Ulric the Jarl

by William Stoddard

  “Odin! Well shot!” shouted Ulric, but the bowstring twanged again and another Roman fell upon the deck beside the dead steersman.

  Left to itself and to the will of the wind and the waves, around swung the keel of the Romans, while a great surge poured over her bulwarks and her rowers were hurled from their seats. Wild was their shouting and another surge poured in.

  “Strike her not!” said Sigurd. “Be thou prudent with thine own keel, lest thou shouldst be in some manner disabled. Let the Greek send his arrows, but steer upon thy course.”

  Ulric so ordered, but shaft after shaft did Lysias send, not all of them hitting, but not all failing of a mark. Other war horns than that of Ulric were sounding and other bows were also quickly plying.

  “I think,” said Tostig the Red, “that we have no better bowman than this Greek. He will be a good help in a sea fight. I like well to see his long arrows go so straight to their places. Then the mark goeth down and it is time to laugh.”

  The Roman rowers were toiling hard to recover control of their vessel, but the Saxons knew little of the astonishment and dismay that reigned on board of her. Her crew had not thought of an open enemy at the first. They had deemed The Sword a friend until the sounding of the jarl’s war horn. Even then they had expected no resistance, at least no attack, until their steersman fell and a man of rank near him was pierced by an arrow.

  Better than a sailing vessel can a rowed keel turn her head to the waves, however, and before long the Romans were once more striving to overtake the Saxons.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVI. The Dead God in Africa.

  CLOUDS WITHOUT RAIN SWEPT fast across the sky and the waves followed The Sword as if they willed to overwhelm her. Well was it that her stern was so high and that she was strongly builded. It had seemed, also, that no sea harm had befallen her pursuer, but now the darkness deepened and the watchers on The Sword could no longer discern the Roman.

  “O jarl,” said Sigurd, “it is a time for prudence. This flying sand telleth of some shore, I think, at no great distance.”

  “It might be carried far by such a wind,” said Ulric. “But Ben Ezra told me of great cities in Africa which have been buried by the sand blown from the inner deserts.”

  “What further counsel hath he?” asked Sigurd.

  “Answer him, thou,” said the jarl to Ben Ezra.

  “O warrior of the Saxons,” said the Jew, “thou sayest that thou hast sailed these seas aforetime. Thou mayest know that the presence of one Roman trireme portendeth the speedy gathering of a fleet. It were well to destroy this one if she cometh near us again. But we have now escaped her pursuing. Let her watchers not see this ship again. I would advise that we now go eastward by the stars, for we may note them at times through the rifts in the clouds.”

  “I will so order,” said the jarl. “I were not wise to risk harming my own keel by a battle among these high waves. It is a peril to a ship to be dashed against even one heavy timber where the aim cannot be made certain. Moreover, we have been long at sea and it were well to seek a harbor.”

  Ben Ezra said no more, now that his counsel was approved. The head of The Sword was turned eastward and all the oars were plying. Neither was the wind now so much against her, but the waves were still tumultuous. Fast waned the night, growing darker as it passed, and the jarl himself remained at the helm.

  “I go onward into an unknown sea,” he thought. “Who may tell what may be before me? Dawn cometh. There is gray light. O watcher!”

  Answered him then not a Saxon, but the deep voice of Ben Ezra from the foremast.

  “O jarl! A fire! Hold! We near a land!”

  “Cease rowing, all!” shouted Ulric. “O Jew, look again. What seest thou?”

  “Only a dim fire, far in the southward. It is a guide for us, but we may seek it cautiously. The wind goeth down.”

  “It is so,” said Knud the Bear. “It was a hot wind, and this air is cooler. I thought we were sailing into a furnace.”

  “The desert is like a furnace, I have heard,” said Sigurd. “Men burn up in it and all horses die; but lions live there. How can any beast live in a land of fire?”

  “I know not,” said Ulric, “but yonder is a brighter streak of dawn. We shall soon know if the Romans are near us. We may slay them if the water becometh smooth enough for a good fight.”

  “It would be a grief to all men,” said Tostig the Red, “if we lost an opportunity. But if this be land, I want some beef.”

