Hrolf Kraki's Saga Read online

  "Well, I have said it was only bad luck which kept me from joining you. Stay, you three brothers, and I will do well by you. None shall stand higher."

  Svipdag held himself from telling the king he lied; and as for Adhils, he did not really urge them to abide. His eyes kept shifting aglitter toward Yrsa. She sat dumb. Soon Adhils asked whither they meant to fare.

  "We've not decided that yet," Svipdag admitted. "I do want to learn the ways of other folk and other kings, and not grow old here in Svithjodh."

  "Well," said Adhils happily, "to show I've no hard feelings, I promise you safe conduct should you ever come visit us."

  Svipdag looked at Yrsa. "I will," he said.

  In the morning the brothers busked themselves to go. When they were ready, Svipdag sought the queen in her bower. The room where she and her maidens were stood open to sight of trees, whose rustling blew in on a green-smelling wind, and to a heaven where clouds wandered white. She stared long at him, his face scarred and aged, bones jutting under sallow skin, a black patch where an eye had been. Silence grew.

  "I would . . . thank you . . . my lady," he said at length, very softly, "for the honor you have shown me."

  "Little enough," she answered, herself scarcely to be heard beneath the wind outside. "Now Helgi sleeps well. And I, I need no more see his murderers daily about me." The distaff fell from her hands. She reached out. "Oh, why must you go?"

  "This is no longer good for either of us," wrenched from him. "I've freed you of something, maybe, but— I've marked how I'm become a drawn sword between you and the king."

  "There was never much else between us," said Yrsa as if her girls were not around her.

  "I would only make your sorrows worse, my lady," said Svipdag. "In the end, through me you could even come into danger of your life."

  She nodded. Bleakness fell upon her. "More likely, I would bring about your downfall. You're right, here is no longer a place for you. Go, then, and luck and gladness ride at your side." Her shield broke. "Will I ever see you again?"

  "If that is my weird, as truly it is my will, I swear so." They spoke only a few words more ere Svipdag left the room. She heard hoofbeats dwindle hollowly away.

  V

  The brothers went to their parents, where Svipdag spent the next several months getting back his strength and learning how to land his blows one-eyed. He was less blithe than formerly.

  Yet he was young, and the world reached before him. Eagerness waxed as his health did. Hvitserk and Beigadh were no less fain to be off. They asked Svip where they might best betake themselves.

  "Well, the highest honor, the biggest chance for gold and renown, is with King Hrolf in Denmark and his warriors," the yeoman told them. "I've heard said for sooth that thither are flocking the best fighters in the Northlands."

  "Where do you think they will seat me?" Svipdag wanted to know.

  His father shrugged and said, "That may in some wise depend on you. But I hear of King Hrolf that his like is not to be found. Never does he spare gold and other dear things for whoever will take them of him. He's skimpy of size, I hear, but great in his thinking and knowledge, a handsome man, haughty toward those who're not mild, but easy-going and friendly toward small folk and any who don't set themselves athwart him. A poor man has no more trouble meeting him and getting a fair word than does a wealthy one. At the same time, he's making his neighbor kings into underlings. Some freely give him their oath, for under him are peace and just laws. Aye, his name will be unforgotten while the world stands."

  Svipdag nodded. He had heard the same at Uppsala. "After what you've told," he said, while his brothers added quick yesses, "I think we should seek King Hrolf, if he'll take us in."

  "You must see to that yourselves," answered the yeoman. Sadly: "Me, liefest would I that you stayed home with us."

  They would not hear of this, as he had foreknown. Erelong they bade their father and mother goodbye. Afterward she smote her hands together and said: "She who's hatched eagles and can't fly. . . . Well, we have our daughters and grandchildren."

  Of the faring south is naught to tell. At the Sound the brothers bought ship-passage for themselves and their horses, and from Cheaping-Haven rode across Zealand to Leidhra.

  Roskilde had drawn off most of those who once lived there. Hrolf, like Helgi before him, thought it best to keep his brawling guardsmen away from the town. Moreover, Leidhra was the olden seat of the Dane-Kings, founded by Dan himself, hallowed by memories of Skjold the Sheaf-Child. And it was no mere stronghold. The stockade ringed big houses as well as the royal hall, lesser dwellings, sheds, bathhouses, barns, stables, mews, kennels, workshops which made clangorous the daylit air. Even so, many who had to do with the king's household spilled forth in homes strewn across that land of farms and woodlots which rolled richly green from Leidhra to world-edge.

