Ulric the Jarl: A Story of the Penitent Thief

"I think my strength faileth me," said Oswald, the harper, pausing in his song. "The harp was overheavy to bring up the mountain. I grow old and I am alone. Hilda sleepeth in the tomb of Odin's sons, Ulric is afar among unknown seas. Am I to die a cow's death before he returneth? Who is there to make the mark of a spear upon my breast, lest I fail of Valhalla? I have fought in many a feast of swords. Why am I to perish slowly, without honor? Sad is the fate of Oswald if the valkyrias pass him and leave him to die in his bed."

Once more the song arose, but now his voice was stronger and he sang of war to the rocks and to the trees and to the gods among the fiords. The old gier-eagle on the withered pine tree northward listened intently, now and then fanning with his wide wings, until the spirit that was in the harping awakened him well. Loud was the scream that he sent back to Oswald, and he dropped suddenly from the branch of the pine tree, spreading his pinions and floating over the sea in a wide circle, rising as he went.

"He is free to come and to go," mourned Oswald, "but I am bound at home and I shall no more ride the war steeds of the open sea nor hear the clang of shields nor see the red blood flow. Where is the good ship The Sword this day? Where are Ulric the Jarl and his vikings?"

Low bowed his head and his hands sought fitfully the strings of his harp, bringing out the notes of sorrow.

"I will arise," he said, "and I will go to Hilda's room. I will play to her there and see if she will answer me. She hath not spoken to me since her eyes were closed. But she is with the gods and she hath many matters upon her mind. She hath spoken to Brander the Brave and to jarls and chiefs and kings that were of old. She hath seen Odin, and she hath heard sagas that we hear not until the return of the gods."

He stood erect upon the rock where he had been sitting, and he was not weak, for he shouldered his great harp and bore it with ease as he went down the rugged side of the mountain. Many saw him come, and they who were near enough greeted him, but he paused not to speak. He went not through the village, among the houses, but along the shore, where the tide was coming in and where the waves called out to him as he passed. He turned to listen to them, but across the water came no other voice, and he shook his head sadly.

"Here was The Sword launched," he said, halting at the head of the cove. "Here was the White Horse of the Saxons sacrificed to Odin. From hence the new keel went out behind the outing ice. Hilda of the hundred winters told me that there would be no return. Is it so? Will the young jarl never again put his foot upon this beach? Or did she speak only of the vessel? Who may know the counsel of the gods! For they speak unto all men in riddles and the meaning thereof is hidden from us."

He turned and walked to the house, passing through the great hall, bearing his harp, and he went on to the room of Hilda, looking in.

"It is empty," he said. "No other hath slept therein since she departed."

Bare were the walls, and the floor of cloven pine logs lay black, uncovered by rushes. One small table only remained, and upon this was a Roman lamp of bronze, which Brander, the sea king, had brought back from one of his voyages to Britain. There was oil in it and a wick, for such had been a bidding of Hilda to one of the older women and to the housemaidens. They feared much to let that lamp go without filling, if the oil dried away; but it had not been lighted, although a wick was in it.

"I will bring fire," said Oswald, and he did so, going out and returning. He set the flame of his small torch to the wick and it surprised him, for it would not burn.

"O Hilda," he exclaimed, "what is this thing that I cannot light thy lamp?"

There was no spoken answer, but suddenly the wick took the fire and it blazed up a handbreadth, as if for a token.

"Burn thou, then," said Oswald. "I will sing to her."

Quickly they who were in the other rooms of the house and in the hall heard the sound of harping and the voice of a wonderful song, for it was as a love song sung to the dead, telling her of the living and asking her concerning the gods and of all the places of the gods, where she was dwelling. Men and women listened, looking into one another's faces and whispering low, for the song was very beautiful and the harp answered as if it were alive.

Joyously burned the lamp, with a clear golden flame, as the song went on, but it at last burned lower and lower and there came a red color into the fire.

"There hath been much blood!" exclaimed Oswald. "I would I had been with the jarl in the feast of swords. The battle is ended!"

For the lamp went out and the room was very dark, but he sat in the gloom by his harp waiting for what might come.

"Disturb him not," said all the household. "He ever mourneth for Ulric and for Hilda."

