The Treasure

Then Elsalill told once more of the wild robbers' deed. She spoke of how the old serving-men had gathered about Herr Arne to protect him and how Herr Arne himself had snatched his sword from the wall and pressed upon the robbers, but they had overcome them all. And the old mistress had taken up her husband's sword and set upon the robbers, but they had only laughed at her and felled her to the floor with a billet of wood. And all the other women had crouched against the wall of the stove, but when the men were dead the robbers came and pulled them down and slew them. "The last they slew," said Elsalill, "was my dear foster sister. She begged for life so piteously, and two of them would have let her live; but the third said that all must die, and he thrust his knife into her heart."

While Elsalill was speaking of murder and blood the three men stood still before her. They did not exchange a glance with each other, but their ears grew long with listening, and their eyes sparkled, and sometimes their lips parted so that the teeth glistened.

Elsalill's eyes were full of tears; not once did she look up whilst she was speaking. She did not see that the man before her had the eyes and teeth of a wolf. Only when she had finished speaking did she dry her eyes and look up at him.

But when he met Elsalill's glance his face changed in an instant. "Since you have seen the murderers so well, mistress," said he, "you would doubtless know them again if you met them?"

"I have no more than seen them by the light of the brands they snatched from the hearth to light their murdering," said Elsalill; "but with God's help I'll surely know them again. And I pray to God daily that I may meet them." "What mean you by that, mistress?" asked the stranger. "Is it not true that the murderous vagabonds are dead?"

"Indeed, I have heard so," said Elsalill. "The peasants who set out after them followed their tracks from the parsonage down to a hole in the ice. Thus far they saw tracks of sledge-runners upon the smooth ice, tracks of a horse's hoofs, tracks of men with heavy nailed boots. But beyond the hole no tracks led on across the ice, and therefore the peasants supposed them all dead."

"And do you not believe them dead, Elsalill?" asked the stranger.

"Oh, yes, I think they must be drowned," said Elsalill; "and yet I pray to God daily that they may have escaped. I speak to God in this wise: 'Let it be so that they have only driven the horse and the sledge into the hole, but have themselves escaped.'"

"Why do you wish this, Elsalill?" asked the stranger.

The tender maid Elsalill, she flung back her head and her eyes shone like fire. "I would they were alive that I might find them out and seize them. I would they were alive that I might tear their hearts out. I would they were alive that I might see their bodies quartered and spiked upon the wheel."

"How do you think to bring all this about?" said the stranger.

"For you are only a weak little maid."

"If they were living," said Elsalill, "I should surely bring their punishment upon them. Rather would I go to my death than let them go free. Strong and mighty they may be, I know it, but they would not be able to escape me."

At this the stranger smiled upon her, but Elsalill stamped her foot.

"If they were living, should I not remember that they have taken my home from me, so that I am now a poor lass, compelled to stand here on the cold quay and clean fish? Should I not remember that they have slain all those near to me, and should I not remember most of all the man who plucked my foster sister from the wall and slew her who was so dear to me?"

But when the tender little maid gave proof of such great wrath, the three Scottish campaigners burst out laughing. So full of merriment were they that they went off, lest Elsalill might take offence. They walked across the harbour and up a narrow alley which led to the market-place. But long after they were out of sight Elsalill heard their roars of loud and scornful laughter.

CHAPTER III

THE MESSENGER

A week after his death Herr Arne was buried in Solberga church, and on the same day an inquest was held upon the murder in the assize house at Branehog.

Now Herr Arne's fame was such throughout Bohuslen, and so many people came together on the day of his funeral, both from the mainland and the islands, that it was as though an army had assembled about its leader. And so great a concourse moved between Solberga church and Branehog that toward evening not an inch of snow could be seen that had not been trampled by men's feet.

But late in the evening, when all had gone their ways, came

Torarin the fish hawker driving along the road from Branehog to

Solberga.

Torarin had talked with many men in the course of the day; again and again had he told the story of Herr Arne's death. He had been well entertained too at the assize and had been made to empty many a mug of ale with travellers from afar.