  North, south, east, west, four well-kept highroads ran to the gates of the burg. Traffic went thick upon them, wheels, hoofs, feet. Outside the walls were always booths or tents which traders raised, for a few days of dickering before going on elsewhere: a swirl of bright garb, a hubbub of talk and laughter, maybe a roar when two men put on a fight between their stallions. Hearthsmoke made the air bittersweet, above a ripeness of roasting and hay and pitch and dung and sweat and pine planks under a summer sun. Here trundled an oxcart, there clattered a warrior, yonder a smith banged hammer on forge, a carpenter's saw went ret-ret, naked children tumbled amidst yapping dogs in the dust between buildings, a woman drew water from a well which tapped the nearby stream, a maiden fluttered her lashes at the three tall newcomers. "This is less in size than Uppsala," said Hvitserk.

  "Well, yes, seeing as how most of the trade is elsewhere," said Beigadh. "Here's a town for chieftains."

  "I was about to finish, it seems greater in heart."

  "And surely in its hall," said Svipdag, pointing. For last year, the seventh of his reign, Hrolf had built a new one, as grand in every way as had been his uncle's. Only did he leave off gilt antlers, lest they bring the same bad luck; but cunning carvings swarmed over every gable and beam-end.

  "After that gloomy cave where Adhils squats . . . how bright in here!" said Svipdag as they entered.

  The king was on hand, playing a board game against an older man. When the brothers greeted him, he leaned back on the bench, smiled, and asked their names. They told him, and added that Svipdag had been a while with King Adhils.

  Hrolf’s brow darkened. He spoke calmly enough:

  "Then why did you come here? Between Adhils and me is no close friendship."

  "I know that, lord," said Svipdag. "Nonetheless I would much like to become your man if it can be done, and my brothers too, though you can see they're little used to this kind of thing."

  "Wait." King Hrolf sat straight. "Svipdag . . . why, yes, I've heard of you, if you're the one—how you three slew Adhils's berserkers and did other mighty deeds."

  "We are those, lord," said Svipdag; and less boldly: "Your mother Queen Yrsa was a friend to me."

  Hrolf brightened. He bade them sit down and shouted for drink. They talked long and long. That evening the king had them stand by his high seat, and after the guardsmen had come in, he uttered forth who they were. "I had not thought I would make any who have served King Adhils into comrades of mine," he said. "But since they've sought me I'll take them in and believe it'll pay us well, for I see that these are doughty fellows."

  "Where shall we sit?" asked Svipdag a bit stiffly.

  Hrolf pointed rightward, where a stretch of bench stood empty before one saw the first of the row of warriors. "By that man who hight Starulf; but leave room for twelve."

  It was a fairly honorable seat. After all, the brothers had yet to prove themselves here. When he sat down, Svipdag asked why a dozen places should stand unused. Starulf told him that those belonged to the king's berserkers, who were away at war. Svipdag frowned.

  Hrolf was unwed, because thus far he saw no house to which he felt sure he wanted
to tie himself that firmly. However, by two daughters of yeomen he had girls of his own, Drifa and Skur. They were quite young, though old enough to serve in the hall, both pretty, both taken with the brothers from Svithjodh, and showed these goodwill.

  Likewise did the other guardsmen as friendships ripened. Next year, they said, the king would take the field himself, not just have a few shipsful out. Then he would be ready to win back Fyn, second of the Danish islands. Many a chance would there be for a warrior to gain renown. Meanwhile were ease, merriment, traveling about among the Thingsteads, hunting, feasting, sports, a hearty life under an unstinting lord. Svipdag, Hvitserk, and Beigadh agreed they had come well to harbor.

  So time passed through the summer and to the fall, when the berserkers came home.