  “Good!” exclaimed an old viking. “We had many cattle on the Gaulish coast, but in Spain we got little but sheep. Hereaway may be found cattle. We may throw a net, and we may find fishes.”

  The jarl said nothing, for he watched the sea and the sky and he steered the ship.

  “Nearer!” shouted Ben Ezra from the mast. “And the daylight cometh. I watch for the Romans. May the curse of Jehovah be upon them and theirs forever!”

  Lysias was on the fore deck, and as he heard Ben Ezra he muttered angry words in his own tongue. Then he whispered softly to himself, or to a shadow, and his fair face grew white and his teeth ground together as if he were in agony. So do they suffer who have lost a love and know that it is forever gone, for Lysias had said:

  “Worse far than if they had slain her! I would that she were dead and I with her. But I may live to slay Romans. Why did this Saxon jarl spare any of them? But he is captain, and they say he is a wise one.”

  In the small wooden fort for slingers and archers, high up the stout mast, sat Ben Ezra, and a viking sat with him.

  “O Saxon,” said the Jew, “would thy jarl spare them if they came with the day?”

  “The son of Brander is jarl, not I,” replied the viking, surlily. “Speak thou not carelessly of the leader of men. Thou art no seaman. He will strike when he is ready. Let that content thee.”

  For deep and strong was the hold of Ulric upon his older men, by reason of his skill as a seaman and as a captain and because of his good fortune; for they saw plainly that Odin and Thor were with him and that the gods of the Middle Sea could do nothing against him. Even the ice gods had been his friends and the god of the Druids had also helped him, sending him away from Britain unharmed. It was a great thing to have such a jarl, of Odin’s line. They all knew, moreover, that Hilda, the saga woman, must by this time have gone down to the gods and that she willed exceedingly well to the crew of The Sword and to her young hero.

  “He is truly a leader of men,” growled the Jew through his thick beard, “but I would once more smite these Philistines of Rome.”

  “In that I am with thee,” said the viking, heartily. “Thou art a good sword. I would see thee in battle. It is pleasant to look upon a warrior that slayeth zealously. But our feast of blood will come to us. Wait.”

  Up sprang the sun above the blue waves of the Middle Sea, and all the Saxons shouted joyfully. It was true that there were no enemies in sight, nor present hope of any good fighting, but here was a land that they had never seen before. All seamen know the joy there is in finding a country that is unknown.

  “Hael! O land of the South!” shouted Tostig the Red. “Thou hast mountains as tall as are those of the North. But this is a bay, a harbor, not a fiord.”

  “What sayest thou, Ben Ezra?” asked Ulric of the watcher on the mast.

  “Row in!” replied the Jew. “There is no other keel in this haven and it is a good one. I see no sail nor any boat seaward. This is Africa, and a city is on the shore, but the fire was at the head of the bay. There are rocks ahead. Row around them.”

  “I see them; a great ledge,” said Ulric. “Broken and sharp-toothed are those rocks, and they would wreck any keel that should strike upon them. It is a place of wrecks.”

  The rowers rowed and The Sword went on through a wide passage at the right of the ledge. Then she was in a great basin where many keels might ride at anchor, and before her and on either side of her lay the land.

  There seemed but a gentle slope at the seash
ore. Beyond might be a plain for a few miles, and then, lifting their heads so high that they entered the dominions of the upper gods to be capped with ice and snow, were the many mountains. Into that upper land no man may enter, for the ice gods will freeze him and bury him in snow for his insolence.

  It was all exceedingly beautiful, but the rowers now rowed slowly and all the other Saxons watched warily as The Sword drew nearer what seemed a landing place, a structure of stonework builded far out into the harbor.

  “Bring thy ship to yonder wharf,” counseled Sigurd. “No men are to be seen, but there are walls and temples and houses. This may be a town of the magicians of Africa. Beware of them, Ulric the Jarl.”

  “I would I knew who kindled the light,” said Ulric, thoughtfully. “If we had sailed toward it in the dark we had perished on that ledge.”

  “Thereon are fragments of wrecks,” said Sigurd. “The breakers there are high.”