Torarin felt dull and heavy and lay down upon his load. It saddened him to think that Herr Arne was gone, and as he approached the parsonage a yet more grievous thought began to torment him. "Grim, my dog," he said, "had I believed that warning of the knives I might have warded off the whole disaster. I often think of that, Grim, my dog. It disquiets my spirit, I feel as though I had had a part in taking Herr Arne's life. Now remember what I say – next time I hear such a thing I will hold it true and be guided by it!"

Now while Torarin lay dozing upon his load with eyes half closed, his horse went on as he pleased, and on coming to Solberga parsonage he turned into the yard from old habit and went up to the stable door, Torarin being all unwitting. Only with the stopping of the sledge did he rise up and look about him; and then he fell a-shuddering, when he saw that he was in the yard of a house where so many people had been murdered no more than a week before.

He seized the reins at once to turn his horse and drive into the road again, but at that moment he felt a hand upon his shoulder and looked round. Beside him stood old Olof the groom, who had served at the parsonage as long as Torarin could remember.

"Have you such haste to leave our house tonight, Torarin?" said the man. "Let be and come indoors! Herr Arne sits there waiting for you."

A thousand thoughts came into Torarin's head. He knew not whether he was dreaming or awake. Olof the groom, whom he saw standing alive and well beside him, he had seen a week before lying dead amongst the others with a great wound in his throat.

Torarin took a firmer hold of the reins. He thought the best thing for him was to make off as soon as he could. But Olof the groom's hand still lay upon his shoulder, and the old fellow gave him no peace.

Torarin racked his brains to find an excuse. "I had no thought of coming to disturb Herr Arne so late in the evening," said he. "My horse turned in here whilst I was unaware. I will go now and find a lodging for the night. If Herr Arne wishes to see me, I can well come again tomorrow."

With this Torarin bent forward and struck his horse with the slack of the reins to make him move off.

But at the same instant the parson's man was at the horse's head; he caught him by the bridle and forced him to stand still. "Cease your obstinacy, Torarin!" said the man. "Herr Arne is not yet gone to bed, he sits waiting for you. And you should know full well that you can have as good a night's lodging here as anywhere in the parish."

Torarin was about to answer that he could not be served with lodging in a roofless house. But before speaking he raised his eyes to the dwelling house, and then he saw that the old timber hall stood unharmed and stately as before the fire. And yet that very morning Torarin had seen the naked rafters thrusting out into the air.

He looked and looked and rubbed his eyes, but there was no doubt of it, the parsonage stood there unharmed, with thatch and snow upon its roof. He saw smoke and sparks streaming up through the louver, and rays of light gleaming through the illclosed shutters upon the snow.

A man who travels far and wide on the cold highway knows no better sight than the gleam that steals out of a warm room. But the sight made Torarin even more terrified than before. He whipped up his horse till he reared and kicked, but not a step would he go from the stable door.

"Come in with me, Torarin!" said the groom. "I thought you had enough remorse already over this business."

Then Torarin remembered the promise he had made himself on the road and, though a moment before he had stood up and lashed his horse furiously, he was now meek as a lamb.

"Well, Olof groom, here am I!" he said, and sprang down from the sledge. "It is true that I wish to have no more remorse over this business. Take me in to Herr Arne!"

But it was with the heaviest steps he had ever known that Torarin went across the yard to the house.

When the door was opened Torarin closed his eyes to avoid looking into the room, but he tried to take heart by thinking of Herr Arne. "He has given you many a good meal. He has bought your fish, even when his own larder was full. He has always shown you kindness in his lifetime, and assuredly he will not harm you after death. Mayhap he has a service to ask of you. You must not forget, Torarin, that we are to show gratitude to the dead as to the living."

Torarin opened his eyes and looked down the room. He saw the great hall just as he had seen it before. He recognized the high brick stove and the woven tapestries that hung upon the walls. But he glanced many times from wall to wall before daring to raise his eyes to the table and the bench where Herr Arne had been wont to sit.

