Randalin

“ In the Danish girl’s embrace, Dearwyn shivered and nestled closer. “Randalin, you hear her? She thinks he did it.”
“She is a foolish woman,” Randalin said impatiently, “and if she do not take care, she will feel it for speaking so. See how his fingers tap his belt for all that his face is so still.”
His face was curiously still as he regarded the beautiful Elfgiva,—and stilly curious, as though he were examining some familiar object in a new light. “You believe then that I had him murdered?” he asked. “And you find pleasure in believing it?” ”

“ Something in the touch of her soft body, the caress of her satin hands, was indefinably comforting. Randalin’s arms closed about her and pressed her close, while the little gentlewoman chided her gayly.
“What is the matter with you that you are so silent as to your tongue, when you must needs be shouting in your heart? You are as bad as the King, who stands looking from one to another and speaks not a word. Does your coldness arise from dignity? Then let me lose all the state I have and be held for a farmer’s lass, for I am going to stand up here where I can see everything.” ”

“ Through the fog of her drowsiness Randalin recognized them slowly. Yonder was the Englishman who had found her in the bushes. Beyond him, across the fire, the soldiers who had lifted her up to the horse-man. Here, just in front of her, was the leader himself. Her gaze settled upon him dreamily.
He had finished his meal, if meal it could be called, and was making some attempt at a toilet. While one serf knelt beside him, scrubbing at his muddy riding-boots with a wisp of wet grass, another held a gilt shield up for a mirror, and before this the Etheling was carefully parting his shining hair. ”

“ When the echoing tread was gone at last from the cloister, the garden seemed strangely silent in spite of the hurrying servants,—silent and empty. In the stillness, it came slowly to Randalin that life was not so simple as she had supposed; that she was not going to die of her grief but to live with it,—live with this dead emptiness in her breast. The years seemed to stretch before her like the snow wastes of the North,—white, white, white, without a break of living green. ”

“ But Randalin’s head was shaking too decidedly, though she was not ungentle in her answering. “I give you thanks, Sister Wynfreda, but such a life is not for me. My nature is such that I do not like the gloomy songs you sing; nor do I care for green things, except to wear in my hair. And it seems to me that I should be spiritless and a coward if I should like such a life. I am no English girl, to tremble and hide under a mean kirtle. I am a Norse maiden, the kinswoman of warriors. ”

“ This time it was not a shadow but a sparkle of sunshine that mocked in Randalin’s ear: “You have not dared to be a woman, so you must dare to be a man.” She acknowledged the pitiless truth with a sigh of submission. ”

“ Till it is burnt out;
Fire is kindled from fire;
A man gets knowledge By talk with a man,
But becomes wilful by self-conceit.
Hávamál.
Tap—tap, tap—tap, like dripping water dripping slowly. Drop by drop the sound filtered through the thick wrappings of Randalin’s slumber, till she knew it for the beat of horses’ hoofs, and stirred and opened her eyes.
The silver shimmer of starlight falling through purple deeps had given way to the ruddy glare of a camp fire, and she was lying just beyond its heat, cloak-wrapped, on a bed of leaves. ”

“ The form in the faded robes turned inquiringly toward the erect young figure in its brave scarlet cloak. “What is it you say, my child?”
But Randalin was bending low over the green couch. “Do you know who I am?” she was asking urgently of the woodward. “Fix your eyes on me and try to gather together your wits.”
Slowly the man’s wandering gaze focussed itself; a silly laugh welled up in his throat. “It would be no strange wonder if I did not,” he chuckled. “Odin has changed you greatly; your face was never so beautiful. But this once you cannot trick me, Fridtjof Frodesson.” ”

“ Three richly dressed warriors, clinking golden goblets across a table,—so much Randalin caught in her first glance. On the spot where the sentinel had released her she stopped, stock-still, and with eyes bent on the ground tremblingly awaited the royal attention.
Clink-clank,—the golden goblet lips continued their noisy kissing. The hum of the low-toned voices droned on without interruption. Minute after minute dragged by. She ventured to shift her weight and steal an upward glance.
Her first thought was that a king’s tent was very like a trader’s booth. ”

