More and more high whirled the flames, red, blue, yellow over coals too hot for the eye to stray near. The noise grew till it shook men's skulls. The roof overhead was like a storm-sky of ruddy smoke. Heat billowed. The hawks flew aloft, the hound slunk away.
Adhils smiled: "Folk have not talked too big when they praised the courage and readiness of you, King Hrolf’s warriors. It seems as if you stand above everybody else and that the word about you is no lie. Well, let's strengthen the fire, for I really would like to make out who is your king, and you'll never flee it. As for me, though, I who've not been out in winter air today am growing a little warm."
He signed to his men. They moved their bench well back. The stokers ran to and fro, bringing more fuel. Out of the soot on them, they leered at the newcomers.
Mail and underpadding made doubly cruel the heat Sweat gushed from the Danes, stung eyeballs which felt as if baking, stank in the nostrils and steamed out of the cloth which it had glued to their skins. Lips cracked. The tongues behind were like those blocks of wood which the Swedes fetched as if they worked for Surt himself. "Hrani's house was nothing like this," Hjalti rasped low. 'What's he after?"
"He hopes to know King Hrolf by him not being able to stand the fire as well as the rest of us," answered Svipdag. "In truth he wishes death on our king."
"I swore I would never yield before fire or iron," came Hrolf's parched whisper, barely to be heard through the booming and crackling.
Bjarki leaned forward, moving his shield to give his lord a bit of shelter. Likewise did Hjalti on the other side. But they dared not help him enough that it would give him away.
Squinting through the berserk glare, they could just see that Adhils and his men had shifted as far back as could be. Surely the Swede-King grinned.
"His fine-sounding promises meant naught," groaned Starulf. "He aims to burn us alive."
Hjalti stared at his knees. "My breeks have started to smolder," he said. "If we stay here, we'll be done . . . well done!"
Three of the stokers ran to throw another chunk in the trench. Sparks raged upward. The stokers wheeled about after more, They laughed.
Bjarki looked across Hrolf at Svipdag. The same will leaped in them both. The Norseman shouted half a stave:
"Let the fire be fed here in the hall!" He and his Swedish friend sprang up. Each grabbed a stoker. They hurled those men into the flames.
"Now enjoy the heat you strove to give us," called Svipdag, "for we are baked through." Hjalti did likewise to a third. Maybe the rest escaped. It cannot have been as dreadful a death as it sounds, because no flesh could have lived for more than a heartbeat in that trench.
King Hrolf rose. He took his shield and tossed it into the pit while he cried:
"He flees no fire who hops high over." His men saw his thought at once and threw in their own shields. Thus they dampened the blaze at that spot till they could leap across it
Adhils and his folk heard choked-off shrieks, saw bodies burst into smoke—and out of the flames came storming those thirteen men, shieldless but mailed and helmeted, sooty and sweat-drenched but thirstier for blood than for water, scorched in clothes and blistered on cheeks but with weapons aflash like the fire itself.
In horror, Adhils's troopers scattered before the band which had already wrought slaughter among comrades who wore byrnies and swords. Belike too, many felt there could be no luck in fighting for a lord who tried to murder his guests. "Here I am, kinsman!'' yelled Hrolf, and sped toward him. Over Hrolf's helmet the sword Skofnung swung high as his own laughter.
Adhils fled. A roof-pillar bore the outsize figure of a god who leaned on his shield. That shield proved to be a door leading into hollowness. Adhils squirmed through, slammed and bolted the door behind him.
"Batter that down!" Hjalti called.
"No," said Hrolf. "He must be crawling along some tunnel. Shall we be worms like him?"
"He might have traps to catch us if we try," nodded Svipdag. "We're not done with that he-witch."
Adhils did indeed slip outside. Rising from the ground behind the lady-bower, he entered it. Yrsa sat there. Her woman shrank to see the king in sweating, dirty disarray. "Go," he told them. "I. .. want speech . . . with the queen."
"No, stay," Yrsa answered. "I want witnesses, that he may not afterward lie about what was said."
The women huddled aside. Adhils forgot them. "That son of yours . . . Hrolf the Dane ... is here," he panted, "He set on me—holds the hall—"
Yrsa drew a breath of utter joy. "He did not drive you thence for no reason," she said shakily.
