The Last of the Vikings Part 24

I will tell thee further,--to put a few leagues of honest Saxon soil between thee and me will not heal our differences. Nor will I try such a remedy unless more wholesome methods fail me."

"There are no differences between us, saving such as are hatched in thy muddy brain, Jarl; and what may be the methods of healing them which thou hintest at, I know not. But I see that madman's look in thy eye, with which I am too familiar, and I opine that mischief, aye, deadly mischief, is designed by thee, if thy ability to work mischief fail thee not."

"The curse of Skuld be upon thee, traitor! Thou hast guessed rightly, so draw at once and stand upon thy guard, or I will run thee through with as little compunction as I would a dog," said the Viking, wildly brandishing his sword, and advancing on Oswald.

Whilst this war of words was proceeding, the whole camp was thoroughly aroused, and curious eyes from every nook and corner anxiously peered out to see what this fateful altercation would lead to. But when weapons were unsheathed, the churls eagerly thronged about their respective chieftains in feverish excitement. Oswald would fain have settled this quarrel without appeal to arms; or if that could not be, then he would have preferred it apart from the clamour and partizanship of the camp.

Sigurd's unbridled rage, however, put this out of the question. Being, therefore, forced into this appeal to the sword, he unsheathed his weapon; and the two broadswords, in the grip of two as powerful antagonists as the sea-encircled lands of Britain contained, came together like the shock of lances in knightly charge.

Oswald, unlike his opponent, was perfectly cool, though not by any means blind or indifferent to the momentous issues involved in this life-and-death struggle. He knew that any yielding, or declining of the combat, either in the interest of peace, or for any other reason, meant the loss of supremacy in the camp. He knew also that Sigurd meant it to be to the death. Now, Oswald fell little short of Sigurd in sheer brute strength and force; and in coolness of temper, agility, and skill, he was much more than a match for his opponent. He saw clearly also that this was to be no child's play, but dead earnest. The look in the black and louring visage of Sigurd, and the unmitigated ferocity of his onslaught, told more plainly than words that he, at least, would give no quarter. Oswald fought a purely defensive battle, having no desire to injure his foeman, but steadily parrying, with masterly skill, the thundering blows of Sigurd, steadily giving ground before his eager and impetuous onslaught. None knew better than he, however, that vital exhaustion must follow quickly on the heels of such dire rage; and it soon became very evident to him that the pace was telling upon his adversary. The rush and eagerness of his attack, and the consuming pa.s.sion within him, told their tale very speedily, for the perspiration poured from him in streams, and his countenance became deadly pale. This was soon followed by a palpable weakening of the strength of his wrist; and Oswald, watching carefully every stroke of his adversary, awaited his chance. Soon it came; and with one powerful blow he sent the weapon from Sigurd's grasp. Then, in a climax of senseless rage at losing his weapon, Sigurd rushed on Oswald, in the vain endeavour to close with him. But Oswald, turning the flat of his sword, dealt him a powerful blow on the head with its broadside, which knocked him senseless and bleeding to the ground. He quickly rose to his feet again, however.

"There," said Oswald, coolly sheathing his weapon, "take thy sword. I have given thee thy life. Be advised, and cross my path no more whilst thou art in thy present mood, for, Saxon or no Saxon, there will be but one more pa.s.sage-at-arms between me and thee; and thou mayest fare worse at our next meeting."

"I offer thee no thanks for thy clemency, nor do I abate one jot of my hatred of thee and of thy womanish philandering with Norman wenches, when thy countrymen's blood cries aloud for vengeance. I warn thee to take heed lest, next time we meet, fortune may not be on thy side." So, with a scowl, he hurried off.

Oswald remained for a long time with folded arms and bowed head, pacing to and fro on the sward, in anxious and troubled thought, which found vent in audible words.

"Too well I understand that foul menace, and well I understand the untamed and implacable nature of this foe in my own household. When our forefathers broke upon this land, wild and daring, counting human life as nothing, and ruthlessly trampling underfoot their fallen enemies, none more fierce and cruel in all the savage crews were there than he.

But this is the question to be settled: were those old days of heathenish rites and savage valour the prime days of our race? Our forefathers braved all hazards, and they were a conquering people. What are we? Are we not abjectly ground down--a subject race, and serfs of a braver people? Is this lingering type of our ancient race in the right?

What are books; and music; and chivalry? What is this lately born love of mercy, and justice, and righteousness? Tell me, is it merely a debilitating southern wind come this way, transforming heroes into effeminate dreamers, and weaklings? Can I be again a Saxon of the old type?--for I must make my choice here, and now. A Viking, with savage instincts, and implacable, undying hatred of my enemies; indulging in ruthless butchery and indiscriminate ma.s.sacre of helpless women and children. Can I see eye to eye with this man? This question I must settle once for all!"

He took a turn, in deep mental conflict.

"No!" said he, with concentrated energy; "it cannot be, come what may. I abominate his savagery! I despise his ignorance, and his boorish habits!

He and I can never be one in aim and action. Then, I owe my life to this fair Norman; such a debt upon my honour calls aloud for a full requital.

