Chapter 12

THE COMING OF THE PRINCESS.

There is no need for me to tell aught of the entry of the Lady Goldberga into the town, for anyone may know how the people cheered her, and how the party were met by the Norfolk thanes and many others, and so rode on up the hill to the palace. What the princess was like I hardly noticed at that time, for she was closely hooded, and her maidens were round her. And I had something else to think of; for foremost, and richly dressed, with a gold chain round his neck, rode a man whose strange way of carrying his head caught my eye at once, so that I looked more than a second time at him.

And at last I knew him. It was that man of ours whose neck had been twisted by the way in which he had been hauled on board at the time of the wreck, and had afterwards gone to Ethelwald’s court. One would say that this Mord had prospered exceedingly, for he was plainly a man of some consequence in the princess’s household. He did not know me, though it happened that he looked right at me for a moment; but I did not expect him to do so after twelve years, seeing that I was but a boy when we parted. I thought that I would seek him presently.

Then I saw Griffin, the Welsh thane, and I did not like the looks of him at all. He was a black-haired man, clean shaven, so that the cruel thinness of his lips was not hidden, and his black eyes were restless, and never stayed anywhere, unless he looked at Ragnar for a moment, and then that was a look of deadly hatred. He wore his armour well, and had a steady seat on his horse; but, if all that I had heard of him was true, his looks did not belie him. Men had much to say of him here, for, being some far-off kin to Alsi’s Welsh mother, he was always about the court, and was hated. He had gone to Dover to fetch the princess before we came here, but it happened that I had once or twice seen him at other times when I was in Lincoln, so that I knew him now.

There was great feasting that night in the king’s hall, as one may suppose, and I sat with the housecarls at the cross tables beyond the fire, and I could see the Lady Goldberga at Alsi’s side. Tired she was with her long journey, and she did not remain long at the table; but I had never seen so wondrously beautiful a lady. Griffin sat next to her on the king’s right hand, for Ragnar was at the king’s left, in the seat of next honour; and I saw that the lady had no love for the Welsh thane. But I also thought that I saw how he would give his all for a kindly glance from her; and if, as Alsi had seemed to hint, Ragnar was a favoured lover, I did not wonder that Griffin had been ready to do him a bad turn. I had rather that the thane was my friend than my foe, for he would be no open enemy.

I left the feast when the first change of guard went out, for I saw that the ale cup was passing faster than we Danes think fitting, being less given to it than the English. And when the guard was set I waited alone in the guardroom of the old gate, for Eglaf was yet at the hall, and would be there all night maybe. And presently Earl Ragnar came in and sat down with me.

He was silent for a while, and I waited for him to speak, until he looked up at me with a little laugh, and said, “I told you that I had to fight Griffin tomorrow?”

“You did, earl. Is that matter settled otherwise?”

“Not at all,” he answered. “I believe now that he was acting under orders, but I have said things to him which he cannot pass over. I called him ‘nidring’ to his face, and that I still mean; for though I thought of cowardice at the time, he is none the less so if he has plotted against the princess. So naught but the sword will end the feud.”

He pondered for some moments, and then went on, “It is a bad business; for if I slay Griffin, he is the king’s favourite; and if he slays me, the Norfolk thanes will have somewhat to say. And all is bad for the Lady Goldberga, who needs all the friends that she has, for in either case there will be trouble between the two kingdoms that Alsi holds just now.”

“If Griffin is slain,” I said, “I think that the lady has one trouble out of the way.”

“Ay; and the king will make out, as you heard him do even now, that I am looking that way myself. It is not so, for I will say to you at once that to me there is but one lady in all the world, and she is in Norfolk at this time. Now I am going to ask you something that is a favour.”

I thought that he would give me some message for this lady, in case he fell; but he had more to ask than that. Nothing more or less than that I should be his second in the fight, because I was a fellow countryman, while to ask an East Anglian thane would he to make things harder yet for Goldberga.

“I am no thane, earl,” I said plainly. “This is an honour that is over high for me.”

“It seems that you own a town, for I asked Eglaf just now,” he answered; “and that is enough surely to give you thane’s rank in a matter like this. But that is neither here nor there; it is as Dane to Dane that I ask you. If I could find another of us I would ask him also, that you might not have to stand alone. I am asking you to break the law that bids the keeping of the peace at the time of the meeting of the Witan.”