"Go to him. Make peace between us. He'll hear your pleas."
"Go I will, but not on your behalf. First you had King Helgi, my husband, slain by treachery; and those goods which belonged to your betters, you kept. Now on top of everything else, you'd kill my son. You are a man worse, more foul than any other. Oh, I will do everything I can to help King Hrolf get the gold, and you shall reap naught but ill from this, as well you have earned."
King Adhils drew himself straight. In that moment he was not altogether a greasy fat man who had been chased from his own dwelling. "It seems that here there can be no trust," he said quietly. "I shall not come before your eyes again." He turned and walked forth into the dusk which had begun to fall. Soon she heard him lead his guards out of the garth.
IV
Thereupon Queen Yrsa sought the hall. She found the Danes gusty with glee, shouting for beer and meat to those frightened servants who were left. But when they saw her enter, in white gown and blue cloak and heavy necklace of amber, a hush fell over them. She walked down the length of the room to the bench where King Hrolf sat; nobody now hid which one was he! A while those gave look for look by the light of the still high-burning fire.
Yrsa's back was yet straight, her body lissome, though her feet no longer danced over the earth as when she was the girl-bride of Helgi. The skin was clear on the broad tilt-nosed face, but many lines marked it, the bronze hair was rimed over, and in the gray eyes lay a bottomless weariness. Much of her lived in the features of her son, who, however, bore easily on unbowed shoulders the red-splashed byrnie in which he had been victorious.
Svipdag started jerkily forward. His gaunt cheeks seemed wet below the eye-patch; the scar throbbed in his brow. "My lady—" he began. She did not turn from Hrolf.
"Are you then Queen Yrsa?" asked the king. "I thought we'd see you earlier." She stood dumb.
"Well," said Hrolf, "here in your house I got a torn shirt." He lifted his sword-arm, the sleeve of which had been ripped by a spear. "Will you mend this for me?"
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
Hrolf shook his head. "Hard is friendship to find," he sighed, "when mother will give son no food and sister will not sew for brother."
Svipdag stared from him to her in a stunned way. Yrsa clenched her fists. Biting back tears, she said: "Are you angry that I did not greet you erenow? Listen. I knew Adhils was plotting your death. Night after night he was at work on his witching stool, with his kettles and runestaves and bones. Surely, I thought, he'd reckon on ... on mother being there to cast arms around son . . . sister taking the hand of brother . . . surely this was woven into his spells."
"So at the last she stayed away," Svipdag said, "and the witchcraft came unraveled, and Adhils must try what else he could think of on the spot."
Hrolf surged to his feet. "Oh, forgive me," he cried, near tears himself. "I did not understand."
They held each other close, and laughed and stood back clasping fingers to see the better, and breathed raggedly, and babbled somewhat. After a while they harnessed themselves. She gave the warriors a stately welcome, bade the servants make food and guest quarters ready, and seated herself in eager talk beside him. They had most of his lifetime to overtake.
Svipdag stepped back, "How she has aged through these dozen winters," he said, deep in his throat. "Living with that troll-man—" He shook himself. "Well, of course tonight she's happiest t
o meet her son."
Drink flowed and merriment pealed. Not often had thirteen men taken the stronghold of a king! At last sleepiness came upon them. Yrsa sent for a youth who would see to their wants. "His name is Vögg," she told
Hrolf, "a bit of a simpleton but good-hearted and nimble."
The fellow arrived: small and skinny, crowbeak nose and not much chin beneath a shock of wheaten hair, shabbily clad, nonetheless hopping and chuckling. "Here is your new lord," the queen told him.
Vögg's pale-blue eyes frogged out. "Is this your king, you Danes?" burst from him in a boy's cracked voice. "Him, the great King Hrolf? Why, he's well-nigh as bony as me—a real kraki, him!"
Now a kraki is no more than a tree-trunk whose branches have been lopped to stubs to make a kind of ladder. la their aleful mirth and the glow of their deeds this day, Vögg's words struck the warriors as the funniest thing they had ever heard. Even Svipdag guffawed and joined in the yelling: "Kraki, kraki, aye, hail, King Hrolf Kraki!"
He laughed too and said to the stripling: "You've given me a name which may well stick to me. What will you give me for a naming-gift?"
