Ulric the Jarl

by William Stoddard

  The officer in command of the Roman warship knew no fear of any foe afloat, so sure was he of the superior strength of his vessel, and now he could have no suspicion that an enemy of Rome had come in at this time of the year through the gates of Hercules. He came to the after deck of the quinquereme when his outlooks called him, and his answer to them was haughty.

  “Why did ye disturb me?” he asked. “It is but one of the triremes of Licinius coming back with tidings for Cæsar. We may hail her, in her passing, but we may not hinder her. Cæsar is careful of the bearers of his messages. Men die early who meddle with that which doth not concern them.”

  No change was made, therefore, in the handling of the quinquereme. The rowers sat idly at their places, ready for any orders which might come, but allowing their oars, longer and shorter, to hang in the water, or to rest hauled inboard.

  Now there came wind enough to fill the sail, and she slipped along better, while the sailing master came and stood by the haughty centurion.

  “They are in haste,” he said. “They row swiftly.”

  “Well they may,” replied the officer, “whether Licinius hath had good fortune or whether the fates have been against him. I would not be sent to Britain. Too many have gone to ruin on that island.”

  “It is a bad place,” said the seaman, “and all those seas are full of Saxons. They are fierce barbarians, but they make good gladiators. I would crucify them all.”

  “Never spare thou a Saxon,” said the centurion. “They are food for the sword. Slay every one thou findest on land or sea. Mars be my witness, I will spare not one.”

  For life or for death, therefore, was the swift coming of The Sword. The Saxons must overcome the quinquereme, or escape her in some manner, or they must die without mercy, and this they knew well.

  “A strong force on board of her,” said the centurion, as The Sword drew nearer. “But I see no standard save an eagle on the fore deck. She hath no officers of rank, and that is strange. I will hail her. Sound thou thy trumpet, trumpeter!”

  Loudly rang out the trumpet call, and it was answered by a trumpet from The Sword. But here too was a mystery. The viking who blew was better used to his war horn, and he knew not that instead of a peaceful greeting he had sounded the notes that bid a Roman legion close with an enemy, to win or die.

  The centurion sprang to his feet, for he had been seated.

  “Rowers!” he shouted, “to your places! Here is a strange matter! There is evil tidings!”

  Other swift orders followed, and every legionary on board the quinquereme was at his post, for the Romans are not easily to be taken by surprise because of their strict discipline and their rule for perpetual readiness by day or night.

  “She is a smaller craft than ours,” said the sailing master, “but she is a good one. I know her well, and her sign is Minerva. Who now commandeth her I know not.”

  In that she was so well known as one of the triremes of the Roman fleet in British waters was now a gift of the gods to The Sword and to the Saxons. Not the centurion nor his officers nor any seaman or legionary on board the quinquereme had any thought or suspicion of that which was to come.

  Onward flashed the swift, strong vessel, the oars of the Northmen biting well the sparkling sea. Fiercely rang the Roman trumpet, warning them to change their course lest there should be a collision. Hoarse were the angry shouts of the astonished centurion, but vain were his too-long delayed orders to his rowers and his steersman.

  On the fore deck of The Sword stood now a tall shape, wearing indeed the helmet of a Roman, but putting to his lips a war horn of the North. Beside him stood what seemed a giant brandishing a spear. The blast was sounded and then sped the spear. A hundred more were hurled from The Sword at the Romans on the decks of the quinquereme. The viking rowers pulled with their might.

  Crash! With a breaking of timbers, a braying of horns, a chorus of mocking war cries, the quinquereme was smitten amidships with a force which threw her legionaries prostrate and sent her rowers from their oars.

  The centurion was pierced by the spear of Sigurd. The steersman fell by a heavy pebble cast by Knud the Bear. The sailing master went down twice smitten.

  Up to the masthead of The Sword shot the White Horse flag of the Saxons, and the good ship sprang backward with a great rebound, helped quickly by the rowers.

  “We have stricken her!” shouted Ulric. “The sea poureth into her. Back! Strike not again! It is enough!”