Besides all this," said he, whilst his broad chest heaved with the powerful emotions which stirred within him, "waking I hear continually the music of her voice, and I see the love-light in her dark eye.

Sleeping I commune with her, and I dream of days of peace and happiness to come. The die is cast, and my path is marked out for me! Perilous it is in very truth, with Norman foes dest.i.tute of mercy, and, added to them, a foe in this mad Norseman, cruel and revengeful as death. I will follow the light! Let G.o.d judge between me and this people he hath given me to defend."

CHAPTER XXVII.

JEANNETTE AND WULFHERE, OR LOVE'S COMEDIES.

"Loving she is, and tractable, though wild; And innocence hath privilege in her To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes, And feats of cunning...."

Wordsworth.

Lest it should be imagined that our coquettish little Frenchwoman, Jeannette, had been perfectly quiescent all this time, we proceed to give particulars of some little exploits in which she acted an important part. Hers was not the disposition to act the _role_ of a lay figure, it will be easily imagined. No. To be engaged in some little romance on her own account was as essential to her existence as the breath of her nostrils; and the more romantic and unconventional the part she played, the keener the zest with which she entered into it. She had managed to subsist on a little flirtation with Paul Lazaire when nothing better presented itself; but now, the tall and handsome Saxon, Wulfhere, had fired her inflammable little heart with such a pa.s.sion as she had never experienced before. Her scanty knowledge of Saxon heraldry and Saxon customs, coupled with Wulfhere's constant comradeship with the great Saxon earl, had caused her to think highly of this doughty Saxon lover of hers. It must be confessed, too, that Wulfhere's fine presence, his undoubted valour, and the unflagging goodnature and ready wit with which he alternately bantered, flattered, or caressed her, quite carried her by storm; and over head and ears in love, at a stroke almost, went this born coquette.

Right skilfully had she woven many a Cupid's net for others, and, with tantalising inconsistency, frowned to-day and smiled to-morrow upon her hapless victims. The truth was, none hitherto had fired her imperious imagination sufficiently. But at last Cupid had transfixed her unmistakably; and Jeannette was not the one to stand on ceremony, or be a slave to petty prudencies. Not she, indeed!

To have a brush with the chapter of accidents, to set wise heads and slanderous tongues a-wagging; added piquancy to the romance, and was quite to her liking. Hate has its plots and counterplots, its subterfuges and scheming, its dogged persistence in malevolence; but love also has its expedients, its inventions, its circ.u.mlocutions, which, for ingenuity, and for that final grace of all plotters--_audacity_, will circ.u.mvent its hateful opposite any day. Love also has this final advantage; it dares to be found out, and is never a whit abashed when its devices are discovered.

Upon Wulfhere, too, the advent of this pretty and coquettish little dame had burst like a revelation. The saucy pertness, the mischief and merriment which glanced in her sparkling eye, the feminine gracefulness of form and figure, the pretty devices with which she was wont to adorn herself, and set off her charms, and the sheer _abandon_ with which she rushed into this love affair with him, completely carried him away, and he was speedily as helpless as a slave in her hands. The contrast between this dainty Frenchwoman, and the Saxon women of the lower orders was simply inexpressible, and Wulfhere, in his Saxon simplicity, was charmed beyond measure.

Upon poor Paul Lazaire the altered demeanour of Jeannette towards himself operated somewhat hardly. Being quite in the dark as to the existence of a new disturbing factor, he was wont to obtrude his presence as heretofore upon Jeannette. But alas! Jeannette had now lost the little interest which aforetime she had manifested in Paul. She had, in past time, deigned occasionally to bestow a smile, amid her many frowns, on his pretensions; and this occasional smile and ray of sunshine had refreshed him, and given him hope. Now, alas! the smiles had all vanished, whilst the frowns deepened in intensity, and were frequently accompanied by a perky toss of the head, and little scornful speeches. 'Tis just like poor human nature, though, the world over; when once enmeshed in Cupid's net, the shaking-off process makes one cling the tighter, and it made poor Paul more and more desperate in his endeavours to win a smile from his lady-love. It had become, however, not only unpleasant to Jeannette, but vastly inconvenient, too, to have her footsteps dogged as she sauntered through the woods, or by the river's side, as any one who has had experience of these things will easily understand. No matter, if Paul caught a glimpse of Jeannette's golden hair as she slid away at still eventide for a quiet walk in the woods, why, poor short-sighted mortal, he was sure to consider his presence and protection indispensable; and though he had had latterly some very unpleasant experiences of the fact that Jeannette neither considered his presence indispensable nor agreeable, yet he persevered most desperately.

Seeing this infatuation on Paul's part, it had occurred to another partic.i.p.ator in these sylvan _tete-a-tetes_ that more drastic expedients would have to be resorted to in order to disillusionise him. So a slight rebuff was administered to poor Paul, which had the happy effect of somewhat disenchanting him.

