CHAPTER XI.
THE HOUSE IN THE FOREST.
Coming from the warmth and light of the hall, the night outside struck sharp and bitterly cold. A thin cloud hid the moon, but there was quite light enough to see that the snow-covered court was deserted. Only in the shadows of the paling and the end of the house was it possible for a man to be concealed, and before he stepped away from the door Estein ran his eye carefully along both. He could see nothing, and had just stepped forward a pace, when noiselessly as a phantom a dark form appeared round the corner of the hall, and without pausing an instant came straight up to him. He saw only that the man was small, and wrapped in a cloak of fur; his sword flashed, and he was almost in the act of striking when the figure held up a hand and stopped.
"Who art thou?" said Estein in a low voice, coming forward a step as he spoke, and holding his sword ready to smite on the instant.
"Estein Hakonson," replied the other in the same tone, "waste not your blows on friends. Remember the Runes, and follow me. There is little time for words now."
He turned as he spoke, and looking over his shoulder to see that
Estein followed him, started for the stockade. For an instant
Estein hesitated.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed the man; "or do you wish to die here like a dog?"
"Lead on," replied Estein, and still holding his naked sword he followed him across the court.
The man went swiftly up to the paling, and taking an axe from under his cloak drove it hard into the wood as high above his head as he could reach. Then with the agility of a cat he drew himself up by it, seized the top of the fence, and sat there astride.
"Quick! quick!" he whispered. "Sheathe that sword, and stand not like a fool looking at me."
Estein, though a much heavier man, was active and lithe, and his guide, as he watched him mount, muttered,—
"That is better; we have a chance yet."
They dropped on the other side, and whispering to Estein to follow, the man turned to the wood and was about to plunge in, when his companion seized his arm, and said,—
"I trysted here with my foster brother. Till he comes I must wait."
The Jemtlander turned on him savagely and answered,—
"Think you I have to succour you of my own pleasure? Never had I less joy in doing anything. If your brother be not here now he will never come at all. I was not told to risk my life for him. Come on!"
"Go, then," said Estein; "here will I bide."
The man stamped his foot wrathfully, and turned sharply away as though he would leave him. Then he turned back and answered,—
"The gods curse you and him! See you this path opening ahead of us? Follow that with all the speed you can make, and I, fool that I am for my pains, shall turn back and bring him after you if he is to be found. Stare not at me, but hasten! I shall overtake you ere long."
With that he started off under the shadow of the stockade, and Estein, after a moment's deliberation, turned into the path. Never before had he felt himself so completely the football of fortune. Destiny seemed to kick him here and there in no gentle manner, and to no purpose that he could fathom. As he stumbled through the blackness of the tortuous forest path, he tried to connect one thing with another, and find some meaning in the token that had brought him here. Evidently the sender was so far from being in league with his foes that he made a kind of contrary current, eddying him one way just when fate seemed to have driven him another. To add to his perplexities, the disappearance of Helgi had now come to trouble his mind; he had heard no outcry or alarm, his foster-brother had time enough to have easily reached the rendezvous before him, and he felt as he walked like a man in a maze.
Suddenly there came a crash of branches at his side, a man stepped out of the trees, and before he had time to draw a weapon, the sharp, impatient voice of his guide exclaimed,—
"Is this all the way you have made? Your foster-brother has escaped, or has by this time been captured, I care not which. I saw him not."
"But supposing I were more careful of his safety?" Estein demanded, with a note of anger in his voice.
"Push on!" replied the other. "The alarm is raised, and neither you nor Helgi can be found, so perchance he has not yet suffered for his folly. I came not out to hear you talk."
He started off as he spoke, and Estein, perceiving the hopelessness of further search, followed him with a heart little lightened.
"If they have not found him yet," he thought, "he has perhaps escaped. But why did he not wait for me? If he had been alive, he surely would have met me."
For some time he followed his mysterious guide in melancholy silence. There was only room for them to walk in single file, and it took him some trouble to keep up. Sometimes it seemed to him that they would leave the path and go straight through the trackless depths of the wood, with a quickness and assurance that astonished him. Then again they would apparently fall upon a path for a time, and perhaps break into a trot while the ground was clear.
At last they came into a long, open glade, where a stream brawled between snow-clad banks, and the vague form of some frightened animal flitted silently towards the shade. The moon had come out of the clouds, and by its light Estein tried to scan the features of his companion. So far as a fur cap would let his face be seen, he seemed dark, unkempt, and singularly wild of aspect, but there was nothing in his look to catch the Viking's memory. He said not a word, but, with a swinging stride, hastened down the glade, Estein close at his shoulder.
"Where do we go?" Estein asked once.
"You shall see what you shall see. Waste not your breath," replied the other impatiently.
