The Last of the Vikings Part 31

Slowly, with hushed voices and stealthy tread, on came the unsuspecting foe. The head of the column threaded its way past the lurking-place.

Sigurd clenched his sword with an impatient grip, for the sight of Norman foemen, within reach of his sword, was well nigh more than he could resist. On they pa.s.sed, all unconscious that a human tiger was lurking near and making ready for his spring. File after file of the Normans strode on, mostly afoot, but some were leading their horses. Now the rear men are abreast. A second more, their backs are seen. A spring and a blow, and the hindmost Norman is cloven to the waist, and drops with scarce a groan. There is a wild shriek, and consternation is rampant amongst the rearmost ranks.

Sigurd, in mad rage, hacks and hews at the panic-stricken crew, cutting down man after man with terrific celerity, whilst some, in their efforts to escape his onslaught, fall over the precipice. Presently the Normans discover that but one solitary Saxon attacks them. A shout goes up, "The mad Saxon! Cut him down! Down with him! Run him through!" Immediately a hundred swords are whipped from their scabbards, and a united rush is directed towards him. Sigurd sees his chance is gone; he dashes along the path in swift retreat, followed by the yelling foe. Presently he darts from the path and makes for the hills, tearing through bracken, furze, and brushwood, and leaping boulders with an agility none but a mountaineer and a hunter who had been wont all his life to go swinging over these mountain sides, until the sinews of his legs had become like thongs of steel, could make pretence to imitate. Presently he turns to glance at the crew behind, and he laughs a savage laugh as he sees them huddling together like sheep at the bottom of the pa.s.s, some afraid to follow, and all of them conscious of the hopelessness of it. With an exclamation of contempt, he catches up a fragment of rock and hurls it with terrific energy amongst them, striking one of them on the shoulder, and knocking him to the ground with a broken shoulder-blade. Then, with a hysterical laugh, and a fierce brandish aloft of his sword, he dashes off again towards the summit. With wondering gaze the Normans watch him scaling, ridge after ridge, the beetling brow of the hill far above them, like a stag bounding from the hunter. Presently he darts over the topmost ridge, and is lost to view. He halts in a tiny hollow of the mountain's brow, and, pulling out his sword, dripping with gore, he wipes it on the sward.

"Aha!" he cried, apostrophising the fearsome weapon; "One more taste of blood! Norman blood, too. I love to see Norman blood. It drips, too; that means more will soon be shed."[5] Then, running his hand along its edge, he exclaimed, "Nothing blunted, my trusty friend Tyrfing,[6] ready as ever for the fray!" he shouted in frenzy, and commenced to hack and hew as though in deadly conflict with an invisible foe, the perspiration pouring off him in streams. But human nature, though it be never so strong, has its limits. This frenzied, this almost maniacal outburst, was followed by complete physical exhaustion. Like a stone, he dropped flat upon the ground, and there he lay without motion or any sign of existence whatever for a full hour or more. Had the Normans but known of the wild drama being enacted beyond the brow of the mountain, it would have been a fatal day to Sigurd, for the Normans had had so many tastes of his prowess, and of his mad daring, that they would have given large treasure to have this dreaded foe within their power. But this was not destined to be the last time when he should strike terror into their ranks when they least suspected him.

[Footnote 5: It was a Norse superst.i.tion that if the blood flowed, more would soon be shed.]

[Footnote 6: The foe hater.]