“ Randalin began hesitatingly. “My news does not concern the doings of Edric Jarl, but the actions of his man Norman—”
A blow across her lips silenced her.
“Hold your tongue until you come in to the Chief,” the man admonished her, with good-humored severity. “Have you not learned that babbling turns to ill, you sprouting twig? And waste no more time upon the road, either. Yonder is your shortest way, up that lane between the barley. When you come to a burned barn, do you turn to the left and ride straight toward the woods; it should happen that an old beech stock stands where you come out. ”

“ Through the tumult, the blaring horns thrilled like pulse-beats.
Flaring crimson under her brown skin, Randalin’s Viking blood leaped to answer the call. For Rothgar’s shout she gave another, and laughed out of sheer delight when he tossed her upon the back of a pawing horse. Away with woman’s fears! The world was a grand brave place, and men a race of heroes. To ride by their sides, and share their mighty deeds, and see their glory,—what keener joy had life to offer? ”

“ Swish—clash! they sounded behind her; then a sickening jar, as Rothgar’s terrible axe fell. A yell of agony rent the air. Swish—clash! the blows came faster; her ear could no longer separate them. The thud of the falling axes became one continuous pound. Faster and faster, heavier and heavier,—they blended into a discordant roar that closed around her like a wall. Here and there and to and fro, Rothgar’s great charger followed the King; and here and there and to and fro, on her foam-flecked horse, Randalin followed the son of Lodbrok, staring, dazed, stunned. ”

“ Randalin answered slowly; “but it seems to me great foolishness that you did not take the time into consideration. At the end of the harvest, any English house would be fitted out for weeks of feasting. You came the night the larder was fullest; and they have only spent one meal a day since.”
Rothgar got upon his feet and towered over her, his Jotun-frame appearing to swell with irritation. “Do you not know how provoking your words are, that you are so glib of tongue?” he thundered. “Tell shortly what you think of their case; can they last one day more?” ”

“ But for once the Etheling’s will did not bend to her coaxing; his mouth was doggedly set as he looked down upon her. “I trust no man I do not know,” he answered, “and I do not know Canute the man,—nor do I greatly like what I have heard of him, or this plan of sending me from the City at this time. You have no cause to reproach me with lack of faith in you, Randalin, for when every happening—even your own words—made it appear as if it were love for Rothgar Lodbroksson which brought you into the camp, I looked into your eyes and believed them against all else.” ”

“ They are to join Canute near Scoerstan; I heard it talked among them. My horse is somewhat heavy in his movements, for he is the one Gram rode yesterday; I found him grazing by the road. Let me go, Sister Wynfreda. Bid me farewell and let me go.”
Clutching at her belt, her arm, her cloak, the nun strove desperately to detain her. “Randalin! Listen! Alas! how you grieve me by talking after this manner! Wait, you do not understand. It is not their cruelty I fear for you. Child, listen! It is not their blows—”
But Randalin had wrenched herself free. “Oh, fear, fear, fear!” ”

“ Randalin drew a little nearer the Etheling’s sheltering side. He said half reprovingly, half freakishly, “It would not be well for you to anger him. He is the page of Canute himself, a real Wandering Wolf, and recks not whom he attacks. ”

“ Mildred’s; and they gave me food, and I rode hither.”
“It is the Troll’s luck! I—yet, go on. The day will come! Did they further harm within the castle? Have you women-kin?”
Randalin hesitated. Would it not be safer if she could deny altogether the existence of a daughter of Frode? But no, that was not possible, in the face of what Norman might reveal. She began very, very carefully: “It happened that my mother died before we came to Avalcomb; and my father had but one daughter. She was called Randalin. I did not see what became of her, for I was outside; but I think that she is dead. ”

“ In all probability his nimble departure saved him from a scolding for, as she tripped after him down the corridor, a little frown was forming between Randalin’s brows. “I think it is not well-mannered of the fellow to say ‘the King’s Marshal’ as though my lord were Canute’s thane,” she was reflecting, “and I shall put an end to it. Whatever others say, one never needs to tell me that Sebert is not suffering in his service.” ”

“ Lord, give me leave to go home,—I pray it of you! Beseech it of you!” Entreating, she would have fallen at his feet if he had not caught her hands and stayed her.
He did not release them immediately but tightened his grasp as his eyes, grown suddenly keen, searched her face. His voice dropped low. “Randalin, it is very unlikely that Elfgiva’s scratches have brought you to this. Do you stand in need of reminding that any man who has angered you has angered me? That my sword lies under your hand?” ”