It was at the still eventide. Jeannette had laid aside the duties of the day, and had ascended to the tower. Why? Well, perhaps to see the sunset. It was somewhat strange, but somehow, like her mistress, she had acquired the habit of reconnoitring at odd hours from the tower of the castle. Probably she and Alice had confidences in these matters. But, be that as it may, a very hasty survey of the beauties of nature on this occasion made her hurry off for a closer scrutiny. Paul's vigilant eye espied the fair form making for the path by the river's side, and, on the a.s.sumption that "faint heart never won fair lady," he would venture again. So he started off in pursuit. It must be confessed he did not approach this imperious fair one without many tremblings and forebodings. The keen edge of her saucy tongue had greatly dismayed him in many a wordy tussle lately, and it had begun dimly to dawn upon him that this waspish habit had something of dislike for him. Poor fellow!

These very quakings of heart presaged coming trouble and defeat. 'Twas in his case pretty much as the old saw has it:--

"Tender-handed touch a nettle, And it stings you for your pains.

Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains."

Never, my dear Paul, should you have approached a saucy, perky dame like this, in the character and with the att.i.tude of a milksop. "Buxom dames will have a buxom wooing." "He who goes trembling will come back shambling."

"My dear Jeannette," began Paul, most humbly, as he caught up to her, "I wonder how you dare venture in these woods alone."

"Humph! I dare do anything I like to. And pray what have you got to do with it, Master Lazaire? I didn't invite you, I know!"

"Well, I thought you ought to have some protection, and I would accompany you if you didn't mind."

"But I do mind; so get off with you to that Saxon hussy I caught you kissing. You may tell her to wash her face, and comb her hair; and if she could tighten the bands about her skirts to make herself a waist, it would greatly improve her appearance. But she is good enough for you, anyway. So be off with you!"

"I never speak to those Saxon wenches. I love you alone, Jeannette; you know that well enough. But you seem now as though you hated to see me."

"I know I caught you kissing a Saxon wench, and a precious dirty one too. I know that well enough, Paul Lazaire. And I'll not have you following me at all. So be off, you softhead, and don't be told again!"

This style of rebuff was more than poor Paul had calculated upon, dubious though he had been, and his temper was considerably ruffled in consequence. His eye a.s.sumed an unnatural fierceness as he took in the lonely surroundings of the forest, and desperate resolves were quickly forming in his breast. Jeannette all the while kept her eye steadily fixed on a certain trysting-place, a little ahead, and her nimble feet were on the lilt ready for flight if necessary.

Paul laid his hand on her shoulder somewhat roughly, and said,--

"Stop a bit, _ma grande dame_. You give yourself too many airs for me altogether."

Jeannette shook him off and at the same time dealt him a stinging slap in the face; then she took to her heels like a deer, with Paul in hot pursuit, in an ungovernable rage.

"_Voulez vous_ slap me in the face, _vous renarde_? _Vous serez_ taught different when I catch you!"

Just as he was about to lay hands on the fugitive, out sprang Wulfhere from the thicket, and seizing Paul by the throat, he well nigh shook the life out of him.

"You villain!" said Wulfhere. "You a.s.sault defenceless women, do you, you undersized little imp? I'll screw your neck round before I've done with you! It is well I was near, you wretch, you!"--the sentences and the shakings alternating with equal vigour, until poor Paul scarcely knew whether he was on his head or his heels. During this operation, Wulfhere was steadily backing him to the river's brink, which, having reached, he gathered him up and pitched him in, head foremost. Paul came floundering out again, like a half-drowned rat.

"There!" said Wulfhere, catching him again by the scruff of the neck; "you may thank your stars I haven't drowned you altogether. Now be off with you;" administering at the same time a hearty kick to the baser parts of Paul's anatomy, which considerably accelerated his retreat.

Paul was not slow to take advantage of this privilege, and he quickly put a safe distance between himself and the Saxon. Suddenly, however, it occurred to him that he was possessed of a sword. Whipping it out savagely he turned to make a tremendous lunge at the foe, when, oh horrors! he was just in time to see in the distance the long arm of the Saxon fondly entwining the slender waist of Jeannette, and the perky little face, all smiles and blushes, upturned to receive a spanking kiss from the "beast of _a Saxon_!"

"_Le diable!!_" he screamed with rage, whilst the veins of his face and neck were distended almost to bursting. Off he started in pursuit, sword in hand, and bent on executing summary vengeance on the perfidious pair.

Just at that moment, however, the Saxon gave a backward glance over his shoulder, and this had the effect of bringing Paul to a stand instantly.

No; he decided, upon second thoughts, that he would not slay them himself, but bring a troop down upon them promptly. So he turned again and rushed off towards the castle for reinforcements. But having time on the way to become fully sensible of the pickle he was in, and of the very inglorious part he had played in this encounter, he decided otherwise. Discretion would be the better part of valour; for if his comrades but set eyes on him in his present state, or heard the story of this exploit, his peace was gone for ever. So he decided, upon mature reflection, to say nothing about it for the present, but nurse his wrath for some more favourable opportunity of wreaking vengeance upon them both.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A GRIM TEMPLE, A GRIM PRIEST, AND A SAD HEART.