The sun had performed a considerable part of his day's journey when Sigurd began to manifest signs of returning consciousness. First there were sundry stretchings of the muscles, followed by a momentary unclosing of the eyelids. Then he sat up and gazed around, as though bewildered with his surroundings. By-and-by he seemed to recover a recollection of the incidents preceding the stupor he had been pa.s.sing through. By an effort he rose to his feet, and staggered rather than walked to a cool spring of water, which, born of the clouds which constantly encircled these lofty peaks, was hurrying away with musical ripple to the lowlands. He drank a hearty draught of the ice-cold water; then he bathed his throbbing temples with it. Sitting down then, and taking from a wallet slung behind him a substantial piece of roast kid's flesh and a hunch of bread, he ate a hearty meal, and washed it down with another copious draught of water. Much refreshed by this, he next mounted to the topmost ridge. There, lying at full length, he ran his eye most minutely over every inch of the valleys on either side, carefully noting every suspicious object that came within the sweep of his vision. Then, with equal care, he searched the adjacent hills. The Normans he could see hurrying to and fro near their camp, some five miles away. But apparently there was nothing at all menacing to his position.

Rising to his feet, he strode along the ridge for a mile or two, then commenced to descend for another mile or two, in an oblique direction, until he disappeared from view in a dense wood, which covered the lower reaches of the valley on either side. Holding a downward course, and pus.h.i.+ng aside the brushwood, he came ultimately to a stream of water, which, with one gigantic leap, started from its rocky bed and leaped unimpeded full eighty feet, falling into a deep, surging pool, where the waters, finding a level, flowed sluggishly away. The vast amphitheatre appeared to have been worn away by this leap of the waters, and by the crumbling away of the softer shale below, which had undermined and brought down the rocks from above.

This untamed warrior stood on the brink of the precipice with folded arms. There was something in the scene which consorted with his rude and rugged nature, and wonderfully soothed his warring pa.s.sions. The daws, with cawing clamorousness, flew to and fro across the abyss, and crept into the crevices of the rock where their nests were. The swallows skimmed along the surface of the waters, ever and anon darting upwards to some skilfully made nest of baked clay, clinging to the rocky sides, and from which little black heads were anxiously peeping, and twittering l.u.s.tily. Bird life here seemed to have found a veritable paradise, and they literally thronged bush and tree, and rock and bank, everywhere.

Sigurd stood gazing down the ravine through an interminable labyrinth of foliage-laden trees. Here was a grand solitude such as his soul loved, and he regarded every tree in the forest as a personal friend. Presently he turned to one side of this abyss, and steadfastly regarded three stones which were laid side by side for a moment or two; then he altered the position of one of them, and immediately dropped down on to a shelving rock, and from that to another, and so on, until he had descended a considerable distance. Then suddenly he disappeared on hands and knees into an aperture of the rock which was completely hidden from the view of any one standing above. As soon as this portal was pa.s.sed, he found himself in a s.p.a.cious cavern, where evidently men were wont to resort, for there were many things denoting human occupation. Sigurd hastily threw off his armour and reared his sword, with the belt appended, against the rock. Then he threw himself upon a couch of dried bracken and gra.s.s, and was soon fast asleep.

Presently two wild-looking men appeared on the scene. One carried a brace of rabbits, and the other had over his shoulder a young fawn; whilst at their heels there followed a couple of fierce-looking hounds.

They looked at the three stones, and one of them exclaimed,--

"The Jarl is here!"

"Doubtful luck that," growled the other.

They, however, changed the position of the other two stones, and then they followed their chieftain to his retreat. No sooner did they enter than one prepared to light a fire, and the other to skin and dress the animals they had brought. As soon as this was done, a huge iron pot was suspended on cross-poles over the fire, with about a gallon of water. In this were thrown a couple of haunches of venison with the rabbits. Then one of them turned to a vessel in which a quant.i.ty of corn was steeping in water. Two or three pounds of this, along with some savoury herbs and roots, and a quant.i.ty of salt, were deposited in the pot. Then the pair sat down to await the cooking of this substantial and savoury mess.

Whilst this was being done, Sigurd slept soundly, and the pair carried on a conversation in a low tone, and interspersing their talk with sundry nods and motions towards the sleeping chieftain.

"There will be stirring times again, now, I warrant," said one.

"Yes; plenty of blood-letting, and plenty of scurrying over the mountains with the Normans at our heels," said the other.