Much time went by and now and then there came from that room harp notes, one by one, very faint and low, but Oswald was saying to himself:

"I have heard and I have not heard. All things are a riddle that I cannot read. Surely she touched the harp and her face was in the shadows. O Hilda, speak to me, for I am lonely! Tell me that thou hast not forgotten thy kindred!"

Then fell he down upon his face in a deep swoon, and they who went in because they heard the sound found, also, the harp lying by him with its strings broken. They lifted him and carried him away, taking, also, the harp, but when he again began to breathe and opened his eyes the words that he first uttered were in another tongue than that of the Northland. They heard the name of Hilda, but even when he aroused himself and talked with them he told them naught of what things had occurred to him in the room of Hilda, the prophetess. For there are secrets in the lives of men wherein other men have no part, and no man openeth his hidden heart unwisely. The thoughts of friends whose bodies are far apart are often apt to draw near and to walk the earth side by side. Oswald, indeed, was sending his heart out after Hilda and after Ulric. If the saga woman had in any manner answered him, no man knoweth. Nor can any say that the soul of Ulric was nearer to that of Oswald because both were thinking of each other and of her who had departed from them.

So may the gods look on from their places and see what men see not, and they may often smile, if they are kindly minded, to see men and women meet and embrace without the touching of the bodily flesh.

Three days went by, and because of a request of Oswald's many messages had gone out from house to house and from village to village, up and down the coast and far inland. To everyone it was told that the hour was at hand and that a token of the gods had come to Oswald, but that he was still living. Upon the fourth day all who were entitled to come, by reason of kinship or of their high descent, had arrived. Many men and many women had gathered, and among them were those who brought harps. These sat apart and they spoke to each other in low voices, tuning their harps and listening to the sounds which answered them from the strings.

"The harp of Oswald is broken," said one. "Who shall take it after him?"

"No man," replied the oldest of them all. "It is a harp which came from the East, in the ship of a sea king, and he gave it to the father of Oswald in the days when Hilda was yet unborn. Upon it are strange runes that none may read."

"It shall rest with him in his grave, then," said another, "but Hilda said that he would need it not in the place to which he hath gone."

"They have both harps and harpers there," said the old man, thoughtfully. "I know not the meaning of Hilda's word. So good a harp must find a player, and I think the gods can mend it. We cannot, for we have no strings like these."

Before them lay the great harp upon the floor of the hall, and one lifted it, placing it before a chair as if it might be played upon. There were yet three strings remaining, and the old man sat down in the chair and put out his hands, touching, also, the strings which were broken. Not from these, assuredly, came the sound which now fell upon the ears of the gathered vikings, but all were silent, for the spirit of song was upon this ancient one whom no man knew. Clear was his voice, but thin, and at times it wavered as if with age and weakness, but he sang the departing song of Oswald and of the old time. Strong were his hands also, for as he ceased he gripped with them and these three strings, also, were snapped asunder with loud twanging.

"Hilda is right!" he exclaimed. "The harp of Oswald is dead. It will never sound again. Build ye a fire, high and hot, and burn upon it this frame of wood. I go to Oswald's room."

Rising from his chair, all saw that he was tall and white-bearded, and none detained him while he went to the room of Oswald.

"Thou art awakened, O Oswald, the harper?" he asked, as he entered the room.

"Waiting for thee, old man," came hoarsely from the lips of him who lay upon the bed. "Now lift me up that I may stand erect, and put my sword in my hand. I will not die a cow's death, and thou art mine enemy, having full right in this matter."

"We burn thy harp, as Hilda gave thee directions," said the old man. "We bury thee in a coffin at the foot of the great stone, thy arms and thy armor with thee."

"Also my bag of coins," said Oswald, "and my cup of silver. I know not if I may need them. They have drinking horns in Valhalla. Smite me in the breast. Let the spear mark be a deep one that I may be known as a warrior."

In the doorway and within the room stood now chiefs and heroes and they had heard, and they said to the old one, "Strike him!"

Deep and kindly was the thrust of the spear that was given to Oswald, and he fell to the ground as if he had fallen in battle, so that all the vikings were satisfied.

"Art thou to be smitten," asked a chief of the old man, "or goest thou hence?"

