Edward Lear - "Nonsense Song"

John McKinlay - "McKinlay's Journal of Exploration in the Interior of Australia"

Augustus Thomas - "Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856 to 1911: In Mizzoura"

Thomas Chatterton - "The Rowley Poems"

Book Review: The Case Against Adolescence by Doug French
Moreover Technologies - Premier purveyor of real-time news and RSS feeds from across the Web

Book Review: grown up digital
Ad - Free Shipping on purchases over $59.95 of products online at Tennis Express.

Books: Book review: 'The Mercy Papers' and 'Downtown Owl'
Extract not available.

A / B / C / D / E / F / G / H / I / J / K / L / M / N / O / P / R / S / T / U / V / W / Y / Z

Havelok The Dane written by Charles Whistler

C >> Charles Whistler >> Havelok The Dane




Then I could hardly speak for trouble, but Withelm said softly, "As we
have been wont to do, father, so it shall be."

"Well shall my word be kept, therefore," Grim said, smiling on us.
"Listen, therefore. In the days to come, when time is ripe, Arngeir
shall tell you more of Havelok your foster-brother, and there will be
signs enough by which he shall know that it is time to speak. And then
Havelok will need all the help that you can give him; and as your lord
shall you serve him, with both hands, and with life itself if need be.
And I seem to see that each of you has his place beside him--Radbard
as his strong helper, and Raven as his watchful comrade, and Withelm as
his counsellor. For 'Bare is back without brother behind it,' son
Radbard and 'Ere one goes out, give heed to the doorways,' son Raven;
and 'Wisdom is wanted by him who fares widely' son Withelm. So say the
old proverbs, and they are true. No quarreller is Havelok; but if he
must fight, that will be no playground. Careful is he; but he has met
with no guile as yet, and he trusts all men. Slow to think, if sure, are
so mighty frames as his becomes, even when quick wit is needed."

He was silent for a while, and I thought that he had no more to say, and
I knew that he had spoken rightly of what each was best fitted for, but
he went on once more.

"This is my will, therefore, that to you shall Havelok be as the eldest
brother from this time forward, that these places shall not have to come
suddenly to you hereafter. Then will you know that I have spoken
rightly, though maybe it seems hard to Radbard and Raven now, they being
so much older."

Then I said truly that already Havelok was first in our hearts. And that
was true, for he was as a king among us--a king who was served by all
with loving readiness, and yet one who served all. Maybe that is just
what makes a good king when all is said and done.

Then my father bade us carry him out of the house and down to the shore
where there was a lonely place in the sandhills, covered with the sweet,
short grass that the sheep love; and, while Raven and I bore him,
Withelm went and brought Havelok.

"This is well, father," he said gladly. "I had not thought you strong
enough to come thus far."

"Maybe it is the last time that I come living out of the house," Grim
said; "but there is one thing yet to be done, and it must be done here.
See, son Havelok, these are your brothers in all but blood, and they
must be that also in the old Danish way."

"Nothing more is needed, father," Havelok said, wondering. "I have no
brothers but these of mine, and they could be no more so."

Thereat my father smiled, as well content, but he said that the ancient
way must he kept.

"But I am sorely weak," he added. "Fetch hither Arngeir."

It was because of this illness that none of us were at the fishing on
that day, and Arngeir was not long in coming. And while we waited for
that little while my father was silent, looking ever northward to the
land that he had given up for Havelok; and I think that foster-son of
his knew it, for he knelt beside him and set his strong arm round him,
saying nothing. So Arngeir came with Raven, who went for him, and my
father told him what he needed to be done; and Arngeir said that it was
well thought of, and went to work with his seax on the smooth turf.

He cut a long strip where it seemed to be toughest, leaving the ends yet
fast, and carefully he raised it and stretched it until it would make an
arch some three spans high, and so propped it at either end with more
turf that it stayed in that position.

Then my father said, "This is the old custom, that they who are of
different family should be brothers indeed. Out of one earth should they
be made afresh, as it were, that on the face of earth they shall be one.
Pass therefore under the arch, beginning with Havelok."

Then, while my father spoke strange and ancient runes, Havelok did as he
was bidden, kneeling down and creeping under the uplifted turf; and as I
came after him he gave me his hand and raised me, and so with each of
the other two. And then, unbidden, Arngeir followed, for he too loved
Havelok, and would fain be his brother indeed.