At last he looked there, and then he saw Herr Arne himself sitting in the flesh at the head of the table with his wife on one side and his curate on the other, as he had seen him a week before. He seemed to have just finished his meal, the dish was thrust away, and his spoon lay on the table before him. All the old men and women servants were sitting at the table, but only one of the young maids.

Torarin stood still a long time by the door and watched them that sat at table. They all looked anxious and mournful, and even Herr Arne was gloomy as the rest and supported his head in his hand.

At last Torarin saw him raise his head.

"Have you brought a stranger into the house with you, Olof groom?"

"Yes," answered the man, "it is Torarin the fish hawker, who has been this day at the assize at Branehog."

Herr Arne's looks seemed to grow more cheerful at this, and Torarin heard him say: "Come forward then, Torarin, and give us news of the assize! I have sat here and waited for half the night."

All this had such a real and natural air that Torarin began to feel more and more courageous. He walked quite boldly across the room to Herr Arne, asking himself whether the murder was not an evil dream and whether Herr Arne was not in truth alive.

But as Torarin crossed the room, his eyes from old habit sought the four-post bed, beside which the great money chest used to stand. But the ironbound chest was no longer in its place, and when Torarin saw that a shudder again passed through him.

"Now Torarin is to tell us how things went at the assize today," said Herr Arne.

Torarin tried to do as he was bid and tell of the assize and the inquest, but he could command neither his lips nor his tongue, and his speech was faulty and stammering, so that Herr Arne stopped him at once. "Tell me only the main thing, Torarin. Were our murderers found and punished?"

"No, Herr Arne," Torarin had the boldness to answer. "Your murderers lie at the bottom of Hakefjord. How would you have any take revenge on them?"

When Torarin returned this answer Herr Arne's old temper seemed to be kindled within him and he smote the table hard. "What is that you say, Torarin? Has the Governor of Bohus been here with judges and clerks and held assize and has no man had the wit to tell him where he may find my murderers?"

"No, Herr Arne," answered Torarin. "None among the living can tell him that."

Herr Arne sat awhile with a frown on his brow, staring dismally before him. Then he turned once more to Torarin.

"I know that you bear me affection, Torarin. Can you tell me how I may be revenged upon my murderers?"

"I can well understand, Herr Arne," said Torarin, "that you wish to be revenged upon those who so cruelly have deprived you of your life. But there is none amongst us who walk God's earth that can help you in this."

Herr Arne fell into a deep brooding when he heard this answer.

There was a long silence. After a while Torarin ventured to put forward a request. "I have now fulfilled your desire, Herr Arne, and told you how it went at the assize. Have you aught else to ask me, or will you now let me go?"

"You are not to go, Torarin," said Herr Arne, "until you have answered me once more whether none of the living can give us vengeance."

"Not if all the men in Bohuslen and Norway came together to be revenged upon your murderers would they be able to find them," said Torarin.

Then said Herr Arne: "If the living cannot help us, we must help ourselves."

With this Herr Arne began in a loud voice to say a paternoster, not in Norse but in Latin, as had been the use of the country before his time. And as he uttered each word of the prayer he pointed with his finger at one of those who sat with him at the table. He went through them all in this way many times, until he came to Amen. And as he spoke this word his finger pointed at the young maid who was his niece.

The young maid rose at once from the bench, and Herr Arne said to her: "You know what you have to do."

Then the young maiden lamented and said: "Do not send me upon this errand! It is too heavy a charge to lay upon so tender a maid as I."

"You shall assuredly go," said Herr Arne. "It is right that you go, since you have most to revenge. None of us has been robbed of so many years of life as you, who are the youngest among us."

"I desire not to be revenged on any man," said the maiden.

"You are to go at once," said Herr Arne. "And you will not be alone. You know that there are two among the living who sat with us here at table a week ago."

But when Torarin heard these words he thought they meant that Herr Arne charged him to contend with malefactors and murderers, and he cried out: "By the mercy of God I conjure you, Herr Arne – "

At that moment it seemed to Torarin that both Herr Arne and the parsonage vanished in a mist, and he himself sank down as though he had fallen from a giddy height, and with that he lost consciousness.