“That is no matter,” I said. “If I have to fly, it will be with you as victor; and if it is but a matter of a fine, I have had that from the king today which will surely pay it.”

And I told him of the gift for silence, whereat he laughed heartily, and then said that the secret was more worth than he thought. This looked very bad, and like proof that the king was at the bottom of the whole business.

Now I had been thinking, and it seemed better that there should be two witnesses of the fight on our side, and I thought that Havelok was the man who would make the second. So I told Ragnar that I could find another Dane who was at least as worthy as I, and he was well pleased. Then he told me where the meeting was to be, and where we should meet him just before daylight; and so he went back to the hall, where the lights were yet burning redly, and the songs were wilder than ever.

And I found Havelok, and told him of the fight that was to be, and asked him to come with us. His arms were at the widow’s, and he could get them without any noticing him.

There is no need to say that he was ready as I to help Ragnar, and so we spoke of time and place, and parted for the night.

Very early came Havelok to the house, for I lodged at the widow’s when I was not on night duty; and we armed ourselves, and then came Ragnar. He greeted me first, and then looked at Havelok in amaze, as it seemed, and then bowed a little, and asked me to make my friend known to him.

“If you are the friend of whom Radbard has told me, I think that I am fortunate in having come to him.”

“I am his brother, lord earl,” answered Havelok, “and I am at your service.”

Ragnar looked from one of us to the other, and then smiled.

“A brother Dane and a brother in arms, truly,” he said. “Well, that is all that I need ask, except your name, as I am to be another brother of the same sort.”

Then Havelok looked at me, and I nodded. I knew what he meant; but it was not right that the earl should not know who he was.

“Men call me Curan here, lord earl, and that I must be to you hereafter. But I am Havelok of Grimsby, son of Grim.”

In a moment I saw that the earl knew more of that name than I had deemed possible; and then I minded Mord, the wry-necked, who was the chamberlain now. But Ragnar said nothing beyond that he would remember the request, and that he was well seconded. And then we went out into the grey morning, and without recrossing the bridge, away to the level meadows on the south of the river, far from any roadway.

“There is not an island in the stream,” said Ragnar, “or I should have wanted the old northern holmgang battle. I doubt if we could even get these Welshmen to peg out the lists.”

“That we must see to,” I said. “We will have all things fair in some way.”

Half a mile from the town we came to what they call a carr—a woody rise in the level marsh—and on the skirts of this two men waited us. They were the seconds of Griffin, Welsh or half Welsh both of them by their looks, and both were well armed. Their greeting was courteous enough, and they led us by a little track into the heart of the thickets, and there was a wide and level clearing, most fit for a fight, in which waited Griffin himself.

Now I had never taken any part in a fight before, and I did not rightly know what I had to do to begin with. However, one of the other side seemed to be well up in the matter, and at once he came to me and Havelok and took us aside.

“Here is a little trouble,” he said: “our men have said nothing of what weapons they will use.”

“I take it,” said Havelok at once, “that they meant to use those which were most handy to them, therefore.”

The Welshman stared, and answered rather stiffly, “This is not a matter of chance medley, young sir, but an ordered affair. But doubtless this is the first time you have been in this case, and do not know the rules. Let me tell you, therefore, that your earl, being the challenged man, has choice of weapons.

“Why, then,” answered Havelok, “it seems to me that if we say as I have already said, it is fair on our part. For it is certain that the earl will want to use the axe, and your man is about half his weight, so that would be uneven.”

“As the challenged man, the earl is entitled to any advantage in weapons.”

“He needs none. Let us fight fairly or not at all. The earl takes the axe.—What say you, Radbard? Griffin takes what he likes.”

“You keep to the axe after all, and yet say that it gives an advantage.”

“Axe against axe it does, but if your man chooses to take a twenty-foot spear and keep out of its way, we do not object. We give him his own choice.”

Then the other second said frankly, “This is generous, Cadwal. No more need be said. But this young thane has not yet asked his earl whether it will suit him.”

“Faith, no,” said Havelok, laughing; “I was thinking what I should like myself, and nothing at all of the earl.”

So I went across to Ragnar, who was waiting patiently at one end of the clearing, while Griffin was pacing with uneven steps backward and forward at the other, and I told him what the question was.

