It was plain that neither of them was the sort of adversary that a man would choose to find himself pitted against; nor did either man appear to cherish any anxiety regarding the outcome of the contest. Orm was half a head taller than Sigtrygg and had the longer reach, but Sigtrygg was more squarely built and looked rather the more powerful man of the two. They held their shields well forward across their breasts and high enough to be able to cover their necks promptly, should the necessity arise; and each kept his eyes fixed on his opponent’s sword, so as to be able to anticipate the other’s blows. As soon as they came within striking distance of one another, Orm aimed a slash at Sigtrygg’s legs, but Sigtrygg evaded the blow nimbly and replied with a vicious swing that landed with a ringing crash on Orm’s helmet. After this opening, both men proceeded more cautiously, parrying each other’s blows skillfully with their shields, and King Harald was heard to observe to his women that it was good to see experienced swordsmen such as these at work, instead of the sort who rushed crazily into the fight leaving themselves open; for this meant that the spectacle would last longer.
“It is no easy thing to forecast which of these two is likely to prove the master,” he said. “But the red man looks to me to be as safe a swordsman as I have seen for many a month, for all his fear of the cold; and I shall not be surprised if Sven is one kinsman the poorer tonight.”
King Sven, who, like both the jarls, was sitting on the edge of the table to get a better view of the fight, smiled contemptuously and retorted that nobody who knew Sigtrygg need have any fears regarding the outcome. “Although my men are not averse to the sport of armed combat,” he said, “it is seldom that I lose one of them, except when they fight against one another.”
As he spoke, Toke re-entered the hall. He was limping badly and could be heard muttering a verse to himself; and as he climbed over the bench to his place, it could be seen that one of his legs was black with blood from his thigh to his knee.
“How went it with Dyre?” asked Sigurd Buesson.
“It took time,” replied Toke; “but he finished pissing at last.”
Everybody’s eyes were now on the fight, which Sigtrygg seemed eager to bring to a quick conclusion. He was attacking Orm savagely, trying to pierce his defense and concentrating on his legs and face and the fingers of his sword-hand. Orm was defending himself ably, but did not appear to be able to achieve anything very positive himself; and it could be seen that he was having trouble with Sigtrygg’s shield. This was larger than his own and was of tough wood, strengthened with leather; only the center boss was of iron, and Orm had to take care that his sword should not become embedded in the edge of the shield, for if that were to happen, it would give Sigtrygg the chance to snap it or wrench it from his grasp by a twist of his arm. Orm’s shield was made entirely of iron, with a sharp spike in its center.
Sigtrygg sneeringly asked Orm whether it was warm enough for him. Blood was pouring down Orm’s cheek from the first blow on his helmet, and he had besides received a thrust in the leg and a slash across the hand, while Sigtrygg was still unmarked. Orm made no reply, but retreated step by step alongside one of the long tables. Crouching behind his shield, Sigtrygg moved swiftly in to the attack, padding forwards and occasionally leaping to one or the other side, while his blows rained ever the more fiercely, so that it seemed to most of the spectators that the end could not now be far distant.
Then Orm suddenly sprang at his opponent and, taking Sigtrygg’s blow on his sword, drove his shield against Sigtrygg’s with all his strength, so that the spike on his own shield pierced through the leather and into the wood and remained embedded there. He forced the shields downwards so hard that the handles of both of them snapped, whereupon the two men both took a step backwards, freed their swords, and, leaping high into the air, slashed at each other in the same instant. Sigtrygg’s blow struck Orm in the side, piercing his chain shirt and causing a deep wound; but Orm’s sword buried itself in Sigtrygg’s throat, and a great shout filled the hall as the bearded head flew from its shoulders, bounced on the edge of the table, and fell with a splash into the butt of ale that stood at its foot.
Orm staggered, and supported himself against the table. He wiped his sword across his knee, replaced it in its sheath, and gazed down at the headless body lying at his feet.
“Now you know,” he said, “whose chain it is.”
1. The father of King Canute the Great.
2. A good poet and a strong fighter, who is supposed to have ended his days in America.
CHAPTER TEN
HOW ORM LOST HIS NECKLACE
THE FIGHT for the necklace was busily discussed throughout the palace—in the hall, the kitchens, and the women’s chambers. All those who had witnessed it were careful to store away in their memories everything that had been said and done, so as to have a good story to tell other men in the years to come. Orm’s feat in pinning his opponent’s shield was particularly praised, and on the next evening Styrbjörn’s Icelander recited some verses in ljodahattr on the danger of losing one’s head in ale. It was generally agreed that such sport as this was not to be enjoyed every Yule, even at King Harald’s court.
Orm and Toke, however, were confined to bed on account of their wounds and could take little pleasure in anything during the next few days, though Brother Willibald used his most soothing salves upon their injured places. Toke’s wound began to fester, making him delirious and violent, so that four men were needed to hold him down while Brother Willibald dressed it; and Orm, who had had two of his ribs broken and had lost a quantity of blood, was feeling very sore and enfeebled, and lacked his usual appetite. This last he took to be an evil symptom, and one that boded ill for his recovery; and he became very downhearted.
King Harald had ordered one of his best bedchambers to be prepared for them, with a walled fireplace to warm it, and hay instead of straw in the mattresses. Many of the King’s men, and Styrbjörn’s also, came to see them on the day after the combat, to discuss the previous evening’s happenings and chuckle over King Sven’s discomfiture. They made the room very crowded and noisy, and Brother Willibald had to rebuke them and finally drive them out; so that Orm and Toke were not sure whether it was more dispiriting to have company or to be left to their solitude. Shortly after this they lost the comradeship of their own men, who were all anxious to return home now that the Christmas feasting was over; all, that is, save One-Eyed Rapp, who was an outlaw in the Lister country and so preferred to remain at Jellinge. After a few days, a storm having blown up and dispersed the ice, King Sven put sullenly out to sea with few words of farewell. Styrbjörn, too, took his leave of King Harald, being anxious to lose no time in recruiting men for his spring expedition; and Orm’s men obtained permission to sail part of the way with them, paying for their passage by taking their turn at the oars. Styrbjörn would have liked Orm and Toke to join his company. He came in person to visit them in their chamber and said that they had made a good contribution to the Yule festivities and that it would be a pity if they were now to spend a week in bed for the sake of a few scratches.
“Visit me on Bornholm when the cranes begin to stretch their wings,” he said. “I have room for men of your mettle on the prow of my own ship.”
He left them without waiting for their reply, his head being full of urgent matters; so that this was all the converse they had with Styrbjörn. They lay for a time in silence; then Toke said:
“Welcome the day when
From the ship’s deck I shall see
Crane and stork and goose
Steer their course to the north.”