The Ward of King Canute Part 25

Chapter XXIII. A Blood-stained Crown

He is happy Who in himself possesses Fame and wit while living; For bad counsels Have oft been received From another's breast.

Ha'vama'l.

"Tata!" That was the pet name which Elfgiva had given to her Danish attendant because it signified lively one. "Tata! I have looked everywhere for you!" The pat of light feet, a swish of silken skirts, and Dearwyn had thrown herself upon the bench under the oak tree, her little dimpled face radiant. "What are you doing here in this corner where you can see nothing? How! Are you not overcome with delight? Only think that Elfgiva will be a queen and we shall all go to London!" As the only adequate means of expression, she threw her arms around her friend in a rapturous embrace.

Something in the touch of her soft body, the caress of her satin hands, was indefinably comforting. Randalin's arms closed about her and pressed her close, while the little gentlewoman chided her gayly.

"What is the matter with you that you are so silent as to your tongue, when you must needs be shouting in your heart? You are as bad as the King, who stands looking from one to another and speaks not a word. Does your coldness arise from dignity? Then let me lose all the state I have and be held for a farmer's la.s.s, for I am going to stand up here where I can see everything." Disengaging herself gently, she climbed upon the bench as she chattered. "The messenger had a leather bag around his neck which I think likely contains Edmund's crown and--Ah, Tata, look l look!

Thorkel is holding it up!"

As cries of savage rejoicing mingled with the uproar, Randalin found herself dragged up, whether she would or no, until she stood beside her companion, gazing over the heads of the shouting throng.

Yes, it was Edmund's crown. Again, a picture of the English camp-fire rose before her, and she shivered as she recognized the graceful pearled points she had last seen upon the Ironside's stately head. Now Thorkel was setting them above the Danish circlet on Canute's shining locks, while the shouts merged into a roar of acclamation. Like blowing flowers, the women bent before him, and the naked swords of his n.o.bles made a glittering arch above him.

"But why does he look so strange?" Randalin said suddenly.

And Dearwyn laid a finger on her lip. "Hush! At last he is going to speak."

For now it was plain that Canute's attention was given neither to the n.o.bles nor to the fluttering women. He was bending toward the messenger, holding him with his glance. "Tell more news, messenger," he was saying sternly. "Tell about the cause of my royal brother's death."

The messenger seemed to lose what little breath his ride on the shoulders of the crowd had left him. "My errand extends no further," he panted. "It is likely that the Earl will send you more news--I am but the first--" His breath gave out in an inarticulate gasp, and he began to back away.

But the King moved after him. "Stop--" he commanded,--"or it may be that I will cause you to remain quiet for the rest of time. You must know what separated his life from his body. Tell it."

Stammering with terror, the man fell upon his knees. "Dispenser of treasures, how should I know? The babblings of the ignorant durst not be repeated. Many say that the Ironside was worn sick with fighting."

"You lie!" Canute roared down upon him. "You know they say that Edric murdered him."

At that, the poor fool seemed to cast to the winds his last shred of sense. "They do say that the Earl poisoned him," he blubbered. "But none say that you bade him to do it. No one dares to say that."

"How could they say that?" Randalin cried in amazement, while the King drew back as though the grovelling figure at his feet were a dog that had bitten him.

"I bid him do it?" he repeated. All at once his face was so terrible that the man began to crawl backward, screaming, even before Canute's hand had reached his hilt.

Before the blade could be drawn, Rothgar had stepped in front of his royal foster-brother with a savage sweep of his handless arm. "Do not waste your point on the churl, King," he said in his bull's voice. "If you want to play this game further, deal with me, for I also believe that you bade the Gainer murder Edmund."

As though paralyzed by his amazement, Canute's arm dropped by his side.

"You also believe it?"

Little Dearwyn hid her face on the Danish girl's breast. "Oh, Randalin, would he do such a deed?" she gasped. "The while that he seemed so kind and gentle with us! Would he do such horrid wickedness?"

"No!" Randalin cried pa.s.sionately. "No!"

But even as she cried it, Thorkel the Tall dared to lean forward and give the royal shoulder a rallying slap. "Amleth himself never played a game better," he said; "but is it worth while to continue at it when no Englishmen are watching?" And his words seemed to open a door against which the others were crowding.

"King Canute, I willingly admit myself the block-head you called me."

Ulf Jarl hastened to declare in his good-natured roar. "When I saw you take your point away from Edmund's breast, that day, my heart got afraid that you were obliged to do it to save yourself. Even after I heard how you had made a bargain to inherit after each other, I never suspected what kind of a plan was in your mind."

