King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and CnutWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
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King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and Cnut
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Olav II, King of Norway, 995-1030 -- Fiction
So we left our home, and that was the last time I set eyes on our
hall at Bures. Then I caught up my mother hard by the dark wood
that is round the great solemn mound that we say is the tomb of
Boadicea, the Icenian queen of the men who fought against Rome. We
call it haunted, and none of us dare set foot in those woods, by
day even.
The beacon fires burnt all round us, and in every farmstead was
terror and hustle as the poor folk trembled to think what they
could mean, and some came now and then and asked my mother what
they should do.
"Bide in your homes till you must needs take to the woods," she
said; and that was wise counsel, and many were glad thereafter that
they took it, for the Danes passed them by.
Now I remember all that happened on our journey to London along the
great Roman road that runs from Colchester thither, but there is
little to tell thereof, for it was safe and we hardly hurried after
the first day. We rested at the house of a thane who was well known
to us on the first evening, and there my mother heard from Edred
all that had befallen. And she bore the heavy tidings well, for she
had already given up any hope that my father still lived. Yet as I
look back I know that she was never the same after that day.
So we came in safety to London, and to the court of Ethelred our
king, and there we were most kindly received, for my father was
well known to the king, and the queen loved my mother for the sake
of old days. They gave us lodging near the great house where the
court was held, and on the third day after we came, we were bidden
to the king's presence.
Then it was that I looked on Ethelred for the first time, and I had
thought that a king should have been more kingly than he. For there
was no command in his face, and he moved quickly and with little
meaning in what he did, being restless in his way. But he put his
hand on my shoulder very kindly, and looked in my face and said:
"One may know that this is the son of Siric, my friend. He is like
what the good thane was in the old days. What shall I do for him,
lady?"
Now, my mother would have answered, but I was not afraid of this
handsome, careless-looking man, and I had my own wishes in the
matter. So I spoke for myself.
"Make me a warrior, lord king. I would fain fight the Danes, and
already I can use sword and spear, and can ride."
Then my mother spoke hastily and almost weeping, being broken down
with all her trouble and the long journey.
"I would have him serve Holy Church rather, in some monastery.
Already he can read and write, my king, for I have had him taught
in hopes that this might be."
Thereat the king shook his head, and walked away to the window for
a minute. Then he came back quickly and said, not looking at my
mother:
"Holy Church will be best served by warriors who will use carnal
arms against Swein's heathen just now. The boy is right--I would
that there were more who had his spirit. We need and shall need
those who love fighting."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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