A Struggle For Rome Volume Iii Part 40

"Lead them to us! Duke Guntharis, Duke Adalgoth. Earl Teja, Earl Wisand, and Earl Grippa, go to meet and accompany them here."

Presently, to the sound of strange and twisted horns made of sh.e.l.ls, and surrounded by twenty of their sailors and heroes clad in close coats of mail, there appeared on the terrace two figures which far overtopped even the slender Totila and his table companions.

King Harald bore upon his helmet the two wings--each several feet long--of the black sea-eagle. The tail-feathers of the same bird floated from his iron crest. Down his back fell the skin of a monstrous black bear, the jaws and fore-paws of which hung from broad iron rings upon his breast-plate. His coat, woven of iron wire, reached to the knee, and was confined round the hips by a broad belt of seal-skin, set with sh.e.l.ls. His arms and legs were bare, but at once adorned and protected by broad golden bracelets. A short knife hung from a steel chain at his belt. In his right hand he carried a long forked spear like a harpoon. His thick, bright yellow hair fell like a mane low down upon his shoulders.

At his left hand stood--scarcely shorter by a finger's length--the Walkyre-like form of his female companion.

Upon her head she wore a golden open helmet, decorated with the small wings of the silver-gull. Her bright red hair, which had a metallic l.u.s.tre, fell from beneath it in a long straight ma.s.s over the small strip of white bearskin which covered her back--more an ornament than a mantle--almost to her ankles.

A closely-fitting mail, made of little scales of gold, betrayed the incomparable figure of the Amazon, yielding to every movement of her heaving bosom. Her under garment, which reached half-way between the knee and ankle, was tastefully made of the white skin of the snow-hare.

Her arms were covered by sleeves made of rows of amber beads, which glittered strangely in the evening rays of the southern sunshine.

Upon her left shoulder was gravely perched one of the delicate white falcons of Iceland.

A small hatchet was stuck into her girdle. She carried over her shoulder a long sweeping harp, surmounted with a swan's head and neck of silver.

The Roman populace--their eyes opened wide in wonder--pressed after these singular figures, and even the Goths could not but admire the wondrously fair complexion and the singularly light and sparkling eyes of these northerners.

"As the black hero who received me," began the Viking, "a.s.sures me that he is not the King, then no other can be he but thou," and he gave his hand to Totila, first pulling off his fighting-glove of shark's skin.

"Welcome to the Tiber, my cousins from Thuleland!" cried Totila, as he raised his cup and pledged his guests.

Seats were quickly prepared, and the royal visitors took their places at the King's table; their followers at the table near them. Adalgoth poured out wine from tall, two-handled jugs.

King Harald drank, and looked wonderingly around.

"By Asathor!" he cried; "but it is beautiful here!"

"Such I imagine Walhalla to be!" said his companion.

The Goths and the northerners could scarcely understand each other.

"If it pleases thee so well, brother," Totila slowly said, "then rest amongst us with thy wife for some time."

"Ho-ho! Rome-King!" laughed the giantess, and tossed back her head so suddenly, that the waves of her red hair shook.

The falcon flew screaming up, and circled round her head three times.

It then quietly returned to her shoulder.

"The man has not yet been born," continued the Amazon, "who could conquer Haralda's heart and hand. Harald alone, my brother, can bend my arm, and spring and hurl his spear farther than I."

"Patience, my little sister! I trust that soon a man of marrow will master thy coy maidenhood. This King here, although he looks as mild as Baldur, yet resembles Sigurd, the vanquisher of Fafner. You shall vie with each other in hurling the spear."

Haralda cast a long look at the Gothic King, blushed, and pressed a kiss upon her falcon's smooth head.

But Totila said:

"Evil befell, as the singers tell us, when Sigurd strove with the Amazon. Rather let woman greet woman in peace. Give thy hand, Haralda, to my bride."

And he signed to Valeria, to whom Duke Guntharis had very imperfectly translated what was said.

Valeria rose with graceful dignity. She wore a long white Roman-Grecian garment, which hung in soft folds, and was confined at the waist by a golden girdle, and upon the shoulder with a cameo brooch. Bound her n.o.bly-shaped head was bound a branch of laurel, which Totila had taken from Adalgoth's wreath to fasten into her black hair. Her beauty, and the rhythm of her movements and the folds of her garments, seemed to float around her like music. She silently held out her hand to her northern sister.