"I am to see the earth put upon him," said the old man. "I came far for this thing, from my place below the great south fiord, toward Denmark. Ask me not my name lest there be a blood revenge in the mind of some foolish one. Take Oswald to his tomb and smite me there, for we are to be buried together and my harp goeth with me."

All went out of the room and the bearers brought the body of Oswald, the harpers playing and the women also chanting. The ancient one took up his harp, which was not very large, and he seemed joyful as he walked with those who went forth to the place of tombs. The grave of Oswald was deep and by it lay a coffin of cloven pine pieces. In this they laid him, bending his swords and seax and breaking the shaft of his spear. His shield and his mail were broken and all were laid upon the body. Then one placed the bag of coins and the goblet at the head and a jarl of rank covered all with a slab of pine, throwing in handfuls of earth and many stones.

"Art thou ready?" he asked of the old one.

"Not thy spear," he said. "Strike with thy sword; and let it be a blow through the heart. As I cease this song to the gods and to the dead I will lay my harp in the tomb. Strike me then."

Now his voice failed him not and he sang well, bringing loud music from his harp.

"I have fought in fourscore of battles!" he shouted. "I have sailed in all seas! I have spared none in the feasts of swords! I have seen the red blood flow from the hearts of many! I die by the hand of a jarl at the grave of my old foeman. O Oswald, I shall be with thee in Valhalla, and there will we cross our swords and fight before the gods. Strike, thou of the sword!"

Down dropped his harp upon the coffin of Oswald and the sword of the jarl passed through him, flashing and returning. Then the ancient one lay upon his harp and earth and stones were thrown in until the tomb was filled and heaped. All the while the other harpers harped and sang, so that due reverence was given to the passing of Oswald.

"Will he see Hilda this night?" asked one of the women. "I bade him greet her for me."

"They say that one who dieth must walk alone a little distance," replied the other woman, "and then he cometh to a dog; and he shall know then where to seek a house that he may enter."

"I have heard many things," said the first speaker, "but they do not agree. I think we know but little certainly. It would be well if one of the dead were to come back and say what he hath seen."

"I would rather hear a saga," said yet another of the women. "I like not the dead. They are cold and they bring ill fortune. Let them stay with the gods."

So said the greater part, but one woman went away muttering to herself. "The dead! The dead!" she said. "They are of no use to us after they are buried. They care not for us any more. But I would willingly have speech with one of them if he would not be overchurlish. I will go, some night, and watch at the place of tombs. The witches watch at tombs and they see wonders. But it was worth seeing, the slaying of the old one. He was a brave warrior and he died well."

There was a feast that night in the house of Brander the Brave, for his kinsmen and his kinswomen entertained their friends joyfully. There was much singing and harping, and the horns and the cups came and went often around the tables. They drank deeply to the success of Ulric, the son of Brander, and to the voyage of his good ship The Sword, and to his return in glory from doing great deeds among the fleets of the Romans and among the islands and cities of the Middle Sea.

"The jarl will come again!" they shouted. "And here will he tell us of the feasts of swords and of the crashing of ship against ship. Hael to Jarl Ulric! Hael!"

CHAPTER XXV.

The Messenger of the Procurator

"Not in Samaria this night," had Lysias said to himself when he rode away upon the swift ass whose ownership might be questioned, "but there are many places by the way wherein a wayfarer may find welcome if he payeth."

Behind the saddle had been fastened the leathern sack which he had brought with him from The Sword. It contained changes of raiment, but little else, for his coins and his jewels, which were not very valuable, were concealed about his person. More than once as he rode on he both thought and spoke concerning Ulric the Jarl and the vikings, but always did he seem well pleased that he was no longer in their company.

"The jarl is my sure friend," he remarked, "but some of his tall comrades walk with a hand too near the hilt of a sudden weapon."

It was toward the evening when, after riding through towns and villages, he came to what was evidently a caravansary of good size and cleanly keeping at the roadside.

"Here will I halt," he said. "I am now far escaped from burning wrecks and hasty-tempered pirates. I will have this beast of mine well cared for. He showeth no weariness. I think – O ye gods! I know – I am nearer my Sapphira!"