“ Rothgar surveyed the sprig of defiance with no more than a perfunctory interest. “It seems that you are the son of Frode the Dane,” he said in his heavy voice. “Frode was a mighty raven-feeder; for his sake I am going to support you until you can go well on your legs. Have you had anything to eat?”
As she shook her head, Randalin’s heart rather softened toward him. But it hardened again when the thralls had brought the food, and he had sat down and begun to share it. Seen in a strong light, his rich tunic proved to be foul with beer stains, while his great hands reeked with grease. ”

“ Suddenly the Lord of Ivarsdale broke off with an exclamation.
“It was not in my mind that we could see the old forked elm from here. Hey, comrades!” he called over his shoulder. “Yonder—to the left—the old land-mark! Do you see?” His glance, as it came back, took in his captive. “The first bar of your cage, my hawk. Yonder is the first boundary of Ivarsdale.”
Every man started up in his saddle, and the cheers they had held back upon leaving camp burst forth now with added zest. Peering over her captor’s shoulder, Randalin looked forward anxiously. ”

“ That a man says to another
He often pays the penalty.
Hávamál.
Waking to tapestried walls and jewelled lanterns and a strange splendor of furnishings, Randalin experienced a moment of wild bewilderment. What had happened to the low-ceiled dormitory with its bare wall-spaces splotched with dampness? What had become of the row of white beds, with Dearwyn’s rosy face on the next pillow? And she herself—why was she lying on the outside of the covers, with all her clothes on, a cramped aching heap? Rising on her elbow, she gazed wonderingly at the frowzy woman stretched near her on a pallet. ”

“ There was no question both that he was alive and that he knew who was belying him; even as they looked he hurled his spear, with a cry of rage, at the form of Edric Jarl.
Missing the Mercian, it struck down a man at his side; and high above the voice of the ill-fated King rose the shrill alarms of the traitor’s heralds.
“Fly, ye men of Dorsetshire and Devon! Fly and save yourselves! Here is your Edmund’s head!”
Randalin stared about her, doubting her senses. But light had begun to dawn on Canute. He wheeled sharply, as Thorkel pushed his horse to their sides. ”

“ If it please the Lord to bless our labors, the wound will soon be healed. Come this way, where he cannot hear our voices, and tell me what moves you to speak of leaving. Is it not your intention to creep in with us?”
As she yielded reluctantly to the pressure, Randalin even showed surprise at the question. “By no means. My errand hither was only to ask for bread. I thought it unadvisable to venture into the castle kitchen, yet it is needful that I keep up my strength. I go direct to the Danish camp to get justice from King Canute.”
The nun reached out and caught the gay cloak, gasping. ”

“ There came a time when this mistake was a source of some comfort to Randalin, Frode’s daughter; but now she stirred impatiently.
“Look again, and try to command your tongue. Tell me the state of your feelings. Can you live?”
The man shook with his foolish laughter. “You cub! Will not even being killed cure you of your tricks? If you who have been in Valhalla do not know what Odin intends about my life, how can I know, who have stayed on earth?”
Sister Wynfreda’s hand fell upon the girl’s arm. “Disquiet yourself no further,” she whispered. “It is useless and to no end. ”

“ Have you become like the wind, which tries every quarter of the sky because it knows not its own mind?”
While the young man warned in his heavy voice, “You will have your will in this as in everything, King Canute; but I tell you that if you keep the bargain, you will act against my advice.”
Randalin had been mistaken in her deductions. It was not the brawny body that was King of the Danes; the leader’s spirit lodged in the slender frame of the youth with the cloak of yellow hair. ”

“ There it is all open to you. Leofwinesson is the man of Edric. Until such time as I get the kingship firmly in my hands, it would be unadvisable for me to reckon with him though he had slain my foster-brother. You see? It is the way the Fates order things. I must submit to them, though I am a king. Can you not, then, bend your head without shame, and wait with me?”
Reasoning was lost on Randalin. The bitterness of failure had swept over her and maddened her. Was she mistaken, then, about everything? Could those trembling old women behind the broken wall read the world like witches? ”