  So said other of the seamen, but The Sword was now making fast to the stone jetty, and Ben Ezra was already out upon it walking shoreward, with his scimiter drawn. He seemed like a younger man. But he was not to go alone, for closely behind him hurried Lysias with his bow, and Knud the Bear.

  “Here burned the fire,” said Ulric, a few moments later, pointing at a heap of ashes near the head of the jetty. “There hath been much burning of wood at this place.”

  Nevertheless he left it behind him and marched rapidly forward. He left a strong guard with the ship, but he thought it best to enter this strange town with tenscore of armed Saxons arrayed as if they were to be assailed by some enemy.

  On went Ben Ezra, but he met no man, and he came to a wall, in the face of which was a ruinous gap where once had been a gate. From this opening it was seen that a broad street led away, bordered by ruined palaces. At its far end arose one of the temples which had been discerned from the ship, as it stood upon high ground.

  “Here,” said Ben Ezra, “is a city which Jehovah hath smitten for the sins of them which dwelt therein.”

  But he spoke loudly, in the old Hebrew tongue, and at once a voice responded:

  “Who art thou, O Jew, coming hither with a sword? The sword hath departed from Israel, as it hath from Tyre and Carthage. I am Annibaal, the foe of Rome and of Greece, and I am dying of hunger. Come hither to me.”

  As if without fear Ben Ezra walked toward the sound of that voice not many paces. Then crawled out from behind a fallen column a naked, sun-darkened, very hairy shape of a vast man, larger than Sigurd, the son of Thorolf, but he lay prone upon the sand gasping. Only one eye had he, for the other was but a hollow socket, and he had but one hand and one foot and both of his ears were gone. He was but a mutilated remnant of a strong man, and his only weapon was a long straight sword, very bright and seemingly keen, with a golden hilt, whereon were glittering gems.

  “O Annibaal,” said Ben Ezra, in the tongue of Tyre, “what is this city?”

  “It is the city of the dead,” said Annibaal. “I was a chief of Carthage, whereof this was a colony, but some came hither from Tyre, and here were already many from Nubia and from Egypt. First the Greeks of Alexander harmed us in the old time, but after them, in my day, came the Romans. They smote us hip and thigh, slaying whom they would slay, making slaves of many, and of me, a prince and captain, they made what thou seest, leaving me here alone.”

  Already Lysias and Knud stood by Ben Ezra, and behind them a few paces halted Ulric the Jarl and his men.

  “I wonder thou didst not die,” said Ben Ezra, “or that the lions took thee not. I see some of them even now.”

  “I have slain lions,” said Annibaal, “but it is now as if I were friends with them and they harm me not. It is their city and we agree together. Yet I had at this time no more food and I perish, but I lighted my death fire to trap Roman ships to my ledge. I have slain many there, and sometimes I have had joy to hear them when the wind brought their cries to the shore. Their bodies float to the strand and the beasts and the ravens feast upon the wolves of Rome.”

  “He must die,” muttered Knud. “He slayeth sailors. It is not good to trap men, so that they die a cow’s death. It is wicked to rob a warrior of his right to die in fight or by the righteous breaking up of his keel.”

  So said other of the vikings, thinking of Valhalla and the gods, for they all were religious men, scorning an evil action. But Ulric had sent in haste for food and for water and for ale, commanding that this man should be fed.

  “Ye are too late,” said Annibaal. “I pray thee, rather, for thou art a prince, strike me with thy spear.”

  “That is a just thing, O jarl,” said Sigurd. “He hath been a warrior. Thou wouldst ask thy kinsman to make the hero spearmark on thee if thou wert unluckily perishing in thy bed. Send him marked to his gods, that they take him not for a coward.”

  “Not yet,” said Ulric. “Ben Ezra, talk thou with him as thou wouldst.”

  In Hebrew and in the tongue of Tyre did the twain converse. When the water came, and the food and ale, Annibaal drank a cup of water, but more he could not do, for he was passing.

  “I have learned much,” said Ben Ezra; “but he dieth. Refuse him not thy mercy, O jarl. He is a prince, and he is worthy of thy hand. Take thou his own sword and smite off his head lest thou fail of a friend in thine own hour. Quick ere he fainteth!”