Ere he could dismount, however, before him stood the keeper of the hostelry. Such as he are ever ready to greet with smiling faces the well appareled, riding beasts of price. "He will have money to pay with," thought the innkeeper. "But the land swarmeth with Greeks."

Loud and friendly was his greeting, and in a moment more he was made to understand that this elegant stranger was Lysias, the student, returning to Jerusalem to the school of Gamaliel from a journey to the Lebanon and to the cities of Galilee. Being a man of Samaria, the keeper was the better pleased that his guest was not a Jew, for of them he spoke with scorn and hatred.

"O youth," he said, as they went into the inn, "thou art fortunate. Thou abidest with me this night and on the morrow thy journey will have goodly companionship. There is here a company from Bethsaida and from other cities near the sea of Tiberias. They are merchants, and among them are a taxgatherer and one who dealeth in slaves. There is neither scribe nor Levite to make thee uncomfortable with his evil speech. May they all perish! It is said that the roads are not entirely safe and the robbers come and go without warning."

"I shall be glad of them," said Lysias, "but I think this village must be safe, for I saw the helmet of a legionary as I rode in."

"Where they are the robbers come not," said the keeper, "but they will not be with thee always on the road."

Then walked he away, and Lysias overheard him muttering curses upon all Romans and contempt for all Greeks.

"I think I heard somewhat else," thought Lysias, "and I will look well at this company with which I am to journey to Jerusalem. There have been innkeepers who had no enemies among the robbers and there have been robbers who paid tribute to all innkeepers. I may not carry a bow, but mine eyes and mine ears may do me good service."

Very good was the entertainment given to him and to his comely brown beast, but the departure was early the next morning. Even more in number than he had expected were these who came out into the road at the door of the inn to go on together.

"They are of many kinds," thought Lysias. "No twain are alike. I will not have much conversation with them, but I will watch, for I think they know this innkeeper exceedingly well."

So did he, and it was late in the day when he halted upon the summit of a hill, looking thoughtfully forward and then behind him.

"O ass," he said, "how fast canst thou gallop if it is to save thy master's throat from cutting? Thou hast robbers for companions, and they do but await their opportunity, which I have not yet given them by the way."

The ass did but pull at the bit and the rein was loosened that he might go. On the northerly slope of that hill, however, the company of men and animals which had seemed but peaceful at the outset had halted for a rest before ascending the steep. There were now Jews among them, and others of whose race and lineage there might be curious questioning. Now, also, there were weapons to be seen, such as privileged merchants might be allowed to carry for their protection, and no doubt they had with them written authority to show to any Roman officer. At the first there had been but a dozen men and the women who were with them, but more had joined at a hamlet upon this side of the city of Samaria, now far behind them. Of these latter was an exceedingly black-browed man, having but one eye, and he seemed to be a sort of leader and commander over the others. To Lysias he had averred that he was a dealer in cattle, having a contract with the purveyors of the Roman garrisons. Thus far he had purchased no beasts, but he had looked covetously at the fine ass which carried the young Greek. At this hour he was saying to another of his crew:

"To-night, then. He hath treasure with him, and the beast will bear me swiftly to the wilderness. We will throw his carcass into the pit near the three palms at the crossroad. None will be the wiser and his friends will in vain make inquiry."

"I will stab him as he sleepeth," replied the man spoken to. "The Romans care little if there be one Greek the less. We will speak softly to him when we catch up with him. I have seen that he hath no manner of unquiet mind as to us."

On went the ass, however, at his swiftest pace, even while they were talking, and a long league of the highway did he pass before the intending stabber rode over the crest of that hill.

"Where is the Greek?" he exclaimed.

"Ridden on a little," replied the evil-faced captain. "Pursue not, lest thou alarm him. He will wait for us. He liketh well to prove the speed of his fine beast."

He had not spoken untruly, for Lysias was gladly discovering for the first time that he had found a treasure with four legs, a swift and tireless runner that took pleasure in a race, needing no urging. Only in hamlets and villages, of which there were many, was the rein drawn, and wayfarers who greeted the rider received but brief responses.

"Here am I safe!" he exclaimed at last, "for yonder on the hill is a fort and near it is a camp of Romans. My thieves are no longer a peril. Glad am I, too, that I am so far from the Saxon jarl and his pirates. Their short, sharp blades are ever too near even to each other, and a spear in the hand of a Saxon is but an eager hunter seeking for a mark. I will rest here, and then I will let this beast shorten the road to Jerusalem."