“I thought it would be a matter of swords,” he said, “but I am Dane enough to like the axe best. Settle it as you will. Of course he knows naught of axe play, so that you are right in not pressing it on him. He is a light man, and active, and maybe will be glad not even to try sword to sword; for look at the sort of bodkin he is wearing.”

The earl and we had the northern long sword, of course; but when I looked I saw that the Welsh had short, straight, and heavy weapons of about half the length of ours, and so even sword to sword seemed hard on the lighter man; wherein I was wrong, as I had yet to learn.

I went back, therefore, and told the others.

“The earl takes the axe, and the thane has his choice, as we have said.”

“We have to thank you,” said the other second, while Cadwal only laughed a short laugh, and bade us choose the ground with them.

There was no difficulty about that, for the light was clear and bright, and though the sun was up, the trees bid any bright rays that might be in the eyes of the fighters. However, we set them across the light, so that all there was might be even; and then we agreed that if one was forced back to the edge of the clearing he was to be held beaten, as if we had been on an island. It was nearly as good, for the shore of trees and brushwood was very plain and sharp.

Now Ragnar unslung his round shield from his shoulders, and took his axe from me, for I had carried it for him, and his face was quiet and steady, as the face of one should be who has a deed to do that must be seen through to the end. But Griffin and his men talked quickly in their own tongue, and I had to tell them that we understood it well enough. Then they looked at each other, and were silent suddenly. I wondered what they, were about to say, for it seemed that my warning came just in time for them.

Griffin took a shield from the thane they called Cadwal, and it was square—a shape that I had not seen before in use, though Witlaf had one like it on the wall at Stallingborough. He said that it had been won from a chief by his forefathers when the English first came into the land, and that it was the old Roman shape. It seemed unhandy to me, but I had no time to think of it for a moment, for now Cadwal had a last question.

“Is this fight to be to the death?”

“No,” I answered; “else were the rule we made about the boundary of no use.”

Then Griffin cried in a sort of choked voice, “It shall be to the death.”

But I said nothing, and the other second, with Cadwal, shook his head.

Ragnar made no sign, but Cadwal said to Havelok, “You were foremost in the matter just now. What say you?”

“Rules are rules, and what my comrade says is right. If the first blow slays, we cannot help it, but there shall be no second wound. The man who is first struck is defeated.”

“I will not have it so,” said Griffin.

“Well, then, thane, after you have wounded the earl you will have to reckon with me, if you must slay someone.”

Griffin looked at the towering form of my brother and made no answer, and the other second told him that it was right. There was naught but an angry word or two to be atoned for. So there was an end, and Ragnar went on guard. Griffin made ready also, and at once it was plain that here was no uneven match after all.

Both of them wore ring mail of the best. We had set the two six paces apart, and they must step forward to get within striking distance. At once Griffin seemed to grow smaller, for he crouched down as a cat that is going to spring, and raised his shield before him, so that from where I stood behind Ragnar I could only see his black glittering eyes and round helm above its edge. And his right arm was drawn back, so that only the point of his heavy leaf-bladed sword was to be seen glancing from the right edge steadily. And now his eyes were steady as the sword point, which was no brighter than they. If once he got inside the sweep of the great axe it would be bad for Ragnar.

One step forward went the earl, shield up and axe balanced, but Griffin never moved. Then Ragnar leapt forward and struck out, but I could see that it was a feint, and he recovered at once. Griffin’s shield had gone up in a moment above his head, and in a moment it was back in its place, and over it his eyes glared as before, unwavering. And then, like a wildcat, he sprang at Ragnar, making no sweeping blow with his sword, but thrusting with straight arm, so that the whole weight of his flying body was behind the point. Ragnar struck out, but the square shield was overhead to stay the blow, and full on the round Danish buckler the point of the short sword rang, for the earl was ready to meet it.

In a moment the Welshman was back in his crouching guard, leaving a great ragged hole in the shield whence he had wrenched his weapon point in a way that told of a wrist turn that had been long practised. Ragnar had needed no leech, had his quick eye not saved him from that thrust.

Then for a breathing space the two watched each other, while we held our breath, motionless. And then Griffin slowly began to circle round his foe, still crouching.