  As the lightning from a clear sky, so was the deathblow given to the pride and strength of the quinquereme. As a warrior stabbed to the heart was she as she leaned over, and as the fatal blue tide poured in through the deep wound in her side. There was no stanching it. There was no hope. They who had purposed to slay all Saxons were themselves to die. On the decks and at the bulwarks, amazed, confounded, the Roman soldiers and sailors stood and gazed in silence at their utterly mysterious destroyer. Here was a riddle of the fates and furies which none might read. They knew not even the flag of this strange pirate keel. They only knew that they were going down.

  On the stern of the quinquereme stood three men who were not in armor. They were bearded men and they wore turbans, and they spoke to each other in another tongue than the Latin.

  “We may escape,” one of them said. “The god of Israel hath heard. We are not to be crucified. Let us plunge in and go to yonder ship from Tarshish. Ben Ezra, what sayest thou?”

  “Follow me,” said Ben Ezra, “ere this accursed quinquereme goeth down bearing us with it. On this side, while the Romans are gazing. Take each two short oars. We have somewhat to bear with us. Get beyond a spear cast as soon as we may.”

  He was a short man, and old, but his eyes were bright and he seemed a brave one. His two companions were youths. Into the water they slipped silently, as he had said, and they swam well, partly upheld by the pieces of wood.

  The Sword was not receding, but her rowers were pulling easily as Wulf the Skater steered her around and past the quinquereme. No more spears were thrown nor did any arrows fly, but there was a sounding of war horns.

  Brave must have been the trumpeter of the legionaries, for he lifted his trumpet and answered defiantly, even while the water rushed in through the fatal gap in the wooden wall of his sinking vessel.

  “We shall have no prisoners,” said Knud the Bear. “I would I knew if they had taken any. What if captured Saxons were on board of her?”

  “Not at this season of the year,” said Sigurd. “But what are those? Look yonder! The Romans wear no turbans. O jarl.”

  “Bid them on board!” shouted Ulric. “I would question them. Throw them a rope!”

  It was a long thong of twisted hide that was cast out toward Ben Ezra and his companions, but it came too late. In a moment their escape had been seen by the legionaries. They were true to their soldier discipline. They themselves must die, but it was their duty to prevent the departure from the quinquereme of any prisoners. Such as attempted it must be slain. So the pila flew fast and even arrows were sent.

  “Ben Ezra, I am smitten!” gasped one of the younger swimmers.

  “Thou?” groaned Ben Ezra; but in an instant more, he added: “O God of Hosts! My son also! My only son! My Benjamin!”

  “Father!” cried out the second youth, in agony, “the spear of the heathen! I die! I die!”

  “My son!” again mourned Ben Ezra. “I care not to live! Let me perish with thee!”

  Nevertheless, he had grasped the thong of twisted hide and the instinct of self-preservation was strong enough to make him cling to it. Moreover, he had taken three of the short oars, instead of only two, and on these he was buoying up what seemed a small casket of wood. He was doing so with difficulty, and now he exclaimed:

  “The jewels! The gold! I must not lose them. They are priceless. The centurion knoweth not that I have them. Not only mine are here, but the prætor’s also. O Jehovah of Hosts! Thou hast smitten the heathen! That spear fell short. Ha!”

  A
pilum struck the oars and Ben Ezra struggled hard for his treasure, but he succeeded in retaining it.

  Down sank the two who had been stricken, and in a moment more a strong hand of a viking grasped the old man by the shoulder.

  “Courage! Thou art safe!” he shouted.

  “This first!” said Ben Ezra, trying to hand him the casket. “It is worth their quinquereme! Ye are Northmen. I am a Jew of Salonica. The Roman robbers plundered my ship unlawfully, and me they meant to crucify, the better to claim my goods. Help me in. I am faint. O my son!”

  They pulled him up over the bulwark with some difficulty, but he spoke not nor did he seem to see anything until he was sure that his casket was in the hands of Ulric the Jarl.

  “Open it not now, O captain of the Saxons,” said Ben Ezra. “I have much to say to thee. When yonder Roman keel goeth down I am no longer in peril, for I have kept the law. But the Prætor Sergius of Spain and the commanders of the fleet rob whomsoever they will. Praise God, she sinketh fast!”