  Svipdag bristled to see those hairy hulks tread in, armed as if for battle, so much like those that had troubled Yrsa. He had been warned of their custom. They went from man to man, and their leader asked each who sat whether he deemed himself as good as them. Not even the king was free of this. To keep the peace with those beast-men, who were of high use in war, he was wont to answer something like: "It's hard to say, for surely you're fearless, you who have won such honor in weaponstrife and bloodspilling among many folk both north and south." The rest of the troop did likewise, hitting on different words which would not sound like outright cringing. Still, it was easy to hear both fear and shame in their voices.

  A bearded giant loomed over the eye-patched Swede and hawked the question. Svipdag sprang up. His sword hissed forth. (Hrolf let his men bear arms in the hall, saying he would not dishonor them by mistrust.) "In no way am I less than every one of you!" he shouted.

  Shock brought stillness along the snapping, fluttering fires. The berserkers gaped, until their leader shook himself and challenged: "Hew at my helmet!"

  Svipdag did. Metal rang. His edge would not bite, either on the helmet or on the mail which this band wore in spite of their name. The berserker bawled and drew blade. They squared off to fight. Hvitserk and Beigadh snatched their own weapons out.

  King Hrolf came on the run. He sprang between them, nearly getting cut down. "You must not do this!" he cried. "We've foemen enough without squandering each other's blood. Hereafter, Agnar, Svipdag, you'll be reckoned alike, and both good friends of mine."

  The men snarled and glared. But their king stood in their way and spoke words both stern and mild. Too many brawls had there been in this troop, he said. He would have no more of it. Strong they all were, and he would hate to lose any of them. Nonetheless, whoever picked a fight with a brother in arms, be it these three from Svithjodh who had slain the twelve of Adhils—at that the berserkers grew thoughtful, insofar as they were able—or somebody longer here and highly honored: that man would be sent away forever, outlawed in Denmark. Let them make peace!

  In the end, Hrolf had his will. Thereafter the one-eyed newcomer was looked upon in awe.

  VI

  When springtime came around again, the Dane-King gathered a host and fared off to Langeland. Thence they overran Turd and afterward the whole southern half of Fyn. They had victory wherever they came. All the kings whom Hrolf overwhelmed, he made to swear him troth and pay him scot. His following swelled as the weeks went by, for men swarmed to join him, who was known to be more fair-minded and openhanded than other lords. He could pick and choose whom he would take into his household troops.

  One failure did he have. Svipdag reminded him of those treasures King Helgi his father had gotten from King Adhils. The latter had sat on them ever since Helgi fell. "But they are rightfully yours," Svipdag said. "It's not to your honor that you don't claim them. Besides, the way you break rings, you have need of as many as you can clap hands on."

  Hrolf chuckled, but soon did send men to his mother Queen Yrsa and asked her for the hoard.

  She answered that her duty was to see to this if she could, but it lay not in her unaided might. "King Adhils is too greedy; nor does he willingly do anything that might gladden me. Tell my son that if he himself comes here to fetch the goods, I'll help him with redes and however else I can." The messengers thought she whispered, "And I will see again, Hrolf;" however, they were not sure.

  They bore the word back to him where he was camped. Having so much else to do, he decided he must put off that quest.

  He was then in the midst of weighty dealings. The old king at Odense, who had broken loose from Leidhra, was dead. Hjördvardh his son had taken the place, but was rather a weakling. Though he could raise more men near home than Hrolf could ferry across the Belt, he offered to talk peace. Hrolf received him well and they bargained back and forth. The Danes were ready to quit warfare for this year, anyway. By the time they got a firm grip on what they had already won, raising up trusty jarls and sheriffs, harvest season would be nigh.

  Hrolf would not let go his demand that Hjördvardh become his underling, though the latter stalled and spoke of alliance instead. Was not Hrolf’s sister Skuld of marriageable age? In the end, they parted in seeming friendly wise, and Hrolf invited Hjördvardh to come visit him next year.

  This the Odense king did, with a following who made a grand show. Hrolf guested him in all honor. Skuld was there at Leidhra. She was now seventeen.

  When Hjördvardh first saw her, he gaped. Blood rose in his cheeks. He was a ruddy young man, snub-nosed, his brown hair getting thin while his belly was thickening. On the whole, he looked good, for he kept beard and nails well trimmed and wore none but the finest clothes. "I, I had heard you were fair to behold, my lady," he stammered. "I did not understand . . . you are more than fair."