Then, like a thunderbolt, Ragnar’s axe swept down on the thane, and neither shield nor helm would have been of avail had that blow gone home. Back leapt Griffin, and the axe shore the edge only of his shield; and then, shield aloft and point foremost, he flew on the earl before the axe had recovered from its swing, and I surely thought that the end had come, for the earl’s shield was lowered, and his face was unguarded.

But that was what he looked for. Up and forward flew the round shield, catching the thane’s straightened arm along its whole length, and then, as sword and arm were dashed upwards, smiting him fairly in the face; and, like a stone, the Welshman was hurled from it, and fell backward in a heap on the grass three paces away. It seemed to me that he was off his feet in his spring as the shield smote him.

There he lay, and Havelok strode forward and stood between the two, with his face to Griffin, for Ragnar had dropped his axe to rest when his foe fell.

“No blood drawn,” said my brother, “but no more fighting can there be. The man’s arm is out.”

And so it was, for the mighty heave that turned the thrust had ended Griffin’s fighting for a long day. But he did not think so.

The sweat was standing on his face in great beads from the pain, but he got up and shifted his sword to his left hand.

“It is to the death,” he cried; “I can fight as well with the left. Stand aside.”

“An it had been so, you were a dead man now,” said Havelok, “for the earl held his hand where he might have slain. If he had chosen, you might have felt his axe before you touched the ground.”

Thereat, without warning other than a snarl of “Your own saying,” Griffin leapt at my brother fiercely, only to meet a swing of his axe that sent his sword flying from his hand. And that was deft of Havelok, for there is nothing more hard to meet than a left-handed attack at any time, and this seemed unlooked for.

“Well, I did say somewhat of this sort,” said Havelok; “but it was lucky that I had not forgotten it.”

Then he took the thane by the waist and left arm and set him down gently; and after that all the fury went from him, and he grew pale with the pain of the arm that was hurt. But both I and the Welshmen had shouted to Griffin to hold, all uselessly, so quick had been his onset on his new foe.

Cadwal held his peace, biting his lip, but the other Welshman began to blame Griffin loudly for this.

“Nay,” said Havelok, smiling; “it was my own fault maybe. The thane was overhasty certainly, but one does not think with pain gnawing at one. Let that pass.

“Now, earl, I think that you may say what you have to say that will set things right once more.”

“Can none of us put the arm back first?” I said. “I will try, if none else has done such a thing before, for it will not be the first time.”

“Put it back, if you can,” said Cadwal. “If there is anything to be said, it had better be in some sort of comfort.”

So I put the arm back, for when once the trick is learned there is not, as a rule, much trouble. But Griffin never thanked me. He left that to his seconds, who did so well enough.

Then Ragnar came forward and said gravely, “I was wrong when I called you ‘nidring,’ and I take back the word and ask you to forget it. No man who is that will face the Danish axe as you have faced it, and I will say that the British sword is a thing to be feared.”

But Griffin made no answer, and when Ragnar held out his hand he would not see it.

“Maybe I have not yet made amends,” Ragnar went on. “I will add, therefore, as I know that my words will go no farther, that I am sure that the thing concerning which we quarrelled yesterday was done by you at the orders of another. It was not your own doing, and no thought of cowardice is in my mind now.”

But Griffin never answered; and now he turned his back on the earl, who was plainly grieved, and said no more to him, but turned to us and the two Welshmen.

“I do not think that I can say more. If there is aught that is needed, tell me. We have fought a fair fight, and I have taken back the words that caused it.”

Then said Cadwal, “No more is needed. I did not think that we had met with so generous a foe. If Griffin will say naught, we say this for him. He has no cause for enmity left. And I say also that he has to thank this thane for his life as well as the earl.”

“No thane am I,” said Havelok, “but only Havelok Grimsson of Grimsby. And even that name is set aside for a while, so that I must ask you to forget it. I have seen a good fight, if a short one, and one could not smite a wounded man who forgot himself for a moment.”

There was nothing more to be had from Griffin, for we waited a minute or two in silence to see if he would speak, and then we saluted and left the wood.

The last thing that I saw seemed to be a matter of high words between Griffin and his seconds; and, indeed, if they were telling him what they thought, it is likely that he wished he had been more courteous. It is easy enough for a man who wants a quarrel to have done with one and then start another.