After that my father took a sharp flint knife that he had brought with
him, and with it cut Havelok's arm a little, and each of us set his lips
to that wound, and afterwards he to the like marks in our right arms,
and so the ancient rite was complete.

Yet it had not been needed, as I know, for not even I ever thought of
him but as the dearest of brothers, though I minded how he came.

Now after this my father grew stronger, maybe because this was off his
mind; but he might never go to sea again, nor even to Lincoln town, for
he was not strong enough. What his illness was I do not rightly know,
hut I do not think that any one here overlooked him, though it might be
that from across the sea Hodulf had power to work him harm. It was said
that he had Finnish wizards about his court; but if that was so, he
never harmed the one whom he had most to fear--even Havelok. But then
I suppose that even a Finn could not harm one for whom great things are
in store.

So two years more passed over, and then came the time of which one
almost fears to think--the time of the great famine. Slowly it came on
the land; but we could see it coming, and the dread of it was fearsome,
but for the hope that never quite leaves a man until the end. For first
the wheat that was winter sown came not up but in scattered blades here
and there, and then ere the spring-sown grain had lain in the land for
three weeks it had rotted, and over the rich, ploughed lands seemed to
rise a sour smell in the springtime air, when one longs for the
sweetness of growing things. And then came drought in April, and all day
long the sun shone, or if it were not shining the clouds that hid it
were hard and grey and high and still over land and sea.

Then before the marsh folk knew what they were doing, the merchants of
Lincoln had bought the stored corn, giving prices that should have told
men that it was precious to those who sold as to the buyers; and then
the grass failed in the drought, and the farmers were glad to sell the
cattle and sheep for what they could gain, rather than see them starve.

Then my father bade us dry and store all the fish we might against the
time that he saw was coming, and hard we worked at that. And even as we
toiled, from day to day we caught less, for the fish were leaving the
shores, and we had to go farther and farther for them, until at last a
day came when the boats came home empty, and the women wept at the shore
as the men drew them up silently, looking away from those whom they
could feed no longer.

That was the worst day, as I think, and it was in high summer. I mind
that I went to Stallingborough that day with the last of the fresh fish
of yesterday's catch for Witlaf's household, and it was hotter than
ever; and in all the orchards hung not one green apple, and even the
hardy blackberry briers had no leaves or sign of blossom, and in the
dikes the watercress was blackened and evil to see.

But I will say that in Grimsby we felt not the worst, by reason of that
wisdom of my father, and always Witlaf and his house shared with us.
Hard it was here, but elsewhere harder.

And then came the pestilence that goes with famine always. I have heard
that men have prayed to their gods for that, for it has seemed better to
them to die than live.

With the first breath of the pestilence died Grim my father, and about
that I do not like to say much. He bade us remember the words he had
spoken of Havelok our brother, and he spoke long to Arngeir in private
of the same; and then he told us to lay him in mound in the ancient way,
but with his face toward Denmark, whence we came. And thereafter he said
no more, but lay still until there came up suddenly through the thick
air a thunderstorm from the north; and in that he passed, and with his
passing the rain came.

Thereof Withelm said that surely Odin fetched him, and that at once he
had made prayer for us. But the Welsh folk said that not Odin but the
White Christ had taken the man who had been a father to them, and had
staved off the worst of the famine from them.

Then pined and died my mother Leva, for she passed in her sleep on the
day before we made the mound over her husband, and so we laid them in it
together, and that was well for both, as I think, for so they would have
wished.

So we made a great bale fire over my father's mound, where it stood over
the highest sandhill; and no warrior was ever more wept, for English and
Welsh and Danes were at one in this. We set his weapons with him, and
laid him in the boat that was the best--and a Saxon gave that--and
in it oars and mast and sail, and so covered him therein. And so he
waits for the end of all things that are now, and the beginning of those
better ones that shall be.

That thunderstorm was nothing to the land, for it skirted the shores and
died away to the south, and after it came the heat again; but at least
it brought a little hope. There were fish along the shore that night,
too, if not many; and though they were gone again in the morning, there
was a better store in every house, for men were mindful of Grim's teaching.