  Ulric took the long, beautiful sword, which had slain both men and lions, and he struck as became him, for he heard murmurs among the Saxons.

  Annibaal had feebly lifted his head to receive the gift he had asked for, and it was severed well, falling upon the sand.

  “Well done, O jarl!” shouted Knud the Bear. “I liked him not, but it were shame to let a brave warrior die of thirst. Now do I not fear at all to go on into this place, for we have put blood at the gate.”

  The other Saxons shouted their approval of their jarl’s kindness to Annibaal, and they marched forward willingly, blowing their horns and clashing their spears upon their shields, for all this great ruin was very wonderful.

  The street was long, and as they went on Sigurd remarked to the jarl:

  “Where there are lions there are no cattle. Where the Romans have been there is left no plunder worth taking. We will but use our eyes till we tire and then we will lift our sails and depart.”

  Ulric answered not, for a strange look was on his face and his eyes were studying the sword of Annibaal.

  “This hilt hath many runes,” he said to Ben Ezra. “Canst thou read them?”

  “Not so,” said the Jew, “but one thing the Carthaginian told thee not. I had heard much of this city. It was first builded by the kings of the forgotten ages, whereof there are no writings. Our own writings tell us somewhat of them. The Egyptian priests know more, but tell it not. So did those of Babylon the elder. Here was a great people, but they perished. Even their gods died, being slain by the sword of Jehovah.”

  “As many gods have been slain by Thor and Odin,” responded Ulric. “I like your god, that destroyeth his enemies.”

  More slowly they walked as they drew near the front of the great temple.

  “The stones of it are large,” said Ulric to Ben Ezra. “They are greater than the Druid stones that I saw in Britain.”

  “I will show thee greater stones than these in the temple of Jehovah at Jerusalem,” replied the Jew.

  “I will go there with thee,” replied Ulric. “But these are wonderfully graven. Only a good chisel may cut granite rock.”

  “Their tools were of bronze,” said the Jew, “and none but their priests knew how to make them. Taller pillars are in Egypt than in Greece or Rome, but they are of the old time. No more are set up since the Egyptian gods departed. They, too, were overcome by Jehovah.”

  “He is a great god,” said Ulric, reverently. “I would be glad to see him. Let us go up these steps and look in.”

  Some of the vikings paused on the steps and would go no further, for a chill was on them in spite of the sunshine. One said to another: �
�The magicians may still be here, or some of the old gods of this place.”

  “The son of Odin need not fear them,” was answered; “but we are not as he is. Let us wait until he hath gone in.”

  Great was their faith in their jarl, but they were disappointed that in this harbor they were to obtain no cattle nor any plunder.

  First went Lysias, as if he feared not at all; but he had seen many temples, and this was one from which its gods must have gone away, leaving it solitary. His bow was in his hand, however, and suddenly he stood still, putting a long arrow upon the string in haste.

  “Strike him!” shouted Ulric. “He may escape if I try to spear him.”

  “A splendid lion he is!” shouted Tostig the Red. “Thou canst not slay him with thy arrows! Let me go to him!”

  Even at that moment they had passed the portal, for at the top of the flight of steps was a level place, stone-floored, surrounded by these vast pillars whereof they had been speaking. Across this level was the portal, but no doors were in it to hinder. Beyond, as they now saw entering, was an open space, a hundred cubits wide and more in length, but it had no roofing. It seemed like a place of assembly, and at its further end was a high dais, whereon was an altar and behind the altar an image. But on the altar couched this lion, tawny and large. His head had been between his paws, but now he arose and sent toward them a roar that was like half-smothered thunder.

  The arrow sped and it smote him in the breast, entering deeply.

  “Odin! What a bound was that!” exclaimed Ulric, and all the Saxons shouted for the pleasure of seeing the stricken beast fly through the air toward them.

  “He belongeth to the Greek,” said Sigurd. “Spoil not his sport. He shooteth well. He is a warrior’s son.”

  It had been a disgrace to any viking to interfere, even if the lion should slay the Greek, but Svip, the son of Leiknar went forward wrongfully, lifting his spear. All others did but stand where they were and they called out angrily to Svip.