The Thrall of Leif the Lucky Part 19

Pulling his cap lower as the keen wind cut his face, he hurried across the courtyard toward the women's-house, trying to frame some excuse that should bring Helga to the door where he could speak to her.

Half-way across, he b.u.mped into Rolf.

"Hail, comrade! Have you left your eyes behind you in your hurry?" the Wrestler greeted him, catching him by the shoulders and spinning him round and round as he attempted to pa.s.s. "You look as sour as last night's beer. What will you give to hear good tidings?"

"Nothing. Let me go. I am in a hurry," Alwin fumed.

"You have not outrun your curiosity, have you? I have just learned why it is that Thorhild no longer speaks to Eric, and why he is in a mood to smash things."

"Why?" asked Alwin, impatiently; but he no longer struggled, for he knew it was useless in Rolf's grip.

"Because last night Thorhild told Eric that she had become a Christian.

Her bowerwoman told Helga, and when I met Helga--"

"Met her? Where? Is she in the women's-house?"

Rolf shook him by the shoulders he still held. "Is that all you have to say to news of such importance? Do you not see that now that Thorhild has been converted, Eric's men will no longer dare oppose us; lest in time to come, when she has brought Eric round--"

"I say, where did you meet Helga?" roared Alwin.

Rolf released him, and stood looking at him with an inscrutable smile.

"If I were not your sworn friend, I should enjoy wringing your neck," he said. "I met Helga at the gate yonder. She was going over to Glum Starkadsson's to get something for Thorhild, and also because she wished a walk over the hard snow."

"Is it far from here? And in what direction?"

"For what purpose do you wish to know that?"

"I ask you in what direction it lies."

"The Troll take you!" Rolf gave it up with a laugh. "It lies to the north of the fiord,--beyond a bridge that crosses a river that runs through a valley. And it is not far. Have you not yet learned that in Greenland people do not take long strolls in the winter-time?"

Alwin pulled a hood over his cap, strapped his cloak still tighter, drew a pair of down-lined mittens from under his girdle and put them on over his gloves, and, without another syllable, turned and made for the gate.

It was glorious weather, dry and clear, and so still that very little of the cold penetrated his fur-lined garments. Snow covered everything, fine and firm and dazzling. The smooth white expanse suggested a wish that he had brought the skees he was learning to use; then the sight of the line of boulders he would have had to steer around made him rejoice that he had not. Far ahead of him rose the glittering wall of inland ice,--that mysterious frozen sea that covers all of Greenland except its very border, and never advances and never recedes. What made it stop there, he wondered? And what lay beyond it? And could those tales be true that the old women told, of terrible magical beings living on its silent frozen peaks?

The sight of a dark speck moving over the white plain far ahead of him banished every other thought. It might be that it was Helga. He crunched on eagerly. Then he dipped into the valley and lost sight of the speck, found it on the bridge, dipped again, and again it was lost to view.

It was not until the fence of Glum Starkadsson's farm was plainly in sight, that he caught another glimpse of it. But this time it was coming toward him, from the gateway.

Certainly that long crimson cloak and full crimson hood belonged to Helga. In a moment, she waved her hand at him. Soon he could see her face under the white fur border. Her scarlet lips were curving in a smile. The snow-glare brought out the dazzling fairness of her pearly skin, and her eyes were like two radiant blue stars. It seemed to Alwin that he had never known before how beautiful she was. A strange shyness came over him, that weighted his feet and left him without a word to say when they met.

But Helga greeted him cheerily. "Did you ever breathe finer air? I wish Thorhild would run out of gold thread every day in the week. Are you in a hurry?"

"No," Alwin began hesitatingly, "I--"

She did not wait for the end. "Then turn back with me a little way, and I will tell you something worth hearing."

He turned obediently and walked beside her, trying to think how to put what he had come to say.

"You remember hearing of Egil's father Olaf, who was so ill-tempered that Egil dared not go home and confess that he had become a Christian?

Gunnlaug Starkadsson returned this morning from visiting his wife, and she says that last night the old man's horse threw him so that his head hit against a stone, and it caused his death."

She made an impressive pause; but Alwin stalked along in silence, grinding his heels deep into the snow.

"Do you not see what that means?" she asked, impatiently. "Egil will now come into his inheritance, and become one of the richest men in the Settlement."

The trouble was that, in the first flash, Alwin had seen it all too plainly. He had seen that now Egil would become just such a man as Leif was wishing to bargain with. The thought burnt him like a hot iron, and he opened his lips to pour out his frenzy; but he could not find the words.

After a moment he said, sullenly: "I should be thankful if he would leave Leif's service, so that I could sometimes speak to you without having him watch me like a dog at a rabbit-hole."

Helga turned toward him with frank interest. "I wonder at that also. He does not act so when I speak to Sigurd or Rolf. But then, he has behaved very strangely to me ever since he talked with Skroppa in Iceland, two seasons ago."

"He spoke to me of Skroppa the first time I saw him," Alwin said, absently. Then a flicker of curiosity awoke in him. "I wish that you would tell me what 'Skroppa' stands for. I do not know whether it is man or beast or demon."

Even out there in the open, Helga glanced about for listeners before she answered. "Skroppa is a fore-knowing woman, who lives among the unsettled places north of here, in a cabin down in a hollow. Though Leif will not admit it, it was she who took the curse off Eric's sword."

It seemed to Alwin that here at last was an opening. He said harshly: "I wonder if she would be wise enough to tell whom Leif will marry you to before the feasting is over?"

Helga stood still and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped in front of her, with a fierce gesture, and in one angry burst told her all he had heard. He could not understand how she could listen so calmly, kicking the snow with the toe of her shoe.

When he had finished, she said quietly: "Yes, I know he has that intention in his mind. It is for that reason that every time I go to a feast he gives me costly ornaments, and makes me wear them. I have had great kindness from his hands. But do not let us speak of it further."

Alwin caught her roughly by her wrists, and shook her a little as he looked into her eyes. "You must not let him marry you to anyone. Do you hear? You _must_ not, _I_ love you."

Helga's look of resentment changed to one of pleased surprise, and she shook his hands heartily. "Do you truly, comrade? I am glad, for I like you very much indeed,--as much as I like Sigurd."

"Then swear by your knife that you will not let him marry you to anyone."

She pulled her hands away, a little impatiently. "Why do you ask that which is useless?"

"But you have just said that you liked me."

"I do; but what does that matter, since I cannot marry you?"

So light had the yoke of servitude grown on Alwin's shoulders that he had almost forgotten its existence. He opened his lips to ask, "Why?"

Then it came back to him that he was a slave, a worthless, helpless dog of a slave. He closed his lips again and walked on without speaking, staring ahead of him with fierce, despairing eyes.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WITCH'S DEN

Moderately wise Should each one be, But never over-wise: His destiny let know No man beforehand; His mind will be freest from care.

Ha'vama'l