The Black Jarl/Chapter 9

VEND the Bloody and his company remained two days longer at the fair, during which time Edvard the Ax Thrower saw Thyra several times, but not once did he get the opportunity to speak to her alone.

Then there came a bright morning when the jarls took their leave of King Olaf, and Edvard among them. Tents were furled, and the gallant companies left the town of Trondhjem and started back to their jarldoms.

His heart and mind filled with love, Edvard Haakonsson did not notice that the men at arms treated him in a peculiar manner. They gave him respect and the attentions due his station, but none of them warmed toward him. And each was particular to do or say nothing that might form the basis for a quarrel. For Magnus had passed the warning and had promised heavy punishment at Svend's hands if the order was disobeyed.

No sooner had he reached the jarldom than Svend the Bloody commenced preparations for the visit to Harald, not all of them, however, being made public. He selected presents, and made up a roster of his company, choosing the more prominent nobles and men of good blood, as though wishing to do honor to Harald, but for a purpose entirely different.

"We must take some of the maidens with us," he told Magnus. "Harald the Just is no fool. If we seek to enter his house with only warriors and thralls, and no women, it may put him on guard."

And so it was decided that Brynhild and some of the shield maidens should go along, it being planned for Magnus to whisper the truth to Brynhild at the proper moment, so the maidens could be rushed to some place of safety.

And now Svend the Bloody took thought on the enterprise he had planned, and consulted with Magnus frequently. His religious fanaticism burned brightly. For this was to be a battle for Odin and Thor, a service to the gods.

"We go not half hearted into this thing, Magnus," Svend said. "We need strengthening for our sword arms."

"There is one way to strengthen them."

"I already have thought of it—sacrifice!" Svend replied. "Olaf Trygvesson has forbidden it. But we do not take orders from the king here. We serve our gods, and let Olaf serve his, and see which is the stronger."

"You will make it a big sacrifice?"

"The greatest!" Svend replied.

Magnus's eyes opened wide. "You mean—a human?" he gasped.

"Even so!"

"And the black jarl—"

"Shall not know of it," Svend declared. "Did he know of the sacrifice, he would wish to know the reason for it. A human being is not sacrificed these days merely to ask good fortune on a journey. And it is my wish that Edvard Haakonsson have no inkling of our real purpose."

"Then—" Magnus questioned.

"We must hold the ceremony when he is not near. None but the trusted men at arms will be admitted."

"That is well," Magnus replied.

"Some thrall—any thrall—will serve our purpose."

An evil glint came into the eyes of Magnus as he bent nearer the jarl. "Does not our purpose demand the best?" he asked, quietly. "Shall we be backward when we ask good fortune of Odin and Thor?"

"How mean you?" Svend asked.

"What is a common thrall to the gods? A little better than sheep or swine, and not half so much as an ox," Magnus said. "Can we not do better than that in asking the blessings of the gods on our enterprise?"

"Speak!"

"A free man!" Magnus suggested.

"A free man? Are you out of your wits? How could such a thing be arranged?"

"Eric the Dumb is a free man—now!"

Magnus whispered. "How I detest the creature! He follows at the black jarl's heels like a cur, struts among his betters—"

"It is an idea!" Svend admitted.

"We can take him at night and bear him to the sacrificial chamber. After his blood has bathed the sticks, his body can be thrown over a cliff. And none will know, save trusted men! Would not that be honoring the gods and flinging defiance at Olaf?"

The eyes of Svend the Bloody glistened. "It would be a noble sacrifice!" he said.

"A free man for the gods! Does every jarl offer such a sacrifice as that?"

"You can arrange it?"

"I can!" Magnus promised.

"So be it, then! To-morrow night, before the moon shines!"

During the day following, Svend and Magnus whispered to the men they had chosen. Edvard Haakonsson, dreaming of seeing Thyra again, noticed nothing wrong. The great house was a scene of confusion because of the preparations for the visit. It had been planned to start soon after dawn, hence Edvard the Ax Thrower sought his couch early, wrapped himself in his furs, and dreamed.

Outside the door, Eric the Dumb stretched his great body on guard. He, too, was dreaming of his new position in the world of men. Two thoughts were paramount in his slow working mind. One was that when the proper time came Svend the Bloody should be made to pay for murdering the thrall the day the ship had come. And the other that Eric the Dumb should serve the Ax Thrower with his life, and guard him from harm.

Finally the great hall was still. The thralls had finished their work and were sleeping, and all but a few of the warriors had prepared for the journey of the coming day. One by one the great torches burned out, until finally only two remained to cast fitful streaks of light across the big room.

From one of the rooms slipped three men. They wore armor, but their faces were covered. From shadow to shadow they darted, until they came close to where Eric the Dumb was stretched. Then one of them uncovered his face and walked forward boldly, attracting the attention of Eric.

Eric looked closely at him, but saw nothing more than a warrior pacing back and forth for a time before he sought his couch. And as he watched the other two sprang upon him from behind, smothering his head in furs.

Eric fought, but only with half a heart. The years of thralldom had taught him submission, and the habit was not easily broken. Still, he fought. But they bore him down and stunned him, and so carried him away.

Swiftly across the great hall they took him, and to the door of the sacrificial chamber. They carried him inside, where Svend and Magnus were waiting.

"Work swiftly!" Magnus ordered. "Bind him well, and stuff his mouth with fur!"

Again Eric fought, for his moment of semiconsciousness had passed. But again they bore him down and worked their will. Thongs lashed his ankles and legs and fastened his arms at his sides. His mouth was stuffed with a piece of fur, which was bound there, so that he could do no more than groan. And then he was picked up again and carried.