  It was even so. The quinquereme was settling in the water and her crew could cast spears no more. They did but stand still and gaze at the sea and at their strange enemy, but some of them even now called loudly upon their gods, as if there could be any help from them.

  She was a splendid vessel, and her figurehead was a gilded Neptune with a trident which looked as if it might be of gold. Rich indeed were her carvings and the very handles of her oars were graven and gilded. She was high at prow and stern, a castle of the sea, and the wonder was that she had been cloven at a blow. A lighter vessel with a ram less sharp would perhaps have rebounded without doing serious harm, but the beak of The Sword was like a vast spearhead and it had been driven hard by the strong arms of the Saxons and by the weight of the trireme.

  The middle parts of the foundering ship could no longer be occupied, and the ill-fortuned men who were to perish were now crowded densely fore and aft. Even now, however, the legionaries preserved their discipline, and they slew some of the hired rowers who pressed them in too disorderly a manner. These were deaths which were but somewhat hastened, yet military order was restored thereby, for the rowers feared the strokes of the pila and the broadswords.

  “They go!” muttered Ben Ezra. “So perish all who afflict the chosen people. Rome will yet fall before the sword of Judah and the spear of Israel. Jehovah standeth for his elect. He will have vengeance upon the heathen. He will smite through kings in the day of his wrath.”

  “O Ulric the Jarl,” said Sigurd, “thou mayest trust the Jew. He hateth Rome as we do.”

  Then came Ulric nearer, still watching the quinquereme, but he spoke words to Ben Ezra in a tongue that those who stood by understood not.

  “Father Abraham!” exclaimed the old man, “where didst thou learn Hebrew? I like thee well for this. After yonder quinquereme goeth down thou hast cause to consult with me. There are matters thou knowest not.”

  “Odin!” exclaimed Ulric. “Watch! She is pitching forward! They are falling!”

  In a mass together, as the decks slanted, plunged the overcrowded Romans. It was of no avail to struggle or to thrust with sharp weapons. Angrily, loudly, in his last desperate valor, blew the trumpeter his final defiance, but as the blast ended the prow of the quinquereme went madly under, lifting the stern out of water for a moment. Then went up a great cry and quickly naught could be seen save a few heads of swimmers dotting the blue water.

  The helmets disappeared first because of the weight of armor, but the Saxons cast no spears at any who remained, and some who were bareheaded seemed to be swimming well.

  “He hath golden hair,” said Sigurd, pointing at one of these. “He is no Roman. I will call to him in Greek—”

  “Bid him come,” said Ulric, “if so be he is not a Roman. He may live.”

  Sigurd sent to the swimmer a few words in a smoothly sounding tongue, and the golden-haired youth struck out for the trireme, but he was followed by twain who were dark and who cursed him in Latin. Well for him that he was the better swimmer, for they strove to grapple him that he might die with them. He might not even then have fully escaped but that Ulric knew their meaning and said to Tostig the Red:

  “I have no spear! Smite those two Romans and save the Greek.”

  Not one spear but twenty sped in answer to that command, and the youth came nearer alone, for there were none to follow him.

  “He was a rower,” said Ben Ezra. “He is a slave of the centurion. He is from Corinth. It is perilous to spare him, lest he might tell of this thy doing.”

  “What harm?” asked Ulric. “Can the Romans do more than destroy? I will myself tell them that this is the third of their warships that I have taken from them.”

  “Thou sailest in one,” replied Ben Ezra, glancing around him. “Thou and thine are men of valor. But the like of this hath never before been seen. A Saxon crew in a Roman trireme fighting the ships of Cæsar! Mayest thou have a fleet and smite them in the Tiber itself! Now sail thou on, for there is another quinquereme and she may not be far away. Avoid her, lest thou fall into a snare of presumption.”

  “Not I,” laughed Ulric. “We have done enough this day. Come thou and talk with me, and then I will have speech with the Greek.”

  The young Corinthian was now aft among the men, and Sigurd was talking freely with him. There were others of the older vikings who had learned words of the Grecian tongue, and they, too, were both speaking and hearing.

