wind against tide where the waters broadened into a wide lake.

Now when the ship was fairly under way, the prior rose up from beside me, and lifting his hand, cursed ship and crew with so great and bitter a curse that I trembled and looked to see the ship founder at once, so terrible were his words.

Yet the ship held on her course, and the words seemed vain and wasted, though I know not so certainly that they were so. For this is what I saw when the ship met the waves of that wider stretch of water that Halfden had now crossed.

She pitched sharply, and there was a bright gleam of sunlight from the great bell's polished sides, and then another--and the ship listed over to starboard and a wave curled in foam over her gunwale. Then she righted again quickly, and as though relieved of some weight, yet when a heavier, crested roller came on her she rose to it hardly at all, and it broke on board her. And at that she sank like a stone, and I could hear the yell that her men gave come down the wind to me.

Then all the water was dotted with men for a little, and the bright red and white of her sail floated on the waves for a minute, and then all that was left of her were the masthead and yard--and on them a few men. The rest were gone, for they were in their mail, and might not swim. Only a few yet clung to floating oars and the like.

"Little have these heathen gained from Bosham," said the prior, and his eyes flashed with triumph. "Wilfrith the holy has punished their ill doing."

So, too, it seemed to me, and I thought to myself that the weight of that awesome curse had indeed fallen on the robbers.

Yet I know that, as I watched the ship in her trouble, in my own mind I had been going over what was amiss, as any seaman will, without thought of powers above. And I thought that the sharp pitching of the vessel had cast the great bell from amidships, where I had seen the Danes place it unsecured, against the frail gunwale, first to one side, and then, with greater force yet, against the other; so that it burst open gunwale and planking below, and already she was filling when the wave came and ended all. For these swift viking ships are built to take no heavy cargo, and planks and timbers are but bound together by roots and withies; so that as one stands on the deck one may feel it give and spring to the blow of a wave, and the ship is all the swifter. But though the outer planking is closely riveted together with good iron, that could not withstand the crashing weight of so great a bell when it was thus flung against it.

However that may have been--and thus I surely think it was--Bosham bell passed not into the power of the heathen, but destroyed them; and it lies at the bottom of the deepest reach of the haven whence the depth and swiftness of the tide will hardly let men bring it again. So I suppose that, profaned by heathen hands, it may no longer call men from across the water and woodland to the church of God.

Soon came the boats from Halfden's ship and picked up those who yet clung to what they might of the wreck, and then ship and Danes passed from Bosham haven, leaving the silent tower and burning village to mark where they had been.

Then the prior sighed, and turning away, said:

"Let us go to Chichester and find shelter. Night comes soon, and rest."

Sadly enough we went, though not for long: for when we came into the roadway from the forest land, the prior put his heavy thoughts aside, and spoke cheerfully to me.

"What is done is done; and but for you, my son, things would have been worse. And their greed for the bell has made them spare the church itself. Surely you must have fallen from the clouds to help us--borne hither from the East Anglian land whose tongue bewrays you."

"I marvel that you trusted me," I said.

"I trusted your face, my son, and when one is in a hard case the first help is ever the best. Yet now I would fain know somewhat of my good comrade."

Now I think that to any but this monk, with his friendly smile and way of quiet authority, I should have been ashamed to own my part with the Danes. But a few hours of companionship in danger knit closer than many a long day of idleness together, and he seemed to me as a near friend. Moreover, he had trusted me without question; so I told him all my tale and he listened patiently.

"Now I am glad that I cursed not your friend's ship--for I forgot her," he said, smiling.

At that I was glad, for how he would hold my being with the heathen I somewhat doubted, and I told him so.

"Why, my son, I know not that you had much choice. And as for fighting against outlanders--let me heft that axe of yours."

He took it, and it fell into his hands in a way that told me that he, too, had been a stark fighting man at some time.

"Take it away, my son, take it away!" he cried, thrusting it back on me; "I am not the man to blame you. And I know that much good has come to us from your being with them. And from your talk about martyrs I know that you have done no honour to their gods."

I said truly that the question had never come into my mind. For, save as oath or war cry, the names of Thor and Odin were not heard. They sacrificed on going to sea, and on return; and meanwhile cared naught, so far as I knew, for none had questioned my faith.

He said it was well, and so talking we went on. And he said that, as friend of his, none would question me, so that I should find all I needed for my journey in the town. And when we came there--meeting the sheriff's ill-armed levy on the way--we went to the house of a great thane, and there were well and kindly received.

Yet once and again as I slept I dreamed and woke with the cry of Rorik's men in my ears, and before me the bell seemed to flash again as it crashed through the ship's side. And once I woke thinking that the smell of burning was round me, and felt, half awake, for the stone walls of the well chamber. But at last I slept soundly and peacefully.