"I, I . . . naught have I to g-g-give," stammered Vögg. "I'm poor."
"Then he who has should give to the other," said Hrolf. During the evening he had had several gold rings brought from his baggage, with the idea that he might want to reward somebody. He drew one off and handed it to Vögg.
The boy cackled thanks, put it on his right arm, and strutted around like a cock, holding the coil aloft to gleam in the firelight. It slid down to the elbow. His left arm he held behind his back. The king pointed, "Why do you do that?" asked he.
"Oh," said Vögg, "the arm which has naught to show must hide itself in shame."
"We must see about that," said Hrolf, mostly because he saw Yrsa was fond of this loon. He handed him another ring.
Vögg nearly fell over. When he could find speech again, he squeaked, "Thanks and praises, lord! This is a wondrous thing to have!"
The king smiled. "Vögg grows joyous over little."
The youth sprang onto a bench, lifted both hands toward the rafters, and shouted, "Lord, I swear that if ever you are overcome by men, and I alive, I will avenge you!"
"Thanks for that," said the king dryly. His men nodded, not bothering to hide their own grins. No doubt this fellow would prove faithful as far as he was able, they thought, but how could so sleazy a wretch ever do much?
In a while Yrsa led them across the courtyard to a guesthouse. Though far smaller than the hall, it was more snug and bright and without lingering creepinesses of witchcraft. The hound Gram went along; the hawks had already been carried to the mews. In the chill beneath numberless keen stars, Yrsa took her son's hands once more and said, "Goodnight, good rest, my darling. Yet have a care. Evil is everywhere around."
"Should we not watch over you, my lady?" asked Svipdag.
"I thank you, old friend, but no need. It's you he will be after."
"All gods forbid we bring you into danger."
"Goodnight." Yrsa and her women left.
Within, a fire on the hearthstone and lamps along the walls gave light and warmth, albeit smoky air. Vögg showed the men how their goods had been stowed and benches made ready for sleeping. Bjarki warned, "Here we can be at ease, aye, and the queen wishes us well. She's right, however: King Adhils will wreak as much ill for us as he can. It'd astonish me if we're let have everything go on as it does now."
Vögg shuddered and drew signs. "K-k-king Adhils . . . is a terrible maker of—of blood offerings," he told them. "His like is not to be found. Hoo, how often at night I've heard ropes creak under their loads in the shaw, or ravens deafen the wind by day! Yet he gives no more than he must to the high gods. No, his worship is to a horrible huge b-b-boar—" He hugged himself. The teeth rattled in his head. "I don't see how things can stay this smooth," he said, woebegone. "Have a care, have a care! Sly and ill-famed is he, and he'll do whatever he can to m-m-make away with ... us ... by any means."
"I think we need post no guard this night," said Hjalti, "for Vögg isn't about to fall asleep."
The warriors laughed drowsily and stretched themselves to rest. They had long since taken off their fighting gear. The fires burned out and only Vögg lay forlornly awake, his earlier bliss sunk deep in dread.
At midnight the band was yanked back to awareness of cold and gloom. A racket outside was ringing in the very walls, gruesome grunts and squeals. Something battered at the house till it rocked, as if it went up and down on the sea.
Vögg wailed: "Help! The boar's abroad, the boar-god of King Adhils! He's sent it to get him revenge—and none can stand before that troll!"
The door groaned and splintered under blows. Bjarki's weapon gleamed free. "Get your iron back on, my lord and lads," he said. 'I’ll try to hold the thing.''
The door smashed down. Beyond lay frosted flagstones, black walls and roofpeaks, high stars. Most was blotted from sight by the shape whose hump filled the doorway. What light there was showed its shagginess and the tusks which rose from the snout like crooked swords. A rank swine-smell choked nostrils. The grunting made earthquake thunder.
"Hey-ah!" shouted Bjarki. His blade whirled down. It rebounded so he nearly lost his grip. For the first time, Lövi which had slain the flying monster would not bite.
The hound Gram snarled and lunged.
As his jaws closed, the troll-boar squealed, a noise which went through flesh like a saw. The two beasts ramped out into the yard. Bjarki followed. If his sword would not cut, it could still club. The boar whirled on him and charged. Gram's weight held it back, and Bjarki sidestepped. The boar tossed its head, flailing Gram about The hound did not let go.