Now, of all men, Havelok seemed to feel the trouble of the famine the
most, because he could not bear to see the children hungry in the
cottages of the fishers. It seemed to him that he had more than his
share of the stores, because so mighty a frame of his needed feeding
mightily, as he said. And so for two days after my father died and was
left in his last resting, Havelok went silent about the place. Here by
the shore the pestilence hardly came, and so that trouble was not added
to us, though the weak and old went, as had Grim and Leva, here and there.

Then, on the third day, Havelok called Arngeir and us, and spoke what
was in his mind.

"Brothers, I may not bear this any longer, and I must go away. I can do
no more to help than can the weakest in the town; and even my strength
is an added trouble to those who have not enough without me. Day by day
grows the store in the house less; and it will waste more slowly if I am
elsewhere."

Then Arngeir said quickly, "This is foolishness, Havelok, my brother.
Whither will you go? For worse is the famine inland; and I think that we
may last out here. The fish will come back presently."

"I will go to Lincoln. All know that there is plenty there, for the
townsfolk were wise in time. There is the court, and at the court a
strong man is likely to be welcome, if only as one who shall keep the
starving poor from the doors, as porter."

He spoke bitterly, for Alsi, the king, had no good name for kindness,
and at that Withelm laughed sadly.

"Few poor would Havelok turn away," he said, under his breath; "rather
were he likely to take the king's food from the very board, and share it
among them."

That made us laugh a little, for it was true enough; and one might seem
to see our mighty one sweeping the table, while none dared try to stay him.

But many times of late Havelok had gone dinnerless, that he might feed
some weak one in the village. Maybe some of us did likewise; but, if so,
we learned from him.

"Well, then," Havelok said, when we had had our wretched laugh, "Alsi,
the king, can better afford to feed me than can anyone else. Therefore,
I will go and see about it. And if not the king, then, doubtless, some
rich merchant will give me food for work, seeing that I can lift things
handily. But Radbard here is a great and hungry man also, and it will be
well that he come with me; or else, being young and helpless, I may fall
into bad hands."

So he spoke, jesting and making little of the matter. But I saw that he
was right, and that we who were strong to take what might come should go
away. It was likely that a day of our meals would make a week's fare for
Arngeir's three little ones, and they were to be thought for.

Now for a little while Arngeir tried to keep us back; but it was plain
that he knew also that our going was well thought of, and only his care
for Havelok stood in the way. Indeed, he said that I and Raven might go.

"Raven knows as much about the fish as did our father," Havelok said.
"He will go out in the morning, and look at sky and sea, and sniff at
the wind; and if I say it will be fine, he says that the herrings will
be in such a place; and so they are, while maybe it rains all day to
spite my weather wisdom. You cannot do without Raven; for it is ill to
miss any chance of the sea just now. Nor can Withelm go, for he knows
all in the place, and who is most in want. It will not do to be without
house steward. So we two will go. Never have I been to Lincoln yet, and
Radbard knows the place well."

I think that I have never said that Grim would never take Havelok to the
city, lest he should be known by some of the Danish folk who came now
and then to the court, some from over seas, and others from the court of
King Ethelwald, of whom I have spoken, the Norfolk king. But that danger
was surely over now, for Havelok would be forgotten in Denmark; and
Ethelwald was long dead, and his wife also, leaving his daughter
Goldberga to her uncle Alsi, as his ward. So Alsi held both kingdoms
until the princess was of age, when she would take her own. It was said
that she lived at Dover until that time, and so none of her Danes were
likely to be at court if we went there and found places.

So Havelok's plan was to be carried out, and he and I were to set forth
next morning. Arngeir was yet uneasy about it, nevertheless, as one
could see; but I did not at that time know why it should be so doubtful
a matter that two strong men should go forth and seek their fortune but
thirty miles away. So we laughed at him.

"Well," he said, "every one knows Radbard; but they will want to know
who his tall comrade may be. Old foes has Havelok, as Radbard knows, and
therefore it may be well to find a new name for him."

"No need to go far for that," Withelm said. "The marsh folk call him Curan."

"Curan, the wonder, is good," Arngeir said, after a little thought, for
we all knew Welsh enough by this time. "Or if you like a Danish name
better, brother, call it 'Kwaran,' but silent about yourself you must
surely be."

We used to call him that at times--for it means "the quiet" in our old
tongue--seeing how gentle and courtly he was in all his ways. So the
name was well fitting in either way.

