CHAPTER XIX.

Thus far had he written, the God forsaken Brother Irenæus. Here fell the righteous judgment of Heaven upon him.

I, Aaron of Perusia, called by the grace of God to feed these lambs of the holy Columban, had also the grace given to me to drive the diseased sheep from the flock.

Long was I on the track of him and his worldly, heathenish, sinful, ungodly, yea God-blaspheming doings; his guilty conscience had rightly boded this. Step by step I had him watched by Italian brethren, full of godly zeal, without his observing it. The most pious of them, Brother Ignatius of Spoletum, succeeded in winning his confidence--for stupidly unsuspicious are they--these barbarians--through often allowing him to entertain him with harp playing, Irenæus begged from him one day some ink powder from his store, as he had used up his appointed portion, and from the "Head of the Pharisees"--thus the shameless sinner termed his abbot and chief shepherd--could not obtain fresh supplies, without delivering over what he had written with the former supply.

Brother Ignatius at once, as was his pious obligation, told all to me, his abbot. But the ink powder he gave to him, with that wisdom of the serpent which is well pleasing to God in his priests.

Soon thereafter the sinner set out again upon one of those secret expeditions which have ever been his wont, remaining out the whole night when some errand had allowed him to escape from the monastery. I never forbade him to go out, for I hoped through one of these secret expeditions, most easily to discover his hidden doings. I sent, spies after him every time; but every time he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared among the wooded crags along the shore.

This time I myself sent him out, and as soon as he had left the monastery court I at once made a most rigorous search through the whole of his cell.

There at last I found, after much labour, these blasphemous pages, written very small, in his accursed graceful handwriting, and artfully hidden in a crevice between two stone slabs of the floor.

I took the devil's work with me, and read and read, with growing horror. So much sin, so much worldliness, so much heathenish delight in fighting and singing, in drinking and carnal love, so much, finally, of doubt, of unbelief, of naked blasphemy, had, under the roof of the holy Columban, under my pastoral staff, grown up, and been written out!

Abhorrence seized upon me, and holy indignation.

Forthwith I summoned the Italian brethren to special secret council and judgment. I pointed out to them the deadly poison of these writings, which indeed were full of the seven deadly sins; and the unanimous sentence was pronounced. First, three hundred lashes with the scourge; then immuring in the chastisement cell, with vinegar, water, and bread, until repentant contrition and the fullest amendment were made manifest.

Impatiently we awaited the return of the accursed sinner.

With the vesper bell he entered the door of the monastery court.

Immediately I placed myself before the door, shot the iron bolt, and called forward the Italian brethren. The greater number, the Anglo-Saxons, who were well disposed towards the blasphemer, on account of his sinful harp playing, and lukewarm in zeal for the Lord, I had before collected in the refectory, and locked up until the offender should be secured.

Hastily the Italians came, and behind them several armed bondmen of the monastery. Then, in place of all accusation, I held up these pages before the miserable wretch, and pronounced the agreed upon sentence.

Then, ere we were aware, the God-detested criminal sprang with lightning speed to the cistern in the court, and drew forth from behind it a frightful horrible hammer.

"Dear hammer of Halfred, aid his son today," he cried in a threatening voice.

And the next thing was--it seemed to me as though the Heavens fell upon my head and neck--I sank upon the ground.

Only after a long while did I awake again.

Then I lay upon my bed, a man given up, and the brethren from Italy lamented around my couch; and recounted that the furious Samson had, with a second blow, shattered the bolt on the door, and made his escape. The monastery servants, indeed, followed him, and several of the brethren, led by brother Ignatius. But when the fugitive suddenly turned, and slew the foremost of the pursuers, one of the monastery servants, who would have seized him, with the frightful hammer, and struck down brother Ignatius, severely wounded, the others gave up the pursuit. At once he again disappeared, as always, among the cliffs and woods.

Never have we seen him since, although from the very day of my awakening I had him carefully searched for all along the coast. The cavern of which these accursed pages speak could we not find. I would have had the bones of the old heathen murderer thrown into the sea. Probably the son concealed himself there, until he could leave the island on some ship. I however, in consequence of the blow from his hammer, which shattered my shoulder and collar bone, on one side, have to suffer all my life long from a hideous twist of the neck, which is exceedingly prejudicial to the dignity of an abbot.

This sinful book of abominations however, I sent to Rome, to the holy Bishop, with the question, whether we should burn it, or preserve it, to aid in tracing and convicting the escaped monk, should we succeed in capturing him again?

