CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PASSING OF OSWALD.

The Northland under the autumn sun was as the South, with green fields and forests and with glowing blooms upon shrubbery and in the hollows of the hills. The fiords were shadowy, with a coolness in the breezes which breathed among them that was pleasant to the wearied fishermen in returning boats.

Upon the high promontory looking seaward at the north of the cove and of the village and of the house of Brander there were no pine trees. Its bald granite knob glittered in the waning light so that it might be seen from far at sea as if it were a beacon. It was not a place for men to seek having no errand to lead them, and not many feet had trodden upon it since the world was made.

Nevertheless, this place was not at the closing of the day unoccupied, and from it there came a sound which went out over the wide water, and downward that it might mingle with the voices of the fiords, and landward, also, that it might be joined with the soft sighing and low whispering of the forests. Not loud was this sound at the first, but it grew louder, and then with it went forth a voice.

"I think my strength faileth me," said Oswald, the harper, pausing in his song. "The harp was overheavy to bring up the mountain. I grow old and I am alone. Hilda sleepeth in the tomb of Odin's sons, Ulric is afar among unknown seas. Am I to die a cow's death before he returneth? Who is there to make the mark of a spear upon my breast, lest I fail of Valhalla? I have fought in many a feast of swords. Why am I to perish slowly, without honor? Sad is the fate of Oswald if the valkyrias pass him and leave him to die in his bed."

Once more the song arose, but now his voice was stronger and he sang of war to the rocks and to the trees and to the gods among the fiords. The old gier-eagle on the withered pine tree northward listened intently, now and then fanning with his wide wings, until the spirit that was in the harping awakened him well. Loud was the scream that he sent back to Oswald, and he dropped suddenly from the branch of the pine tree, spreading his pinions and floating over the sea in a wide circle, rising as he went.

"He is free to come and to go," mourned Oswald, "but I am bound at home and I shall no more ride the war steeds of the open sea nor hear the clang of shields nor see the red blood flow. Where is the good ship _The Sword_ this day? Where are Ulric the Jarl and his vikings?"

Low bowed his head and his hands sought fitfully the strings of his harp, bringing out the notes of sorrow.

"I will arise," he said, "and I will go to Hilda's room. I will play to her there and see if she will answer me. She hath not spoken to me since her eyes were closed. But she is with the gods and she hath many matters upon her mind. She hath spoken to Brander the Brave and to jarls and chiefs and kings that were of old. She hath seen Odin, and she hath heard sagas that we hear not until the return of the gods."

He stood erect upon the rock where he had been sitting, and he was not weak, for he shouldered his great harp and bore it with ease as he went down the rugged side of the mountain. Many saw him come, and they who were near enough greeted him, but he paused not to speak. He went not through the village, among the houses, but along the shore, where the tide was coming in and where the waves called out to him as he passed. He turned to listen to them, but across the water came no other voice, and he shook his head sadly.

"Here was _The Sword_ launched," he said, halting at the head of the cove. "Here was the White Horse of the Saxons sacrificed to Odin. From hence the new keel went out behind the outing ice. Hilda of the hundred winters told me that there would be no return. Is it so? Will the young jarl never again put his foot upon this beach? Or did she speak only of the vessel? Who may know the counsel of the gods! For they speak unto all men in riddles and the meaning thereof is hidden from us."

He turned and walked to the house, passing through the great hall, bearing his harp, and he went on to the room of Hilda, looking in.

"It is empty," he said. "No other hath slept therein since she departed."

Bare were the walls, and the floor of cloven pine logs lay black, uncovered by rushes. One small table only remained, and upon this was a Roman lamp of bronze, which Brander, the sea king, had brought back from one of his voyages to Britain. There was oil in it and a wick, for such had been a bidding of Hilda to one of the older women and to the housemaidens. They feared much to let that lamp go without filling, if the oil dried away; but it had not been lighted, although a wick was in it.

"I will bring fire," said Oswald, and he did so, going out and returning. He set the flame of his small torch to the wick and it surprised him, for it would not burn.

"O Hilda," he exclaimed, "what is this thing that I cannot light thy lamp?"

