King Alfred's Viking: A Story of the First English FleetWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
King Alfred's Viking: A Story of the First English Fleet
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Great Britain -- History -- Alfred, 871-899 -- Juvenile fiction
Presently they were hidden as we rounded a turn in the firth, and
we were alone among the hills, and the lonesomeness was very great.
There was no dwelling anywhere along the shores, nor in the deep
glens that came down to them, each with its noisy burn falling
along it. Once I saw deer feeding far up at the head of a valley
that opened out, but they and the eagles were the only living
things we could see beside the loons that swam and dived silently
as we neared them.
The silence and the heat weighed on us, and we went for a mile or
more without a word. Then we turned into the last reach of the
water, and saw Sigurd's mound beside its edge at the very head of
the firth, where the hills came round in a circle that was broken
only by the narrow waters and the valley that went beyond them
among the mountains. It was a fitting resting place for one who
would sleep in loneliness; but I thought that I had rather lie
where I could look out on the sea I loved, and see the long ships
pass and the white waves break beneath me.
Now all seemed very peaceful here in the hot haze that brooded over
the still mountains, and there seemed to be nought to fear. We drew
swiftly up to the mound, with the plash of oars only to break the
silence, and there was nought amiss that we could see. They had
made it on a little flat tongue of land that jutted from the
mountain's foot into the deep water, so that on two sides the mound
was close to its edge. So we pulled on softly round the tongue of
land, being maybe about fifty paces from the mound across the
water. And when we saw the other side of Sigurd's resting place,
the oars stayed suddenly, and the jarl, who held the tiller, swung
the boat away from the shore, and I think I knew then what fear
was.
The mound was open. There was a wide, brown scar, as of
freshly-moved earth, across its base, reaching from the level to
six or eight feet of its height, as though half the grass-grown
side had been shorn away by a sword cut; and in the midst of that
scar was a doorway, open to the grave's heart, low and stone built.
Some of the earth that had fallen lay before it on the water's
edge, but the rest was doubtless in the water, for there was but a
narrow path between bank and mound.
At that sight we stared, thinking we should surely see the grim
form of Sigurd loom gigantic and troll-like {iii} across the
doorway; and the jarl half rose from his seat beside me, and cried
out with a great voice:
"Sigurd--my brother!"
I think he knew not what or why he cried thus, for he sank back
into his place and swayed against me, while his cry rang loud among
the hills, and the eagles answered it.
And I grasped my sword hilt, as one does in some sudden terror,
staring at the open mound; while old Thord muttered spells against
I know not what, and Kolgrim looked at me, pale and motionless.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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