When he came to himself again dawn was breaking and he saw that he was lying on the ground in the yard of Solberga parsonage. His horse stood beside him with the sledge, and Grim barked and howled over him.

"It was all but a dream," said Torarin; "now I see that. The house is deserted and in ruin. I have seen neither Herr Arne nor any other. But I was so startled by the dream that I fell off the load."

CHAPTER IV

IN THE MOONLIGHT

When Herr Arne had been dead a fortnight there came some nights of clear, bright moonlight, and one evening Torarin was out with his sledge. He checked his horse time after time, as though he had difficulty in finding the way. Yet he was not driving through any trackless forest, but upon what looked like a wide and open plain, above which rose a number of rocky knolls.

The whole tract was covered with glittering white snow. It had fallen in calm weather and lay evenly, not in drifts and eddies. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but the same even plain and the same rocky knolls.

"Grim, my dog," said Torarin, "if we saw this tonight for the first time we should think we were driving over a great heath. But still we should wonder that the ground was so even and the road free from stones and ruts. What sort of tract can this be, we should say, where there are neither ditches nor fences, and how comes it that no grass or bushes stick up through the snow? And why do we see no rivers and streams, which elsewhere are wont to draw their black furrows through the white fields even in the hardest frost?"

Torarin was delighted with these fancies, and Grim too found pleasure in them. He did not move from his place on the load, but lay still and blinked.

But just as Torarin had finished speaking he drove past a lofty pole to which a broom was fastened.

"If we were strangers here, Grim, my dog," said Torarin, "we might well ask ourselves what sort of heath this was, where they set up such marks as we use at sea. 'This can never be the sea itself?' we should say at last. But we should think it utterly impossible. This that lies so firm and fast, can this be only water? And all the rocky knolls that we see so firmly united, can they be only holms and skerries parted by the rolling waves? No, we should never believe it was possible, Grim, my dog."

Torarin laughed and Grim still lay quiet and did not stir. Torarin drove on, until he rounded a high knoll. Then he gave a cry as though he had seen something strange. He put on an air of great surprise, dropped the reins and clapped his hands.

"Grim, my dog, so you would not believe this was the sea! Now you can tell what it is. Stand up, and then you will see that there is a big ship lying before us! You would not recognize the beacons, but this you cannot mistake. Now I think you will not deny that this is the sea itself we are driving over."

Torarin stayed still awhile longer as he gazed at a great vessel which lay frozen in. She looked altogether out of place as she lay with the smooth and even snowfields all about her.

But when Torarin saw a thin column of smoke rising from the vessel's poop he drove up and hailed the skipper to hear if he would buy his fish. He had but a few codfish left at the bottom of his load, since in the course of the day he had been round to all the vessels which were frozen in among the islands, and sold off his stock.

On board were the skipper and his crew, and time was heavy on their hands. They bought fish of the hawker, not because they needed it, but to have someone to talk to. When they came down on to the ice, Torarin put on an innocent air.

He began to speak of the weather. "In the memory of man there has not been such fine weather as this year," said Torarin. "For wellnigh three weeks we have had calm weather and hard frost. This is not what we are used to in the islands."

But the skipper, who lay there with his great gallias full-laden with herring barrels, and who had been caught by the ice in a bay near Marstrand just as he was ready to put to sea, gave Torarin a sharp look and said: "So then you call this fine weather?"

"What should I call it else?" said Torarin, looking as innocent as a child. "The sky is clear and calm and blue, and the night is fair as the day. Never before have I known the time when I could drive about the ice week after week. It is not often the sea freezes out here, and if once and again the ice has formed, there has always come a storm to break it up a few days after."

The skipper still looked black and glum; he made no answer to all Torarin's chat. Then Torarin began asking him why he never found his way to Marstrand. "It is no more than an hour's walk over the ice," said Torarin. But again he received no answer. Torarin could see that the man feared to leave his ship an instant, lest he might not be at hand when the ice broke up. "Seldom have I seen eyes so sick with longing," thought Torarin.