Haralda had cast a sharp and not very friendly look upon the Roman girl; but admiration soon dispelled the angry surprise which had overspread her countenance, and she said:

"By Freia's necklace! thou art the most lovely woman I have ever beheld. I doubt whether a Wish-girl of Walhalla could compare with thee. Dost thou know, Harald, whom this Princess resembles? Ten nights ago we laid waste an island in the blue Grecian sea, and plundered a columned temple. There stood a tall, icy-cold woman, made of white stone; upon her breast was the figure of a head surrounded with snakes; at her feet the night-bird; she was clad in a garment of many folds.

Swen unfortunately broke her to pieces because of the jewels in her eyes. The King's bride resembles that marble G.o.ddess."

"I must translate what she has said to thee," said Totila, turning to Valeria with a smile. "Thy poetical adorer, Pisa, could not have flattered thee more delicately than this Bellona of the north. They landed, so we were told, at Melos, and there broke the beautiful statue of Athene, sculptured by Phidias. You have made great desolation, I hear," he continued, turning to Harald, "in all the islands between Cos, Chios, and Melos. What, then, has led you so peacefully to us?"

"That I will tell thee, brother; but only after more drink." And he held out his cup to Adalgoth. "No, do not spoil the splendid juice with water! Water should be salt, so that no one could drink it unless he were a shark or a walrus. Water is good to carry us upon its back, but not to be carried in our stomachs. And this vine-beer of yours is a wonderful drink. I am soon tired of our mead; it is like a tame sweet dish. But this vine-mead! the more a man drinks, the thirstier he becomes. And if one drank too much--which is scarcely possible--it is not like the intoxication of ale or mead, which makes a man ready to pray to Asathor to hammer an iron ring round his temples. No; the intoxication of the vine is like the sweet madness of the Skalds--a man feels like a G.o.d! So much for the vine! But now I will tell thee how it was that we came here."

CHAPTER XIV.

"Well," began King Harald, "our home is in Thuleland, as the Skalds call it; in Goetaland, as we name it. For Thuleland is the land where one does _not_ dwell; where only, still nearer to the ice-mountains, _other_ people live. Our realm reaches, towards the rising of the sun, to the sea and our island, Gothland; towards the setting of the sun, as far as Hallin and the Skioldungahaff; towards midday, to Smaland, Skone, and the kingdom of the Sea-Danes; towards midnight, to Svealand.

The King is my father, Frode, whom Odin loves. He is much wiser than I; but he has now crowned me as Vi-king, upon the sacred-stone at King-Sala, because he is already a hundred years old, and quite blind.

Now the minstrels in our halls still sing the legends which tell that you Goths were originally our brothers, and that only by reason of the wandering of the peoples have you gradually drawn nearer to the south; for you followed the flight of the crane from the Caucasus, but we the running of the wolf."

"If that be so," said King Totila, smiling, "I prefer the crane for a guide."

"It may well seem so to thee, sitting here in this gay drinking-hall,"

answered King Harald gravely. "But however that maybe--and I do not quite believe it, for then we ought to understand each other's words better--we truly and highly honour this our blood-relationship. For a long time nothing but good news came from your warm realm to our cold Gothaland--news of the highest fame. And once my father and your King Thidrekr,[1] who is praised by the harp-songs of our Skalds, exchanged envoys and gifts, through the agency of the Esthes, who live on the Austrway. These men led our envoys to the Wends, on the Wyzla; these to the Longobardians, on the Tisia; these to the Herulians, on the Dravus; these through Savia to Salona and Ravenna."

"Thou art a man learned in roads and countries," observed Totila.

"That the Viking must be; for else he will never go forwards, and likewise never get back. Well, for some time we only heard of your glory and good fortune. But once and again there came bad news, brought by merchants who bought our furs and eiderdown and amber, and took it to the Frisians, and Saxons, and franks, giving us in exchange artfully-formed vessels, and silver and gold. The news became sadder and more sad; we heard that King Thidrekr had died, and that afterwards great evils had broken out in your realm. We heard of defeat, treachery, and of the murder of Kings; of Goths warring against Goths; and of the might of the false Prince of Grekaland. And it was said that you had broken your heads by thousands against the high walls of your own Roman citadel, which was held not by you, but by a man like Asathor, and another man still worse than the fire-fiend Loki. And we asked if none of the many Kings and Princes who had begged favours of Thidrekr of Raven could have helped you. But at that the Frank merchant, who offered us fine tissues from the Wahala, laughed and said, 'Broken fortunes, broken faith! They have all forsaken the luckless Gothic heroes, Visigoths and Burgundians, Herulians and Thuringians, and most of all we Franks, for we are wiser than all.'

