The Norsemen in the West, R. M. Ballantyne [best books to read all time .txt] 📗

as grave. Anders made several attempts to find out what was the matter, but was met at one time with grave evasion, at another with quiet jocularity, which left him as wise as before.

Towards the Scottish brothers Leif maintained an unvarying aspect of reserve, which filled them with uneasiness; but with the female members of his household, and the children, he was all gentleness, and often playful.

“Leif,” said Karlsefin to him one day, “it appears to me that something weighs on your mind, or else ye have left some of your wits in Vinland.”

“Think ye not that the cares of such a large and growing colony are sufficient to account for any new wrinkles that may appear on my brow?” replied Leif, with a peculiar smile, and a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Well, I daresay that might account for it, and yet things are swimming on so well that these cares do not seem to be much increased.”

“Sometimes domestic cares trouble a man more than public ones, Karlsefin. Look at thy friend Thorward, now. ’Tis little that he would care for a mountain of outside troubles on his broad shoulders if he might only drop them when he crossed the threshold of his own door.”

“That is true,” returned the other; “if a man have not peace in his own house, there is no peace for him on earth. Nevertheless my friend Thorward is not in such a bad case. Freydissa has improved vastly of late, and Thorward has also grown more amiable and less contradictions—add to which, he and she love each other dearly. But, Leif, there can be no domestic troubles in your case, for your household is well ordered.”

“Thank God there are none,” said Leif seriously. It was the first time that Leif had used that expression, and his friend heard it with some surprise and pleasure, but said nothing.

“Still,” continued Leif, “I am not destitute of troubles. Has not that thrall Hake overturned the peace of my sweet kinswoman Bertha? The girl loves the thrall—I can see that, as plain as I can see the vane on yonder mast-head—and there is no cure for love!”

Karlsefin looked earnestly at his friend as if about to speak, but observing the stern frown on Leif’s countenance, he forbore.

In a minute or so Karlsefin remarked quietly that Hake was a faithful thrall.

“I’m not so sure of that as ye seem to be,” returned Leif, with increasing sternness, “but, whether faithful or not, no thrall shall ever wed Bertha.”

“What is that you say about Bertha?” asked Biarne, coming up just then.

“Nothing of moment,” replied Leif. “What news bring you, Biarne? for that ye bring news is plain by the glance of your eye.”

“My eye is an incorrigible tell-tale,” cried Biarne, laughing. “However, it has not much to tell at present. Only that you are about to receive a visit from some old friends, and that Anders will have to keep his kettles full for some time to come. A band of Skraelingers are—. But here they come to speak for themselves.”

At that moment a troop of the Greenland savages came round the point—the identical point where they had received such a terrible shock some years before—with Flatface dancing joyously in front of them.

Flatface had heard of their coming, had gone out to meet them, had found several of his relations among them, and was now returning, scarce able to contain himself with delight, as he made their mouths water by dilating at great length on the delicious things contained in Anders’s capacious kettles.

While Leif and the others went to meet the Skraelingers, Heika and his brother sat in their own sleeping-closet, talking in a low tone, and making the final arrangements for their flight.

“Now are ye sure that all is on board—nothing omitted?” asked Hake, “for it will be hard to obtain anything once we are out on the sea, and we can’t well return to fetch what we have forgotten.”

“All is ready,” answered Heika sadly. “I cannot tell how much it grieves me to go away in this fashion; but freedom must be regained at any price. Now remember, meet me exactly when the moon shows its upper edge above the sea to-night. Not later, and not sooner, for the longer ye can remain about the hall the less likely will any one be to inquire after me.”

“I will be sure not to fail you; but, Heika, is that not a little too late? The flood-tide will be past, and if there is any sea on, it will be ill passing the skerries, many of which are but little covered, even at high water.”

“Trust me, Hake; it will not be too late. Be sure that ye come no sooner—else evil may ensue.”

“My heart sinks when I think of Bertha,” said Hake, with a deep sigh. “It will seem so cold, so hard, so unaccountable, to leave her without one word, one farewell.”

“Think better of it, brother,” said Heika eagerly; “I am prepared to start alone even now!”

“Never!” exclaimed Hake, flushing,—“What? shall I draw back like a coward at the last moment, after pledging my word to go? and shall I leave you to face this enterprise alone? Nay, Heika, we have suffered for many years together, we shall triumph now together—or perish.”

“My poor brother,” said Heika, grasping Hake’s hand, and kissing it with deep feeling.—“But go now to the hall, and leave me; I hear them laying the tables for supper. The window is easily removed; I will hasten at once and get things ready. Take good care not to re-enter this closet after leaving it, for the carls are moving about the hall, and may chance to observe that it is empty. Be circumspect, brother.”

They squeezed hands again, and Hake went into the hall, where he mingled with the house-carls, and chatted carelessly about the events of the day.