But the skipper, who had been held ice-bound among the skerries day after day, unable to hoist his sails and put to sea, had been busy the while with many thoughts, and he said to Torarin: "You are a man who travels much abroad and hears much news of all that happens: can you tell me why God has barred the way to the sea so long this year, keeping us all in captivity?"

As he said this Torarin ceased to smile, but put on an ignorant air and said: "I cannot see what you mean by that."

"Well," said the skipper, "I once lay in the harbour of Bergen a whole month, and a contrary wind blew all that time, so that no ship could come out. But on board one of the ships that lay there wind-bound was a man who had robbed churches, and he would have gone free but for the storm. Now they had time to search him out, and as soon as he had been taken ashore there came good weather and a fair wind. Now do you understand what I mean when I ask you to tell me why God keeps the gates of the sea barred?"

Torarin was silent awhile. He had a look as though he would make an earnest answer. But he turned it aside and said: "You have caught the melancholy with sitting here a prisoner among the skerries. Why do you not come in to Marstrand? I can tell you there is a merry life with hundreds of strangers in the town. They have naught else to do but drink and dance."

"How can it be they are so merry there?" asked the skipper.

"Oh," said Torarin, "there are all the seamen whose ships are frozen in like yours. There is a crowd of fishermen who had just finished their herring catch when the ice stayed them from sailing home. And there are a hundred Scottish mercenaries discharged from service, who lie here waiting for a ship to carry them home to Scotland. Do you think all these men would hang their heads and lose the chance of making merry?"

"Ay, it may well be that they can divert themselves, but, as for me, I have a mind to stay out here."

Torarin gave him a rapid glance. The skipper was a tall man and thin; his eyes were bright and clear as water, with a melancholy look in them. "To make that man merry is more than I or any other can do," thought Torarin.

Again the skipper began of his own accord to ask a question.

"These Scotsmen," he said, "are they honest folk?"

"Is it you, maybe, that are to take them over to Scotland?" asked

Torarin.

"Well," said the skipper, "I have a cargo for Edinburgh, and one of them was here but now and asked me would I take them. But I have small liking to sail with such wild companions aboard and I asked for time to think on it. Have you heard aught of them? Think you I may venture to take them?"

"I have heard no more of them but that they are brave men. I doubt not but you may safely take them."

But no sooner had Torarin said this than his dog rose from the sledge, threw his nose in the air, and began to howl.

Torarin broke off his praises of the Scotsmen at once. "What ails you now, Grim, my dog?" he said. "Do you think I stay here too long, wasting the time in talk?"

He made ready to drive off. "Well, God be with you all!" he cried.

Torarin drove in to Marstrand by the narrow channel between Klovero and Koo. When he had come within sight of the town, he noticed that he was not alone on the ice.

In the bright moonlight he saw a tall man of proud bearing walking in the snow. He could see that he wore a plumed hat and rich clothes with ample puffs. "Hallo!" said Torarin to himself; "there goes Sir Archie, the leader of the Scots, who has been out this evening to bespeak a passage to Scotland."

Torarin was so near to the man that he drove into the long shadow that followed him. His horse's hoofs were just touching the shadow of the hat plumes.

"Grim," said Torarin, "shall we ask if he will drive with us to

Marstrand?"

The dog began to bristle up at once, but Torarin laid his hand upon his back. "Be quiet, Grim, my dog! I can see that you have no love for the Scotsmen."

Sir Archie had not noticed that any one was so close to him. He walked on without looking round. Torarin turned very quietly to one side in order to pass him.

But at that moment Torarin saw behind the Scottish gallant something that looked like another shadow. He saw something long and thin and gray, which floated over the white surface without leaving footprints in the snow or making it crunch.

The Scotsman advanced with long and rapid strides, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. But the gray shadow glided on behind him, so near that it seemed as though it would whisper something in his ear.

Torarin drove slowly on till he came abreast of them. Then he could see the Scotsman's face in the bright moonlight. He walked with a frown on his brow and seemed vexed, as though full of thoughts that displeased him.