Hard was that fight while the king's men busked themselves. But of a sudden the boar's chuffing turned into a scream. Gram tumbled aside. Bloody in his jaws were an ear and the skin of a jowl. As if a single wound was enough, the troll fell over dead. The ground shook. Gram lifted his head and belled till echoes flew.
Bjarki did not join the cheers of his friends. "Best I don my own mail," he said. "And let's drag what we can across the doorway. This night is not yet at an end."
"You . . . y-y-you . . . met the thing that took so many men—" Vogg stuttered. "Oh, how can I evermore be aught than brave?"
The rest paid him no heed. They were listening to a noise from beyond the garth: horn-blasts, cries to war, rattle of iron and tramp of feet.
Into the yard poured the whole host of Adhils's guardsmen, and more from the town besides, to fill it from wall to wall. A humpbacked moon, newly rising over a dragon gable, made their mail and whetted metal glimmer, made their breaths a ragged fog through the cold, but left faces in shadow. The Swede-King must have had spies, for his folk lost no time in ringing the guesthouse,
"What do you want?" Bjarki shouted through the door.
"This, you who slew my brother," answered someone. After a few heartbeats, they heard the thatch overhead crackle. Flames burst into being. The house had been fired.
"Soon we will not lack for warmth," said Hjalti.
"An ill way is this to die, if we should burn in here," said Bjarki. "A sorry end to life for King Hrolf and his warriors. Rather would I fall to weapons on an open field."
Svipdag peered at a hedge of spears. "That doorway's too narrow," he said. "They'd stick us like pigs as we came out one or two at a time."
"Aye," answered the Norseman. "I know no better rede than that we break down a wall, and thus plow forth together, if that can be done. Then when we close, let each take his man of them, and they'll soon lose heart." He cocked his head. "Hear how shrilly they call around or try to taunt us? I know that note. This day's work, and now the slain god of Adhils, those have shaken them."
"Good is your rede," said King Hrolf. "This I think will serve us well."
They used benches for rams. No child's play was it to smash the planks. Over and over they rushed, while the roof blazed and embers showered do
wn upon them, flames barked and smoke bit. Then in a sundering crash, the wall gave way. They grabbed up the shields they had taken from Adhils's storerooms, leaped out, and fell on the Swedes.
Swords whistled, axes banged, men cursed and yelled beneath the moon. At first the Danes went in a kind of swine-array, that slashed through their unready foes like an arrowhead. When in the thick of them, they made a ring. No, it was more a wheel, rimmed with blades, which rolled unstoppable to split and shatter any line that tried to stand fast.
Higher rose the moon, the burning, and the din. Wildly went the strife. Ever King Hrolf and his fellows thrust forward. Behind them they left a road of hurt men, dead men, men who stared unbelieving at lifeblood which pumped out onto the frost. Soon they won free of the garth and into the town. What ranks were left to fight them thinned out—for though they took bruises and flesh wounds, they knew well how to defend each other, and none else was so stout that he need not veer before their blows.
Wings flapped over heaven. King Hrolf’s hawk High-breeks swung from the burg, stooped, and settled on his master's shoulder. Mightily proud did he look. Bjarki panted: "He behaves like somebody who's won great honor." Nor did he flinch from the weapons which sought after his lord.
At length the fray ended. However many against thirteen, the Swedes could not bring their numbers to bear in the narrow lanes between houses. Moreover, as Bjarki had heard, they were badly shaken to begin with. What order they ever had was now broken up. Few of them cared to lay down his life for a king who was not even in sight. And their wiser leaders came to dread that the Danes would break into a house, snatch a brand off a hearth, and start a fire of their own which could eat all Uppsala,
One after the next, they cried for peace. The wish spread as swiftly as a snowslide. Hrolf gave quarter and asked where King Adhils was. Nobody knew.
Weapons unsheathed, blood wiped off to let the steel flash across night, Hrolf and his men tramped back to the garth. They found its folk toiling to keep the blaze from going further. "This work seems well in hand," Hrolf remarked. "But I see we must use the king's house after all."
Hrolf Kraki's Saga Page 22