  "Swart, then?" Skuld smiled teasingly and ran fingers down her midnight tresses. It showed forth the better how clear and white her skin was, how storm-green her eyes. The last childishness was gone from that narrow face. The body, in a rich gown, was slender but wholly a woman's, save that she moved in a soundless, rippling way that disquieted some.

  Other men might have wooed her erenow, had it not been for the uneasiness which hung about her. She had learned to be smooth-tongued, to seem to yield while really getting whatever she wanted. But she stayed harsh toward humble folk, given to shrieking fits, grasping for gold and chary of giving it out. Everybody knew she wrought witchcraft; nobody knew how deeply she was into it and what she did when she went off alone.

  Folk were astonished that she, who had hitherto scoffed at talk of wedding, was suddenly sweet to a man whom she knew had hopes of winning her, "I could wish myself fair for you, King Hjördvardh," she murmured, and took him by the hand.

  "I would, would, would wish you no otherwise . . . than what you are," he said.

  "Come, let us sit and drink together," she offered. Each evening thereafter those two were side by side, so eagerly holding speech that they hardly heeded anyone else.

  Svipdag drawled to his brothers: "From what I know of her, she's after becoming a queen. And not the wife of a scot-king, either. I daresay she'll stiffen Hjördvardh against giving oath to Hrolf—"

  "How will she stiffen him?" asked Hvitserk, and guffawed.

  "If Hjördvardh doesn't knuckle under, it'll be war," said Beigadh, "for along of him goes the whole half of Fyn that's left. Hrolfs bent on regaining eveirything his forebears had."

  "And if these kings part unfriends," Hvitserk wondered, "how shall Skuld be wedded?" For, her father being dead, her brother ruled over who should get her and on what terms. Among the heathen, a woman may choose second and later husbands for herself, if widowed or divorced; and as for first marriage, her kinsmen seldom gainsay her wishes. Wherefore Svipdag answered:

  "I'd not put it beyond her to run off with Hjördvardh. But somehow I don't look for that. Our Hrolf s a deep one, and he's working on some plan."

  What that was, broke upon the world several days later. The two kings had gone hunting at the head of a big troop. Merrily blew the horns and belled the hounds, down the long leafy halls of the greenwood; deer bounded away, their rusty coats flecked by gold
spots of sunlight, till they fell before twanging bows; a wild boar turned and charged, earth shuddering as he met the spear; when the band stopped to rest in a glade, everyone was happy and at ease.

  Hrolf, standing, unbuckled his sword belt. "Will you hold this?" he asked Hjördvardh. The Fyndweller nodded and took the hilt. Somehow the sheath withdrew, and Skofnung gleamed bare in his grasp. Hrolf smiled. "That's all right," he said while lowering his trews. "It handles well, no?"

  "Wonderful!" Hjördvardh cried, and brandished it before returning it to the scabbard Hrolf had reached him.

  Having let his water, the Dane-King took back his weapon, fastened it on, and said loud and clear: "This we both know, that whosoever holds the sword of a man while that man takes the belt off his breeches, he shall be the underling ever afterward. And now you shall be my under-king, and do my bidding like others."

  A shocked hush fell. Hjördvardh sputtered that this was meaningless: that, yes, in plighting troth one did take the sword of the chief in hand, but not like this, and he'd sworn nothing, and— Softly, sometimes even smiling and clapping him on the shoulder, Hrolf spoke of his wish to stay friends, to spare both lands a costly war, to make them one. As scot-king, he said, Hjördvardh should have more renown and wealth, within a realm waxing rich and mighty, than ever before, the more so because Skuld was his sister. .. .

  Haggling went on for days, often in sharp words, and men kept their arms by them. But the end of it was that Hjördvardh owned himself Hrolf's man, and wedded Skuld in a feast of overflowing splendor.

  "I think our lord played no prank, that day in the glade," Svipdag told his brothers. "He must already have made plain to Hjördvardh that he could overwhelm him.

  Yet it'd have meant heavy losses for us. This way, Hjördvardh can save his pride by saying he was tricked; and, to be sure, he gets the woman he wants."

  "He seems to bear a grudge, even so," Hvitserk said.

  "I think Skuld bears more of one," said Beighadh.