For a long long time came no answer.

But after many many years the book came back from Rome, with the command to keep it--only the blasphemous passages therein were erased--and as a warning example to others, was the Abbot of St. Columban to append to these pages an account from an accompanying letter of the Archbishop Adaldag of Hamburg, of how dreadful a fate had, through the righteous judgments of God, ended this apostate's sinful life of the highest earthly enjoyment; which he--this may console us--will doubtless have to expiate in the eternal torments of hell.

From the Archbishop's letter it appeared there could be no doubt that our perjured Brother, Irenæus, is none other than one who, in all the courts of the north, has been for many years celebrated as a warrior and singer, and crowned with all earthly fame and happiness, Jarl Sigurd Halfredson; who appeared suddenly at the court of King Harald of Halogaland--none knew whence he came--with one of the skalds of the King, and through hammer throwing, and harp playing, soon won for himself such renown that King Harald gave him three castles, the command of all his armies, and his daughter Gunnlôdh in marriage.

But King Harald was the most furious Christian hater, and the bitterest opposer of the Gospel in all the North.

And for long years Jarl Sigurd led the troops of King Harald, and always led them to victory.

The Lord at that time tried his own with severe affliction. He had turned his face from them, and the vassals of the Bishops, and of the Christian princes of the North, could not stand before Jarl Sigurd, and his dreaded hammer.

But the end of this man of blood was horrible, and therefore it has been--by the command of the holy Father--copied from the letter of the Archbishop, as a fearful warning to all who read these pages.

As he, that is to say, after once more in a great battle overthrowing the Bishop's troops, was pursuing them in sinful joy, and shouting "victory, victory!" he was mortally wounded by an arrow in the breast.

King Harald caused his heathen priests and the skalds to draw near to the right side of the death bed, to console him with songs of Valhalla.

The wounded man waved them away with his hand.

Then drew near, on the other side of the dying, three Christian priests, who had been made prisoners in the battle, and would have given him the holy last Sacrament, if he acknowledged the Lord.

Indignantly the godless sinner repulsed them with his arm. And when King Harald, astonished, asked him in whom then he believed, if not in the heathen Gods, nor in the white Christ? he laughed and said--"I believe in myself, and my strength. Kiss me once more, Gunnlôdh, and give me Greek wine in a golden cup."

And he kissed her, and drank, and said--

"Glorious it is to die in victory"--and died.

But he remained unhonoured and unburied by heathen priests and Christians, since he had defiantly rejected both.

So then it is certain and set forth as a warning to all--but to us a righteous consolation--that the God accursed soul of this most blasphemous of all sinners must burn in hell for ever and ever--Amen.

POSTSCRIPT.

What I here wrote down, years since, as my belief concerning the fate, after death, of this abandoned sinner, has been fully confirmed by a delightful testimony.

That is to say, Brother Ignatius--who lately died--and certainly in great sanctity--was before his death honoured by a wonderful vision.

Saint Columban, himself, in a dream, led him by the hand into hell, and there he saw, in the deepest pit of sulpher, Brother Irenæus, burning whole and entire.

But upon his left shoulder blade, on the spot where he struck me, his Abbot, sat an infernal raven, and hacked unceasingly through the shoulder even to his blaspheming heart.

Of this has Brother Ignatius assured us before his death. And therefore have I hereunto add this also, about the raven and the shoulder blade, in order that all who read these pages, but especially the disciples of the holy Columban in this monastery, may learn the chastisement which awaits him who lifts heart and hand against his soul's shepherd, the Abbot.

AMEN.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: "Oski," in reality one of the special forms of Odin, is, in the Scandinavian mythology, the god who fulfils all the desires of men.]

[Footnote 2: Here the parchment is pierced through, and with different ink three crosses are signed over the burnt out part.]

[Footnote 3: Cup sacred to Bragi, the god of poetry. At the Yule feast the heathen were wont, while the Bragi cup was passing round, to pledge themselves by vows to the performance of deeds of special danger or renown. They swore upon the Bragi cup, or upon the boar's head, which was the principal dish of the feast.]

[Footnote 4: A poetical expression of the Edda for the beginning of drunkenness.]

[Footnote 5: "Brisingamene," the necklace of Freya, the goddess of love, was the symbol of female charm and attraction.]

[Footnote 6: _i.e._ Peacebringer.]

End of Project Gutenberg's Saga of Halfred the Sigskald, by Felix Dahn