"Silent and thoughtful should the son of a king be," says the Havamal,
and so it was with Havelok, son of Gunnar.

Now when I came to think, it was plain that we three stood in the mind
of our brother in the place which my father had boded for us, and I was
glad. Well I knew that Raven, the watchful, and Withelm, the wise and
thoughtful, would do their parts; and I thought that whether I could do
mine was to be seen very shortly. If I failed in help at need it should
not be my fault. It had been long growing in my mind who Havelok must
be, though I said nothing of what I thought, because my father had
bidden me be silent long ago, and I thought that I knew why.

We were to start early in the morning, so that we should get to the city
betimes in the evening; and there was one thing that troubled the good
sisters more than it did us. They would have had us go in all our
finery, such as we were wont to wear on holidays and at feastings; but
none of that was left. It had gone in buying corn, while there was any
left to buy, along with every silver penny that we had. So we must go in
the plain fisher gear, that is made for use and not for show, frayed and
stained, and a trifle tarry, but good enough. It would not do to go in
our war gear into a peaceful city; and so we took but the seax that
every Englishman wears, and the short travelling spear that all
wayfarers use. Hardly was it likely that even the most hungry outlaw of
the wild woldland would care to fall on us; for by this time such as we
seemed had spent their all in food for themselves and their families,
and all the money in Lindsey seemed to have gone away to places where
there was yet somewhat to buy.

Busy were those kind sisters of ours that night in making ready the last
meal that we should need to take from them. And all the while they
foretold pleasant things for us at the king's court--how that we
should find high honour and the like. So they set us forth well and
cheerfully.

With the dawn we started, and Havelok was thoughtful beyond his wont
after we had bidden farewell to the home folk, so that I thought that he
grieved for leaving them at the last.

"Downhearted, are you, brother?" I said, when we had gone a couple of
miles in silence across the level. "I have been to Lincoln two or three
times in a month sometimes in the summer, and it is no great distance
after all. I think nothing of the journey, or of going so short a way
from home."

"Nor do I," he answered. "First, I was thinking of the many times my
father, Grim, went this way, and now he can walk no more; and then I was
thinking of that empty cottage we passed just now, where there was a
pleasant little family enough three months ago, who are all gone. And
then--ay, I will tell you--I had a dream last night that stays in my
mind, so that I think that out of this journey of ours will come somewhat."

"Food and shelter, to wit," said I, "which is all we want for a month or
two. Let us hear it."

"If we get all that I had in that dream, we shall want no more all our
lives," he said, with a smile; "but it seems a foolish dream, now that I
come to tell it."

"That is mostly the way with dreams. It is strange how wonderful they
seem until daylight comes. I have heard Witlaf's gleeman say that the
best lays he ever made were in his sleep; but if he remembered aught of
them, they were naught."

"It is not like that altogether with my dream," Havelok said, "for it
went thus. I thought that I was in Denmark--though how I knew it was
Denmark I cannot say--and on a hill I sat, and at my feet was
stretched out all the land, so that I could see all over it at once.
Then I longed for it, and I stretched out my arms to gather it in, and
so long were they that they could well fathom it, and so I drew it to
myself. With towns and castles it was gathered in, and the keys of the
strongholds fell rattling at my feet, while the weight of the great land
seemed to lie on my knees. Then said one, and the voice was the voice of
Grim, 'This is not all the dream that I have made for you, but it is
enough for now.' That is the dream, therefore, and what make you of it?"

"A most amazing hunger, brother, certainly, and promise of enough to
satisfy it withal. I think that the sisters have talked about our
advancement at court until you have dreamed thereof."

"Why," he said, "that is surely at the bottom of the dream, and I am
foolish to think more of it."

Then we went on, and grew light hearted as the miles passed. But though
I had seemed to think little of the dream, it went strangely with my
thoughts of what might lie before Havelok in days to come.

As we went inland from the sea, the track of the pestilence was more
dread, for we passed house after house that had none living in them, and
some held the deserted dead. I might say many things of what we saw, but
I do not like to think of them much. Many a battlefield have I seen
since that day, but I do not think them so terrible as the field over
which has gone the foe that is unseen ere he smites. One knows the worst
of the battle when it is over and the roll is called, but who knows
where famine and pestilence stay? And those have given life for king or
land willingly, but these were helpless.