  Into a cabin under the fore deck went Ulric and Ben Ezra, and there they were alone, for none was permitted to follow them.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XV. The Storm in the Middle Sea.

  WIDE BUT NOT HIGH was the space which was inclosed under the fore deck of the trireme The Sword. Beneath its floor was much room for stowage. The other decks, also, had under them good cabins, suited to many purposes. The decking amidships, whereon tier above tier were made the seats and standing places of the rowers, had openings covered by hatches. Down through these, by ladders, might be entered a great hollow, and this was for cargo and for sleeping room. Very different was all this from the planning of any vessels which hitherto had been builded in the Northland. In the cabins under the fore deck were bunks for sailors and soldiers, but all the garnishing was plain. Here, also, there were stores of weapons, with boxes and bales of merchandise. The cabins under the after deck were divided and garnished for the uses of officers and men of rank who might at any time be on board.

  It was not long after the sinking of the quinquereme that the jarl and the Jew, Ben Ezra, stood face to face in a small room under the fore deck. Steadily looked Ulric into the face of the Jew.

  “He is old, but he is not aged,” was his thought concerning this man. “He is tall and broad and strong and heavily bearded. His face proveth for him high intelligence, but it hath deep marks which one may read. I think him a subtle man and a keeper of secrets. He is a man of rank among his own people, for common men are not as he is. I am glad of him.”

  “O jarl of the Saxons,” said Ben Ezra, “I have blessed thee in my soul, by Jehovah my God, that thou hast utterly smitten to death these Romans. Thou didst wisely not to spare any, as they would not have spared thee or thine. Thou mayest be sure that if so much as one of them were on board thy ship, he were a danger. I will tell thee of myself.”

  “Say on,” said Ulric, “but speak truly, that it may be well with thee.”

  “Leader of men,” said Ben Ezra, “my life hangeth upon thy life. I am one with thee. I do but take care for myself in that I am truthful. I was informed against in Spain to the prætor because I was rich. I was seized, but I and my son and a Jewish youth, the son of a rabbi, escaped from our destroyers. My ship was ready laden and we sailed in the night. The quinquereme was faster and she overtook us. All were slain but we three, for they were overfull with rowers and soldiers and cared not for more slaves. Even to have escaped the prætor was to be doomed to crucifixion; but they had not yet scourged us, waiting an opportunity. O my
son! My son! That he might have been spared! For they have slain his mother and his brethren. He was my Benjamin! My youngest son! The joy of my heart!”

  “He was slain by a spear,” said Ulric, to comfort him. “He died not on a bed, that thou shouldst mourn so much for him. Thy god hath done well by thee. I saw him swimming bravely till the pilum struck him.”

  “And the youth, the son of the rabbi Joseph, of Jerusalem!” groaned Ben Ezra. “What shall I say to his father? A fair boy and well favored! They are merciless, for he had done them no wrong.”

  “Little careth a Roman for that,” growled Ulric. “Who is this Greek?”

  “He was a bondslave of the centurion of the band of legionaries on the quinquereme,” said Ben Ezra. “His father was a rich man in Corinth, but the proconsul lusted after his goods and he was accused. He was but slain, not crucified, but his older sons went to the arena to feed lions, and this Lysias, for his youth and beauty, was kept alive, if a man be indeed living who is slave to a Roman. Thou mayest trust him that he hated his master.”

  “For what part didst thou intend to sail,” asked Ulric; “seeing the Romans could have found thee anywhere on the earth?”

  “Not so,” replied Ben Ezra. “I were safe if once I were in Judea or Galilee.”

  “And where are they?” asked Ulric.

  “At the eastern shore of this sea, as thou shouldst know,” said Ben Ezra, “is the land of my people. In it are many cities and mountains, and its provinces are under different governors. He who is threatened by one needs but to flee to another if he can take a gift with him. I have a gift for thee wherewith thou couldst buy a consul, if so be he had no opportunity to rob thee. My goods, all but one casket, went down with the quinquereme. In that casket are gems of my own—”