And Eric of Norway smote his thigh with the half resentful laugh of a man who has been told the answer to a riddle which he has given up. "I will confess that your wit surpa.s.ses mine in matters of cunning. I did suspect that you might think it unfeasible to kill him before the face of his army, but I had no idea that it would be possible to get the land from him both according to law and without further fighting or loss of men. On a lucky day is the King born who has a mind like this!"

One after another, all the n.o.bles echoed the sentiment; until even the mob of soldiers found courage to voice their minds.

"His wit is made out of Sleipnir's heels!" "Skroppa herself could not be foreknowing about him!" "I am as glad now as I was disappointed when I saw him take his blade off the Ironside--" "When I saw that, I thought I would turn English--" "They will try now to turn Danish." "You speak well, for he will get great fame on account of his wisdom." So they filled the air with marvelling admiration.

Standing in silent listening, Canute's gaze travelled from face to face until it came to the spot where Elfgiva fluttered among her women, holding her exquisite head as if it already wore a crown. An odd gleam flickered over his eyes, and he made a step toward her. "You!" he said.

"What do you believe?"

Pealing her silvery laughter, she turned toward him, her eyes peeping at him like bright birds from under the eaves of her hood. "Lord, I believe that I am afraid of you!" she coquetted. "When I bethink me that all the time I have been chiding you for being unambitious for glory, you have had this in your mind! I shall never presume to compa.s.s your moods again. Yes. Oh, yes! I shall see daggers in your smile and poison in your lightest word." Laughing, she stooped and kissed his hand with the first semblance of respect which she had ever shown him.

In the Danish girl's embrace, Dearwyn shivered and nestled closer.

"Randalin, you hear her? She thinks he did it."

"She is a foolish woman," Randalin said impatiently, "and if she do not take care, she will feel it for speaking so. See how his fingers tap his belt for all that his face is so still."

His face was curiously still as he regarded the beautiful Elfgiva,--and stilly curious, as though he were examining some familiar object in a new light. "You believe then that I had him murdered?" he asked. "And you find pleasure in believing it?"

"Now it is not murder!" she protested. "When a king kills--in war--"

"But this is not war," he said slowly. Lifting one of the jewelled braids from her shoulder, he played with it as he studied her. "This is not war, for I had reconciled myself to him. I had plighted faith with Edmund Ethelredsson and vowed to avenge his death like a brother."

Her white forehead drew itself into a puzzled frown. "But you were not so foolish as to swear it on the holy ring were you?" When he did not answer, she raised her shoulders lightly. "What should I know about such matters? Have you not told me, many times and oft, that it behooves a woman to shun meddling with great affairs?"

He gave a short laugh, "And when were you ever before content to follow that advice?" Letting the braid slip from his fingers, he stood looking her up and down, his lips curling with scorn. "Yet this was not needful to show me that the elves felt they had done their full day's work when they had made you a body," he said. And whether he did not see her bridling displeasure, or whether he saw and no longer cared to appease it, the result was the same.

Randalin spoke abruptly to her companion. "Dearwyn, I can tell you something. Elfgiva will never get the queenship over England."

"What moves you to say that?" the little English girl asked her, startled.

But Randalin's attention had gone back to the King, who had turned where the son of Lodbrok waited regarding him over sternly-folded arms.

"Brother," he was saying gravely, "your opinion is powerful with me, so I will openly tell you that you are wrong in your belief. I was satisfied with the crown of an under-king, satisfied to pa.s.s the time as I had been doing. Never have I so much as hinted to yonder peace-nithing a word of harm against Edmund Ironside."

From Thorkel the Tall came one of his rare laughs,--a sound like the grating of a rusty hinge,--and Rothgar unfolded his arms to fling them out in angry rejection.

"This is useful to learn!" he sneered. "Do you think I could not guess that you had no need to put your desire into words after you had shown Edric by your actions that your mind and his are one, after you had admitted by your bond with him that you hold the same curious belief about honor?"

This time it was Randalin who clutched the English girl. "Oh!" she gasped.

For Canute's eyes were less like eyes than holes through which light was pouring, while his fingers opened and shut as though he had forgotten his sword and would leap upon the scoffer with bare hands. Thorkel left off laughing to grasp the Jotun's arm and try to drag him backwards.

"Do you want to drive it from his mind that he has loved you? Go hide yourself in Fenrir's mouth!"

But the King did not spring upon his foster-brother. Even as they looked, the fire went out in his eyes, spark by spark, until they were l.u.s.treless as ashes, and at last he put up his hand and wiped great drops from his forehead. "Never had you the keenness to father that judgment," he said in a strangely dull voice. "It must be that a G.o.d spoke through your mouth." Leaving them, he moved forward to the well and stood gazing into it, his fingers mechanically raking together and crushing the dead leaves that had fluttered down upon the curbing.

Dearwyn's pretty lips began to quiver with approaching tears. "Randalin, I am miserably terrified. The air feels as though awful things were about to happen."