It was good to climb the welds and look back, for in the high lands
there was none of this. Below us the levels, with their bright waters,
were wrapped in a strange blue haze, that had come with the famine at
its worst, and, as men said, had brought or made the sickness. I had
heard of it; but it was not so plain when one was in it, or else our
shore was free, which is likely, seeing how little we suffered.

After that we kept to the high land, not so much fearing the blue robe
of the pestilence as what things of its working we might see; and so it
was late in the afternoon that we came in sight of Lincoln town, on its
hill, with the wide meres and river at its feet. I have seen no city
that stands more wonderfully than this of ours, with the grey walls of
the Roman town to crown the gathering of red and brown roofs that nestle
on the slope and within them. And ever as we drew nearer Havelok became
more silent, as I thought because he had never seen so great a town
before, until we passed the gates of the stockade that keeps the town
that lies without the old walls, and then he said, looking round him
strangely, "Brother, you will laugh at me, no doubt, for an arrant
dreamer, but this is the place whereto in dreams I have been many a
time. Now we shall come to yon turn of the road among the houses, and
beyond that we shall surely see a stone-arched gate in a great wall, and
spearmen on guard thereat."

It was so, and the gate and guard were before us in a few more steps. It
was the gate of the old Roman town, inside which was the palace of the
king and one or two more great houses only. Our English kin hate a
walled town or a stone house, and they would not live within the strong
walls, whose wide span was, save for the king's palace, which was built
partly of the house of the Roman governor, and these other halls, which
went for naught in so wide a meadow, empty and green, and crossed by two
paved roads, with grass growing between the stones. There were brown
marks, as of the buried stones of other foundations, on the grass where
the old streets had been.

All the straggling English town was outside the walls, and only in time
of war would the people use them as a stronghold, as they used the still
more ancient camps on the hills.

"Many times have you heard us tell of this place, Havelok," I said. "It
is no wonder that you seem to know it."

"Nay," he answered, "but this is the city of my dreams, and somewhat is
to happen here."


CHAPTER VIII. BERTHUN THE COOK.

For that night we went to the house of the old dame with whom my father
and I were wont to lodge when we came to the market, and she took us in
willingly, though she could make little cheer for us. Truly, as had been
said, the scarcity was not so great in Lincoln, but everything was
terribly dear, and that to some is almost as bad.

"No money have I now, dame," I said ruefully, "but I think that for old
sake's sake you will not turn us away."

"Not I, faith," she answered. "I mind the first day your father came
here, and never a penny had he, and since then there has been no want in
this house. Luck comes with Grim and his folk, as I think. But this is a
son whom I have not seen before, if he is indeed your brother."

"I am Grim's son Curan," said Havelok, "and I have not been to Lincoln
ere this. But I have heard of you many times."

That pleased our old hostess, and then she asked after Grim. Hard it was
to have to tell her that he was gone, and hard it was for her to hear,
for the little house had been open to us for ten years.

"What will you do now, masters?" she asked, when she had told us of many
a kindness done to her and her husband, who was long dead now, by my father.

I told her that we were too many at home since the fishing had failed,
and had therefore come to find some work here, at the court if possible.

"Doubtless two strong men will not have to go far to find somewhat," she
said; "but the court is full of idle folk, and maybe no place is empty.
Now I will have you bide with me while you are at a loose end, for there
are yet a few silver pennies in store, and I ween that they came out of
Grim's pouch to me. Lonely am I, and it is no good hoarding them when
his sons are hungry."

We thanked her for that kind saying, but she made light of it, saying
that almost did she hope that we should find no work, that we might bide
and lighten her loneliness for a time.

"But if an old woman's advice is good for aught, you shall not go to the
court first of all. Sour is King Alsi, and he is likely to turn you away
offhand rather than grant the smallest boon. But there is Berthun the
cook, as we call him--steward is his court name though--and he
orders the household, and is good-natured, so that all like him. Every
morning he comes into the market, and there you can ask him if there is
a place for you, and he loves to look on a man such as Curan. But if it
is weapons you want--and I suppose that is in the minds of tall men
always, though it brings sorrow in the end--there is the captain of
the guard who lives over the gate, and he might be glad to see you enough."

We said that we would see the steward, for we wanted no long employment.
We would go back to Grimsby when the famine ended, if it were only by
the coming of the fish again.