The instant he was gone Heika rose and removed the parchment window, took a billet of firewood and laid it across the bed, then, leaping out, he walked smartly towards the west end of the village.

It was beginning to grow dark, and few of the people were about. To those whom he passed Heika nodded familiarly, but did not stop. The moment he had rounded the cliff which hid Brattalid from view, he ran westward at full speed.

Meanwhile supper was laid in the hall, and all were awaiting the entrance of the master of the house and Karlsefin, but there was no appearance of either. After a quarter of an hour had passed, and they were beginning to wonder what had become of them, the door opened and Biarne entered, saying that Leif had sent him to say that as he had business which would keep him out late, they were not to wait supper for him.

Hake began to feel somewhat uneasy at this, and when supper was finished he resolved to leave the house a little before the appointed time. For that purpose he entered the sleeping-closet, intending to pass out by the window.

The first thing that caught his eye was the billet of firewood lying across the bed! His heart almost stood still at the sight, for this, coupled with Heika’s display of deep feeling, and their recent conversation about signs, caused the truth to flash upon him.

With one bound he passed through the window and flew westward like the wind-round the point, over the ridge, and down towards the appointed rendezvous at the skerries.

But, to return to Heika. When he neared the inlet he changed his pace to a rapid walk, and glanced cautiously from side to side, to make quite sure that he was not observed by any one who might chance to have wandered in that direction.

Now, it is a well-known fact in the affairs of this world, that many strange things occur in a most unaccountable manner. Who can tell how it was, or why it was that, just a few minutes before Heika approached the inlet from the landward side, a small boat entered it from the seaward side, out of which stepped Leif Ericsson and Karlsefin? They drew their boat into a corner in deep shadow, and then, going to another corner, also in deep shadow, sat down on a ledge of rock without uttering a single word.

They had never been in that inlet before; had never seen it, probably never thought of it before, yet there they were, quietly seated in it—and, just in the nick of time!

From the place where they sat neither their own boat nor Leif’s could be seen—only the landward opening of the inlet.

Presently approaching footsteps were heard. The two friends rose. A moment later and Heika stood before them. He stopped abruptly on beholding them, and his eyes blazed with astonishment, rage, and despair. Suddenly he looked round as if in search of a weapon, or of a way of escape.

“Be wise, lad,” said Leif, kindly yet very gravely; “no evil will come of it if ye are wise, and take your misfortunes like a man.”

Heika was subdued by the gentle tone. He crossed his arms on his heaving chest, and stood erect before them with his head slightly drooped, and a look of profound sadness, rather than disappointment, on his countenance.

“Come hither, Heika,” said Leif, pointing seaward, “I have somewhat to show thee.”

They went down the beach till they stood beside the boat, which was ready for sea.

“This is a strange sight,” he continued; “here is an excellent boat, well found, well loaded, well busked in every way for a long voyage. Knowest thou aught in regard to it, Heika?”

“I know,” answered the Scot, bitterly, “that if ye had come hither only half-an-hour later, that boat would have been on its way with me to Scotland.”

“What, with you alone?”

“Ay—with me alone.”

“That is strange,” said Leif, somewhat perplexed; “I had fancied that you brothers loved each other passing well; but I suppose that a man who can be guilty of ingratitude is not to be much depended on in the matter of affection.”

Heika winced at these words—not that the charge of ingratitude affected him, but he could not submit calmly to the unjust supposition that in his contemplated flight he had been actuated by selfish indifference to his brother. At the same time he would not condescend to give any explanation of his conduct. Drawing himself up, he looked Leif full in the face.

“Norseman,” he said, “small is the gratitude I owe to thee. ’Tis true, ye have treated me and my brother kindly since we came hither, and for that I owe thee thanks, and would gladly have paid this debt before leaving, had such been consistent with flight; but kindness, however great, is not a worthy price for liberty, and when King Olaf Tryggvisson sent me to thee, I made no promise to sell my liberty at such a price. But in regard to Hake—”

“Ay, in regard to Hake, go on; why dost thou stop?” said Leif, in a stern tone. “There is some truth in what ye say about gratitude; but what of Hake?”

The Scot still remained silent, with his lips compressed, and dropped his eyes sternly on the ground.

“This seems to me a bad business,” said Karlsefin, who had hitherto listened with an expression of anxiety and disappointment gradually deepening on his countenance. “I had thought better of thee, Heika. Surely Hake’s longing to be free and in his own native land must be to the full as strong as thine. I am puzzled, moreover, for two were better than one in the mad voyage ye thought to undertake.”

Heika smiled at this.

“Truly,” he said, “my brother loves his native land and freedom, nevertheless he prefers bondage to freedom, and Greenland to his native land. And yet would he fain have sacrificed his preference, and resigned his bondage out of love to me, if I would have allowed him.”

“Resigned his bondage, Heika!” exclaimed Leif. “Ye speak in riddles, man; what mean you?”

Instead of