It was dark in the sacrificial chamber, save for the light from a single torch. At one end of the room stood the altar, and upon it the bowl filled with twigs, into which the blood of the sacrifice was to be poured. Human blood it would be this time with which the warriors would sprinkle themselves. And Svend himself would act as priest, since there was none other handy. Priests of Odin were scarce since King Olaf had forbidden sacrifices.

"It is time!" Svend said. "Summon the men, but let them come quietly."

Magnus and the three who had made Eric captive went to do his bidding. The chosen ones were waiting for the signal. One by one they slipped across the great hall, and through the door of the sacrificial chamber. Slowly they gathered, while Svend the Bloody stood back against a wall, his arms folded across his chest, a sharp knife in his belt.

Behind the altar was a stone table, and upon this Eric was stretched and lashed, and the kirtle was cut from his left breast. Eric knew what it meant, for he had been in the chamber before. He tugged at his bonds, and found that they would not give. They were proof even against his great strength. He tugged while the perspiration stood out upon his brow, while his breath came in painful little gasps, and after a time he groaned and ceased his struggling. He knew that it would avail him nothing. He could only wait for the end.

Edvard Haakonsson had heard the slight noise at the door of his chamber when Eric had been taken. For a moment he did not get from his couch, only remained there listening. But presently he got up and walked across to the door, and opened it.

He was surprised to find that Eric was not stretched before the door, as he was usually. And, as he watched, he saw men slipping furtively across the great hall and disappearing into another chamber, and knew them for warriors.

Here was a thing that needed investigation, Edvard thought. He knew that the room into which they had slipped was the sacrificial chamber. And he knew that it had a small rear door through which, in days gone by, the priests had entered.

He did not even put on his mail or helmet. He had no weapon save the knife at his belt, but he was not thinking of combat. Across the great hall he slipped, opened one of the huge doors, and went outside.

It was black night, which suited him. He slipped around the corner of the great house, past the sleeping thralls about the dying fire. So he reached the rear, and fumbled in the darkness until he found the little door.

Cautiously, he opened it and slipped within. He found himself far behind the altar, in front of which a torch was burning. He saw the sacrificial table—and the body of a man stretched upon it.

Then he realized the horror, though he wondered why his kinsman had not invited him to witness the ceremony. Toward the altar he went like a shadow, stopping now and then to listen. He could hear the voices of Svend and Magnus, some distance from that terrible slab of stone on which a human being lay helpless.

"There are four more to come," Svend said. "When they are in, bar the door!"

Edvard Haakonsson, almost stretched upon the floor, crept closer to the stone table. He reached it, and raised himself slowly and carefully. His hands went up and felt of the man's bonds. His head came up, and his eyes looked into the wide staring eyes of Eric the Dumb!

Again he listened, and heard another man enter the chamber. The time was scant, he knew. His dagger came out, and he slashed at the things, at the same time warning Eric, by a pressure of his other hand, to keep quiet.

Again he slashed. Eric started to rise, but Edvard thrust him back. But finally the thongs were cut, and he pulled the man off the stone table and toward him. Eric tugged at the gag, but Edvard Haakonsson motioned him to silence, and led the way to the little door. They slipped through it, and into the night.

"Go into the woods' " Edvard commanded. "Let no man see you! But when we go to the house of Harald the Just, do you follow us through the forest, keeping out of sight. You can find me at Harald's."

Eric had torn the gag away. Now he knelt quickly, and pressed his lips to Edvard's sandal.

"Master—master!" he breathed.

"Go!" Edvard said.

Eric the Dumb fled into the darkness. A band of sheep had settled for the night at the rear of the great house, and Edvard seized a lamb. Once more he crept through the little door. All the men had entered now, he guessed. Svend the Bloody was commencing the ritual. In a short time he would be at the altar.

With the thongs which had bound Eric the Dumb, Edvard lashed the lamb to the stone table. Once more, like a shadow, he crept back to the little door. He passed through it, and closed it softly behind him. The words of Svend the Bloody rang through the sacrificial chamber as he advanced toward the altar, the others close behind him.

"Mighty Odin, grant us victory!" he mouthed. "Great Thor, give us the added strength of thy hammer! To thee we make the sacrifice of sacrifices!"

"The sacrifice of sacrifices!" the others chanted.

"Aid us, Mighty Odin, against those who would be thy foes! Give us the victory complete! Send us back again to our homes, else take us to thy bosom and grant us the glories of Valhalla! With this blood of a living thing—"

He stopped; he gasped; a smothered curse left his lips. He had reached the stone table, and his knife was poised to strike. But no human sacrifice was there—only a lamb!

"A trick—" Magnus began.

"Can a man change to a lamb?" Svend demanded.

"But how could he escape? Are the gods frowning upon us?"

"Fool!" Svend cried. "Dare you let such words leave your tongue? Human or lamb, yet must we have our sacrifice. Stand back!"

He continued the ritual, and men sprinkled the blood over their heads. And then Svend, furious, threw open the door of the chamber, and stalked into the great hall, followed by the others. Straight to the door of Edvard's chamber he went, and hurled it open.

A single torch was burning within. It showed Edvard Haakonsson as he raised his head sleepily and then struggled out of the furs, pretending to reach for his weapons.

"What is this?" he cried.

"It is nothing, kinsman," Svend the Bloody replied. "We were crossing the hall, and thought we heard you cry out."

"Perhaps," said the Ax Thrower, "I was dreaming of battle. Yet why should I dream of battle when to-morrow we start on a mission of peace?"