keep lemans any more.” He smiled at Valthjona. “Ah, well, I’m like that myself.”
Yrsa kept on learning how to be a lady, until folk said that young though she was, Leidhra had seldom had so fine a queen. They marked, too, that Helgi grew more and more mild. He began to spend his summers in Denmark, doing Hroar’s kind of work. If less patient than his brother, he was equally just. Men became happy to give their lawsuits into his hands. They thought he talked things over with Yrsa and that she softened his sternness.
Young she was, however. For two years she got no child. In the third year she had a boy.
That was a long and hard birth, upon Yule Eve to boot. Helgi sat in his hall, drinking, hearkening to a skald, talking to his men. What he said made scant sense; and ever he turned his head doorward, as if to strain through the storm outside to hear cries of pain in the lady-bower.
At last the midwife came. In a huge hush, save for the roaring of fires and gale, she walked, bearing a bundle which she laid on the earth before the high seat. Helgi sat still. Sweat gleamed on his brow and cheeks, reeked from his clothes.
“I bring you your son, King Helgi,” said the midwife.
“And Yrsa?” croaked from him.
“I hope she does well, my lord.”
“Give me our son.” The hands shook which Helgi lifted, to take the baby and put him on his knee.
Next day, being sure Yrsa would live, he slaughtered a herd of horses and oxen in the holy shaw, and called men to a feast only less mighty than his wedding. Himself he poured water upon the boy and named him Hrolf. Warriors who had fared beside him from end to end ofthe known world, clanged blade on shield and hailed their atheling.
Yrsa was slow to get back her full health. She never bore another child. Nonetheless she and Helgi stayed happy together. They rejoiced in their Hrolf. He was small but handsome, merry, quick on his feet and quick of wit.
Those were quiet years for Denmark. Still, the brothers held a close eye on Götaland and Svithjodh, where much was happening.
The Göta-King Hugleik—maybe in search of fame to match Helgi’s—took a war-fleet past Jutland and Sax-land, to Frankish country. There he harried about; but the Franks trapped him and his, and he fell in battle. Among the few Götar to win free was Bjovulf, who swam in his byrnie out to their ships. Sad was his homecoming. For this doughtiness, the Götar would make him their lord. He refused, and himself raised Hugleik’s son Haerdredh before the Thing. However, as the strongest headman after Ægthjof died, Bjovulf must needs steer the land in all but name.
At that time, the Swede-King in Svithjodh was Egil. Like other Ynglings, he was a spendthrift offerer to the gods, and a wizard besides. Maybe a spell of his went wrong; anyhow, once a bull which he was about to give broke loose, gored its way past the thralls already hanged in honor of Odin, and escaped to the wilderness. Long did it roam, wreaking harm upon folk. King Egil led huntsmen after it. He rode from them in those leafy reaches, and suddenly came upon the beast. He cast his spear. The bull shook loose the barb, thundered forward, laid open the king’s horse and tossed him to earth. Egil drew sword. The bull got in first. A horn stabbed him to the heart. Then the king’s men arrived and did away with the brute. Afterward they bore Egil away and buried him at Uppsala.
He had had a brother named Ottar. Now strife over the lordship broke out between Egil’s son Aali, and Ottar’s sons Asmund and Adhils. It raged in Svithjodh for years. Asmund fell, and a beaten Adhils fled into Götaland. The Götar, under King Hærdredh, backed him. But when their host entered Svithjodh, Aali was again victorious and Hærdredh himself met death.
The Götar took Bjovulf for their new king, as they had wanted to do all along. He called on his kinsman and friend Hroar, who sent warriors. In another fight, on frozen Lake Vänern, Aali died.
Yrsa kept on learning how to be a lady, until folk said that young though she was, Leidhra had seldom had so fine a queen. They marked, too, that Helgi grew more and more mild. He began to spend his summers in Denmark, doing Hroar’s kind of work. If less patient than his brother, he was equally just. Men became happy to give their lawsuits into his hands. They thought he talked things over with Yrsa and that she softened his sternness.
Young she was, however. For two years she got no child. In the third year she had a boy.
That was a long and hard birth, upon Yule Eve to boot. Helgi sat in his hall, drinking, hearkening to a skald, talking to his men. What he said made scant sense; and ever he turned his head doorward, as if to strain through the storm outside to hear cries of pain in the lady-bower.
At last the midwife came. In a huge hush, save for the roaring of fires and gale, she walked, bearing a bundle which she laid on the earth before the high seat. Helgi sat still. Sweat gleamed on his brow and cheeks, reeked from his clothes.
“I bring you your son, King Helgi,” said the midwife.
“And Yrsa?” croaked from him.
“I hope she does well, my lord.”
“Give me our son.” The hands shook which Helgi lifted, to take the baby and put him on his knee.
Next day, being sure Yrsa would live, he slaughtered a herd of horses and oxen in the holy shaw, and called men to a feast only less mighty than his wedding. Himself he poured water upon the boy and named him Hrolf. Warriors who had fared beside him from end to end ofthe known world, clanged blade on shield and hailed their atheling.
Yrsa was slow to get back her full health. She never bore another child. Nonetheless she and Helgi stayed happy together. They rejoiced in their Hrolf. He was small but handsome, merry, quick on his feet and quick of wit.
Those were quiet years for Denmark. Still, the brothers held a close eye on Götaland and Svithjodh, where much was happening.
The Göta-King Hugleik—maybe in search of fame to match Helgi’s—took a war-fleet past Jutland and Sax-land, to Frankish country. There he harried about; but the Franks trapped him and his, and he fell in battle. Among the few Götar to win free was Bjovulf, who swam in his byrnie out to their ships. Sad was his homecoming. For this doughtiness, the Götar would make him their lord. He refused, and himself raised Hugleik’s son Haerdredh before the Thing. However, as the strongest headman after Ægthjof died, Bjovulf must needs steer the land in all but name.
At that time, the Swede-King in Svithjodh was Egil. Like other Ynglings, he was a spendthrift offerer to the gods, and a wizard besides. Maybe a spell of his went wrong; anyhow, once a bull which he was about to give broke loose, gored its way past the thralls already hanged in honor of Odin, and escaped to the wilderness. Long did it roam, wreaking harm upon folk. King Egil led huntsmen after it. He rode from them in those leafy reaches, and suddenly came upon the beast. He cast his spear. The bull shook loose the barb, thundered forward, laid open the king’s horse and tossed him to earth. Egil drew sword. The bull got in first. A horn stabbed him to the heart. Then the king’s men arrived and did away with the brute. Afterward they bore Egil away and buried him at Uppsala.
He had had a brother named Ottar. Now strife over the lordship broke out between Egil’s son Aali, and Ottar’s sons Asmund and Adhils. It raged in Svithjodh for years. Asmund fell, and a beaten Adhils fled into Götaland. The Götar, under King Hærdredh, backed him. But when their host entered Svithjodh, Aali was again victorious and Hærdredh himself met death.
The Götar took Bjovulf for their new king, as they had wanted to do all along. He called on his kinsman and friend Hroar, who sent warriors. In another fight, on frozen Lake Vänern, Aali died.
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