There was no spoken answer, but suddenly the wick took the fire and it blazed up a handbreadth, as if for a token.

"Burn thou, then," said Oswald. "I will sing to her."

Quickly they who were in the other rooms of the house and in the hall heard the sound of harping and the voice of a wonderful song, for it was as a love song sung to the dead, telling her of the living and asking her concerning the gods and of all the places of the gods, where she was dwelling. Men and women listened, looking into one another's faces and whispering low, for the song was very beautiful and the harp answered as if it were alive.

Joyously burned the lamp, with a clear golden flame, as the song went on, but it at last burned lower and lower and there came a red color into the fire.

"There hath been much blood!" exclaimed Oswald. "I would I had been with the jarl in the feast of swords. The battle is ended!"

For the lamp went out and the room was very dark, but he sat in the gloom by his harp waiting for what might come.

"Disturb him not," said all the household. "He ever mourneth for Ulric and for Hilda."

Much time went by and now and then there came from that room harp notes, one by one, very faint and low, but Oswald was saying to himself:

"I have heard and I have not heard. All things are a riddle that I cannot read. Surely she touched the harp and her face was in the shadows. O Hilda, speak to me, for I am lonely! Tell me that thou hast not forgotten thy kindred!"

Then fell he down upon his face in a deep swoon, and they who went in because they heard the sound found, also, the harp lying by him with its strings broken. They lifted him and carried him away, taking, also, the harp, but when he again began to breathe and opened his eyes the words that he first uttered were in another tongue than that of the Northland. They heard the name of Hilda, but even when he aroused himself and talked with them he told them naught of what things had occurred to him in the room of Hilda, the prophetess. For there are secrets in the lives of men wherein other men have no part, and no man openeth his hidden heart unwisely. The thoughts of friends whose bodies are far apart are often apt to draw near and to walk the earth side by side. Oswald, indeed, was sending his heart out after Hilda and after Ulric. If the saga woman had in any manner answered him, no man knoweth. Nor can any say that the soul of Ulric was nearer to that of Oswald because both were thinking of each other and of her who had departed from them.

So may the gods look on from their places and see what men see not, and they may often smile, if they are kindly minded, to see men and women meet and embrace without the touching of the bodily flesh.

Three days went by, and because of a request of Oswald's many messages had gone out from house to house and from village to village, up and down the coast and far inland. To everyone it was told that the hour was at hand and that a token of the gods had come to Oswald, but that he was still living. Upon the fourth day all who were entitled to come, by reason of kinship or of their high descent, had arrived. Many men and many women had gathered, and among them were those who brought harps. These sat apart and they spoke to each other in low voices, tuning their harps and listening to the sounds which answered them from the strings.

"The harp of Oswald is broken," said one. "Who shall take it after him?"

"No man," replied the oldest of them all. "It is a harp which came from the East, in the ship of a sea king, and he gave it to the father of Oswald in the days when Hilda was yet unborn. Upon it are strange runes that none may read."

"It shall rest with him in his grave, then," said another, "but Hilda said that he would need it not in the place to which he hath gone."

"They have both harps and harpers there," said the old man, thoughtfully. "I know not the meaning of Hilda's word. So good a harp must find a player, and I think the gods can mend it. We cannot, for we have no strings like these."

Before them lay the great harp upon the floor of the hall, and one lifted it, placing it before a chair as if it might be played upon. There were yet three strings remaining, and the old man sat down in the chair and put out his hands, touching, also, the strings which were broken. Not from these, assuredly, came the sound which now fell upon the ears of the gathered vikings, but all were silent, for the spirit of song was upon this ancient one whom no man knew. Clear was his voice, but thin, and at times it wavered as if with age and weakness, but he sang the departing song of Oswald and of the old time. Strong were his hands also, for as he ceased he gripped with them and these three strings, also, were snapped asunder with loud twanging.

"Hilda is right!" he exclaimed. "The harp of Oswald is dead. It will never sound again. Build ye a fire, high and hot, and burn upon it this frame of wood. I go to Oswald's room."

Rising from his chair, all saw that he was tall and white-bearded, and none detained him while he went to the room of Oswald.