"There will soon be none of us left, either for fight or aught else.

There has been a desperate thinning going on."

"Well, it won't be a cow's death, anyhow, and that is some comfort for us."

Soon the boiling-pot began to send forth a most savoury and appetising smell, to these half-famished men.

"Wake the Jarl," said one to the other; "he must first break his fast."

So one of them gave Sigurd a rough shaking, and he presently sat up and rubbed his eyes; then he saluted his men.

"Skalds, how fare ye?"

"The hawks have not been so much abroad of late, so we have fared tolerably."

"But ye'll soon have to be on the alert, for the old eagle has been playing havoc with the hawks down in the pa.s.s yonder; a dozen of them at least will swoop upon their prey no more. But I'll taste your stew. Hot victuals have not been plentiful lately. Where are your comrades?"

"Scattered a good deal. There are a dozen lurking among the pikes. Some, the family men, have snug quarters near Deepwaters."

"Make signals for them. We have been idle long enough. We must bestir ourselves, for the Norman gets a tighter grip upon us every day we are idle."

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

THE SAXON DEVIL AND THE WICKED ABBOT.

"When night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."

Milton.

Most humiliating and distressing to us _Saxon_ monks was the state of lax morality in which these foreign monks lived. One of the worst vices imported into England by the Normans was that of uncleanness, a vice practically unknown amongst Saxons, and looked upon by them with great abhorrence. This was an offence, too, which the hardy Nors.e.m.e.n regarded with loathing. Fierce and blood-thirsty as they were, seduction, adultery, and the violation of the sanct.i.ty of blood-relations.h.i.+p, they detested. Amongst the Normans, not only the wild troopers, but the monks also, lived loose, irregular lives; and the chief and vilest offender, in this respect, was our new Abbot. Many were the outrages perpetrated by this man. Night by night, under cover of the darkness, he issued from the Monastery with lascivious intent, often accompanying his outrages by crime and bloodshed if he met with opposition. In vain I sought the a.s.sistance of Alice, who entreated the Count, her father; but he was either powerless, or cynical and indifferent--probably both. Sometimes a fierce check was given to these scoundrels by a sudden outburst of rage and revenge on the part of the Saxons; but for the most part, the Saxons who meekly submitted to serfdom were the most abject of their race, being often so broken in spirit that they submitted to unfathomable indignities, rather than face the consequences of opposition. Indeed, any display of spirit, and any act of retaliation or revenge, was sure to be followed by the most cruel vindictiveness, and most sweeping punishment. I stay to note one act of retaliation done to our Abbot by Badger, on one occasion, when the Abbot was bent on carrying his unscrupulous violence to the cottage of one of the serfs. I note it because of its comicality, as well as its effectiveness in punis.h.i.+ng the vicious priest.

Now the Abbot, though it will scarcely be believed, was, in spite of his turbulent wickedness, a most abjectly superst.i.tious man, as indeed most ignorant and wicked people are. Of this fact Badger, who was a most observant and shrewd judge of character, quickly became aware; and, taking advantage of this weakness, he used it to teach the Abbot a most valuable and salutary lesson. One of the serfs had frequently made most doleful complaints to Badger of the violation of the sanct.i.ties of his home by this man. Now Badger most cordially hated the Abbot, as indeed any one who knew the man could not fail to do; and on the other hand, his sympathies, either openly or veiled, were always extended to his countrymen, and he frequently wrought substantial amelioration in their lot. Badger turned this matter over in his mind, and at last hit upon a plan which he conceived would have the desired effect if successfully carried out. So, making use of his old expedient, he decked himself most fantastically as the Saxon "Zernebock" or devil. He expended much skill and ingenuity in the manufacture of some wondrously grotesque apparel, introducing a pair of horns and a tail after the orthodox fas.h.i.+on. In addition to this, he had also decked out one of the most savage of his hounds in a most fantastic garb, and, so disguised and ludicrously tricked out, they sallied forth at eventime, intent on frustrating the Abbot's vile intentions. Having selected their place of ambush, they patiently lay in wait for the object of their enterprise, bent both on terrifying and worrying him into a relinquishment of his devilish purpose.