But, on hearing this. King Frode threw down his staff angrily, and cried, 'Where is my strong son Harald?" 'Here, father,' I answered, and took his hand. 'Hast thou heard,' my father continued, 'the news of the faithlessness of the Southland Kings? Such things shall not be said or sung of the men of Goetaland! If all others turn away from the Goths of Gardarike and Raven, we will keep faith and help them in their need.

Up, my brave Harald, and thou, my bold Haralda! equip a hundred dragon-ships, and fill them with men and weapons. Put your hands deeply into my royal treasure at Kinsala, and do not spare the heaped-up golden rings. And set forth with Odin's wind in your sails. Go first from Konghalla, past the island Danes and the Jutlanders, towards the setting of the sun; thence along the coasts of the Frisians and the Franks, through the narrow path of the sea; then sail farther round the realm of the Sueves to the mountain land that is called Asturia; and round the land of the Visigoths bend towards the south. Then wind through the narrow strait of the wide ocean, where Asathor and Odin have set two pillars.

"You will then have entered the sea of Midilgard, where lie innumerable islands covered with evergreen bushes, out of which shine marble halls, upheld by high, round stone-beams. Lay waste these islands, for they belong to the false Prince of Grekaland. And then sail to the Roman citadel or to Raven, and help the people of King Thidrekr against their enemies. And fight for them by land and water, and stand by them until all their enemies are overcome. And then speak to them and say: Thus advises King Frode, who will soon have seen a hundred winters, and who has seen the rise and fall of many peoples, and who, as a young Viking, has himself visited the Southland. This is his advice: 'Leave the Southland, however beautiful it may be. You cannot endure therein. As little as the iceberg can endure when it drifts into the southern sea.

The sun, air, and waves consume it continually, and be it ever so mighty, it must melt away and leave not a trace behind. It is better to live in the poor Northland than to die in the rich Southland. Go on board our dragon-ships, and equip your own, and fill them with all your people; men, women, and children; and with your oxen and horses, and weapons and treasures; and leave the hot ground that will surely swallow you up, and come away to us. We will press closely together and make room, or take as much land from the Wends and Esthes as you need.

And you shall be preserved fresh and green. Down there the southern sun withers and scorches you.' This is the advice of King Frode, whom men have called the Wise for fifty years. Now as we pa.s.sed into the sea of Midilgard, we had already heard from seafarers that your troubles had been put an end to by a new King, whom they described as looking like the G.o.d Baldur; that you had re-won the Roman citadel and all the land of Gardarike, and had even victoriously carried destruction into part of Grekaland itself. And now we see with our own eyes that you do not need the aid of our weapons. You live in plenty and pleasure, and everything is full of red gold and white stone. But still I must repeat my father's words and advice; listen to him; he is wise! Until now, every one who has despised King Frode's advice, has bitterly regretted it."

But Totila shook his head, smiled, and said:

"We owe you and King Frode warm thanks for rare and n.o.ble faithfulness.

Such brotherly love from the Northern heroes shall never be forgotten in the songs of the Goths. But, O King Harald, follow me and look about you."

And Totila rose and took his guest by the hand, and led him to the entrance of the pavilion, casting back the hanging curtains.

There lay river and land and city in the glowing light of the setting sun.

"Look at this land, wonderful in the beauty of its sky and soil and art. Look at this Tiber-stream, covered by a happy, jubilant, and handsome people. Look at these ma.s.ses of laurel and myrtle. Cast thine eyes upon the columned palaces, which shine across from Rome in the evening rays; on the tall marble figures upon these terrace-steps--and say thou, if all this were thine, wouldst thou ever leave it? Wouldst thou exchange all this magnificence for the firs and pines of the cold land of the north, where spring-time never blooms, for the smoke-blackened wooden huts on the misty heaths?"

"Aye, that I would, by Thorns hammer! This land is good to lay waste, to luxuriate and win battles in; but that done, then up and away with the booty! But you, Goths, are thrown here like drops of water upon hot iron. And if ever we sons of Odin shall rule this land, it will be only such of us as have a strong support in other sons of Odin. But you--you have already become very different to us. Your grandfathers, your fathers, and yourselves have wooed Roman women; in a few generations, if this continue, you will be Romanised. Already you have become smaller, and darker in skin, eyes, and hair. At least many of you. I long to be away from this soft and sultry air, and to breathe the north wind that rushes over our woods and waves. Yes, and I long for the smoke-blackened halls of wood, where Gothic runes are burnt into the roof-beams, and the harps of the Skalds hang on the wooden pillars, and the sacred hearth-fire glows hospitably for ever! I long for our Northland, for it is our home!"