"Thou art awakened, O Oswald, the harper?" he asked, as he entered the room.

"Waiting for thee, old man," came hoarsely from the lips of him who lay upon the bed. "Now lift me up that I may stand erect, and put my sword in my hand. I will not die a cow's death, and thou art mine enemy, having full right in this matter."

"We burn thy harp, as Hilda gave thee directions," said the old man. "We bury thee in a coffin at the foot of the great stone, thy arms and thy armor with thee."

"Also my bag of coins," said Oswald, "and my cup of silver. I know not if I may need them. They have drinking horns in Valhalla. Smite me in the breast. Let the spear mark be a deep one that I may be known as a warrior."

In the doorway and within the room stood now chiefs and heroes and they had heard, and they said to the old one, "Strike him!"

Deep and kindly was the thrust of the spear that was given to Oswald, and he fell to the ground as if he had fallen in battle, so that all the vikings were satisfied.

"Art thou to be smitten," asked a chief of the old man, "or goest thou hence?"

"I am to see the earth put upon him," said the old man. "I came far for this thing, from my place below the great south fiord, toward Denmark. Ask me not my name lest there be a blood revenge in the mind of some foolish one. Take Oswald to his tomb and smite me there, for we are to be buried together and my harp goeth with me."

All went out of the room and the bearers brought the body of Oswald, the harpers playing and the women also chanting. The ancient one took up his harp, which was not very large, and he seemed joyful as he walked with those who went forth to the place of tombs. The grave of Oswald was deep and by it lay a coffin of cloven pine pieces. In this they laid him, bending his swords and seax and breaking the shaft of his spear. His shield and his mail were broken and all were laid upon the body. Then one placed the bag of coins and the goblet at the head and a jarl of rank covered all with a slab of pine, throwing in handfuls of earth and many stones.

"Art thou ready?" he asked of the old one.

"Not thy spear," he said. "Strike with thy sword; and let it be a blow through the heart. As I cease this song to the gods and to the dead I will lay my harp in the tomb. Strike me then."

Now his voice failed him not and he sang well, bringing loud music from his harp.

"I have fought in fourscore of battles!" he shouted. "I have sailed in all seas! I have spared none in the feasts of swords! I have seen the red blood flow from the hearts of many! I die by the hand of a jarl at the grave of my old foeman. O Oswald, I shall be with thee in Valhalla, and there will we cross our swords and fight before the gods. Strike, thou of the sword!"

Down dropped his harp upon the coffin of Oswald and the sword of the jarl passed through him, flashing and returning. Then the ancient one lay upon his harp and earth and stones were thrown in until the tomb was filled and heaped. All the while the other harpers harped and sang, so that due reverence was given to the passing of Oswald.

"Will he see Hilda this night?" asked one of the women. "I bade him greet her for me."

"They say that one who dieth must walk alone a little distance," replied the other woman, "and then he cometh to a dog; and he shall know then where to seek a house that he may enter."

"I have heard many things," said the first speaker, "but they do not agree. I think we know but little certainly. It would be well if one of the dead were to come back and say what he hath seen."

"I would rather hear a saga," said yet another of the women. "I like not the dead. They are cold and they bring ill fortune. Let them stay with the gods."

So said the greater part, but one woman went away muttering to herself. "The dead! The dead!" she said. "They are of no use to us after they are buried. They care not for us any more. But I would willingly have speech with one of them if he would not be overchurlish. I will go, some night, and watch at the place of tombs. The witches watch at tombs and they see wonders. But it was worth seeing, the slaying of the old one. He was a brave warrior and he died well."

There was a feast that night in the house of Brander the Brave, for his kinsmen and his kinswomen entertained their friends joyfully. There was much singing and harping, and the horns and the cups came and went often around the tables. They drank deeply to the success of Ulric, the son of Brander, and to the voyage of his good ship _The Sword_, and to his return in glory from doing great deeds among the fleets of the Romans and among the islands and cities of the Middle Sea.

"The jarl will come again!" they shouted. "And here will he tell us of the feasts of swords and of the crashing of ship against ship. Hael to Jarl Ulric! Hael!"