The night selected as fitting for Badger's enterprise was moonless and somewhat dark, especially so within the added shade of the forest.

Having selected a suitable place, Badger lay quietly in wait until he heard the approaching footsteps of the Abbot; then he strode into the path with the hound by his side, and together they fronted the object of their quest. Great was the consternation of the Abbot when he confronted this awful apparition. His knees smote together, and his teeth chattered in his head, as the awful voice of the fiend accosted him in angry tones.

"Abbot, I know thy errand; I am the Saxon devil 'Zernebock,' and this is my Hel-hound. I have come to kill thee, and my hound will tear thee in pieces, for thy cup of wickedness is now full; I give thee, therefore, two minutes in which to prepare for death."

So saying, the fiend uplifted a mighty sword, which seemed to the Abbot to tower almost to the height of the trees. It was a wooden one, but the night was too dark for this to be perceived, even if the victim had not been too terror-stricken to note it.

In a terrible fright he fell on his knees and began to call upon all the saints to protect him, writhing and groaning piteously.

"Silence!" said the fiend in still more awful tones. "Thou must die! I have been waiting long for permission to slay thee! The saints will not protect thee any longer, for thou hast professed to be a holy man, and thou art bent this night on an errand of wickedness, and I have permission to kill thee at last. Thy life is now in my hands. Art thou ready?" again roared the fiend in savage tones, whilst the hound, seeing the threatening att.i.tude of his master, waxed furious, snarling and growling savagely, and making many half-executed attempts to fly at the Abbot, which half a word of encouragement from the fiend would have completed. "Speak!" said the fiend, "thy time is now expired."

And the uplifted sword began most ominously to sway to and fro, as though about to fall.

"Have mercy on me, fiend!" screamed the Abbot, "and I will make a vow to thee that I will repent me of my sins, and I will cease from fleshly l.u.s.ts! I will set about mortifying my flesh this very night! I vow to abstain from meats and strong drink for the s.p.a.ce of twelve months if thou wilt have mercy on me."

"Silence when I bid thee!" again roared the fiend. "I know thee for a hypocrite, and thou wilt not abide thy vow. Art thou ready? Quick! bow thy head, so that I cut it off clean."

Quick as thought in this dire strait the Abbot sprang to his feet, and fled with miraculous energy for one so stout and pursy.

"Hist! hist!" said the fiend to his hound.

There was a fierce growl and a few long, slouching strides, and the hound grasped the Abbot's nether parts in his powerful jaws; and with a yell of pain his reverence fell p.r.o.ne upon his face, writhing, groaning, wriggling, and yelling, as though ten thousand fiends clutched him. But the hound clung to him like a vice, chawing his struggling prey the more l.u.s.tily as he tried to shake him off. At last the fiend called off his hound; but at the same time he lifted his sword over the prostrate Abbot.

"It is no use thy attempting to fly; thy doom is come, and I am here to kill thee. Choose at once whether thou wilt be torn in pieces by my hound or slain by my fiery sword; there is no escape for thee."

"Have mercy, fiend!" groaned the Abbot piteously; "thy hound hath well-nigh killed me already. His teeth are red hot, as thou well knowest. I shall surely die now, after the savage manner he hath torn me. In mercy leave me the little time left me for repentance. Think of my poor soul."

"I am the foul fiend, and there is no mercy now for thee. Thy soul is forfeited and given into my hands; but what of thy body? decide quick!

Shall I kill thee, or wilt thou be devoured by my hound?"

Just at that moment, however, the fiend was interrupted, for footsteps and voices were heard approaching, and presently a couple of troopers, attracted by the terrible howling of the Abbot, drew near. As they did so the fiend and his hound promptly disappeared in the wood.