They who had proposed to take the swift ass from him had also hastened somewhat until they inquired carefully of one whom they met, describing Lysias and his bearer.

"Yea," said the man, "ye mean the hasty messenger. He passed me going like the wind. He who sent the message may be sure of its speedy delivery."

Loud and fierce were the utterances of the evil-faced one and his companions, and they cursed their gods for this disappointment. Also they blamed themselves much that they had not sooner taken courage to slay the Greek. It was for this, their cowardice and delay, they said, that the gods had mocked them.

"Never again," said the evil-faced one, "will I throw away a gift that they have placed in my hand. But they might have allowed me the chance I had chosen this night. I have but small confidence in the gods. They are treacherous."

Strong and well made was the Roman camp at the foot of the hill whereon was the castle. There were intrenchments and a mound and lines of palisades, and before these there was drawn up a full cohort of legionaries. It was an evening parade, and along the glittering line there rode without companions an eagle-faced man, who wore no armor.

"Half drilled!" he muttered, angrily. "It is well we are at peace. Of what good were such as these upon the Parthian frontier? Julius Cæsar would never have beaten the Nervii with these dwarfs to face the stout barbarians. He would but have left them to rot in the wilderness, as Crassus did his Syrian levies. But I think I can teach these fellows that they cannot trifle with Pontius the Spearman."

Backward and all around the cohort rode the wrathful procurator of Judea, addressing no man, and then he wheeled and rode out to the highway.

"O thou upon the swift ass!" he suddenly shouted. "Come hither! I require thee."

Bowing low, but answering not, Lysias obeyed him, awaiting further speech.

"Is thy beast as swift as he seemeth?" said Pontius. "I know a good beast. Is he tired?"

"Never saw I one as swift," said Lysias. "But at the close of a day he were better for a rest."

"He may have a short one," said the Roman general, wisely. "I prepare a message that will take thy head with it if it be not delivered rightly. I have naught here but clumsy beasts that travel a league a day."

Then he turned to summon a servant, to whom he gave direction and with whom Lysias rode into the camp, wondering much at his good fortune at such an hour.

"This is of Mercurius," he thought. "I have ever thought well of him, and my father was once a priest of his temple at Corinth; the god hath now remembered me. To him I owe my prosperity upon this journey, and he did not favor the thieves as is his wont."

The ass had been hard ridden, but seemed not much the worse for it. Water and grain were brought to him, and Lysias, also, ate and drank. More time went by than he had expected before a soldier came to summon him to the camp gate.

"Saddle and mount!" said the soldier. "The hand of the procurator is heavy."

No answer might be made except to obey, and shortly the young Greek was at the gate.

"Kill not thy beast, lest thou fail of thy errand," said the eagle-faced commander. "Take thou this letter to the captain of the Damascus gate at Jerusalem. This also, and this. He will further deliver them. Abide thou with him until he give thee answers. Bring them to me."

Few and brief had been his questionings of the young Greek, the pupil of Gamaliel. He was but a tool, an instrument, intelligent, sufficient, sure to serve well because of the scourge or the sword, or of reward. So rule the Romans, and they who receive orders from a Roman general hesitate not to obey.

Silently sat Lysias until the procurator ceased speaking and motioned with his hand. Then, as if of his own accord, the ass went forward. Therefore Lysias had become a royal messenger, whom all men would be eager to speed upon his way, for the fear of Pontius went with him.

"Mercurius!" he shouted, at a goodly distance from the camp. "Better to me art thou than is Jupiter. Now may Venus, also, be my aid if it be true that my Sapphira was sold into the household of this bloody one. O that I might send an arrow into his heart and a flame into his dwelling! But I will not fail of the due delivery of his messages. Who knoweth to what the gods may have destined me? Soon will all the Saxons perish and no man then will know the manner of my coming into Syria. Sapphira! Sapphira! O swift beast! O Venus, goddess of love! Let me go on to Jerusalem that I may once more look into her eyes and hear her voice and touch her hand. She shall not be for another, but for me, for the gods have favored me greatly!"