Again they turned into the wood, and went for some considerable distance down a choked and rugged path which all at once ended in a clearing. In the middle stood a small house of wood. The frosted roof sparkled in the moonlight, and a thin stream of smoke rose from a wide chimney at one end, but there was never a ray of light from door or window to be seen. The man went straight up to the door and knocked.
"This then is the end of our walk," said Estein.
"It would seem so indeed," replied the other, striking the door again impatiently.
This time there came sounds of a bolt being shot back. Then the door swung open, and Estein saw on the threshold an old man holding in his hand a lighted torch. For an instant there passed through his mind, like a prospect shown by a flash of lightning, a sharp memory of the hermit Andreas. Instinctively he drew back, but the first words spoken dispelled the thought.
"I have waited for thee, Estein."
"Atli!" he exclaimed.
"Ay," said the old man. "I see thou knewest not where thy way would lead thee. But enter, Estein, if indeed after a king's feast thou wilt deign to receive my welcome."
He added the last words with a touch of irony that hardly tended to propitiate his guest.
"I have to thank you, methinks," replied Estein, as he entered, "for bringing me to that same banquet."
He found himself in a room that seemed to occupy most of the small house. One half of it was covered with a wooden ceiling which served as the floor of a loft, while for the rest of the way there was nothing beneath the sloping rafters of the roof. A ladder reached from the floor to the loft, and at one end, that nearest the outer door, a fire of logs burned brightly.
All round the walls hung the skins of many bears and wolves, with here and there a spear or a bow.
Atli left the other man to close the door, and followed Estein up to the fire.
He replied, either not noticing or disregarding the dryness of
Estein's retort,—
"I knew well, Estein, thou wouldst come. Something told me thou wouldst not linger on my summons."
"Did you then send for me to lead me into this snare?" said
Estein, his brows knitting darkly.
"Does one eagle betray another to the kites and crows?" replied the old man loftily.
Estein burst out hotly,—
"Speak plainly, old man! Keep mysteries for Rune-carved staves and kindred tricks. What mean this message and this plot and this rescue? I have left my truest friend and twenty stout followers besides in yonder hall. I myself have had to flee for my life from a yelping pack of Jemtland dogs; and for aught I know, Ketill and the rest of my force may be drugged with drink and burned in their beds even while I talk with you. Give me some plain answer?"
Atli looked at him for a minute, and then replied gravely,—
"I have heard, indeed, that some strange change had befallen Estein Hakonson. There was a time when he who had just saved thy life would have had fairer thanks than this."
With a strong effort Estein controlled his temper and answered more quietly,—
"You are right. It was another Estein whom you saw before. Bear with me, and go on."
He sat down on a bench as he spoke and gazed into the fire.
"The gods indeed have dealt heavily with thee," said Atli, "and it is at their bidding that I called thee here."
"Spoke they with King Bue also?" said Estein, with a slight curl of his lip, looking all the time at the fire.
"Nay; hear me out, Estein. I knew that King Hakon would send, ere long, an avenging force to Jemtland."
"He was never the man to forgive an injury," he added, apparently to himself.
"So, as thou knowest, I sent that token to thee. Then unquiet rumours reached mine ears; for though I live apart from men here in this forest, little passes in the country—ay, and in Norway too—that comes not to Atli's knowledge. I learned of the plot to treacherously entrap thy force, and though I have long lived out of Norway my Norse blood boiled within me."
"Could you not have warned us sooner?" said Estein.
"Thorar kept his plans secret so long that it was too late to do aught save what I have done. I sent Jomar to the feast, as thou knowest."
Estein's guide had been sitting before the fire, consuming a supper of cold meat, and paying little heed to the talk, but at the last words he rose, and throwing the bones on to the flames, said,—
"It was by no will of mine; I bear no love to the Norsemen."
"Peace!" exclaimed Atli sternly. "Art thou too ungrateful for what
I have done for thee, and fearless of what I can do?"
"Babble on with this Norseman. I am tired," replied Jomar, and leaving the fire, he rolled himself in a bear-skin, lay down on the floor, and in a trice was fast asleep.
"Say now to me, Estein," continued the old man, "that thou holdest me guiltless of all blame."
"Of all, save the snatching of me away from the fate of Helgi," replied Estein sadly. "Yet I remember that you yourself said that our ends should not be far apart, so I think you have but delayed my death a little while."
"Nay, rather," cried Atli enthusiastically, "believe that Helgi lives since thy life is safe! I tell thee, Estein, many fair years lie before thee. By my mouth, even by old Atli, the gods send a message to thee!"
His exalted tone, the animation of his face, and the flash of his pale eyes, impressed Estein strongly.
"By you?" he inquired with some wonder; "what then have you to do with me?"
With the same ringing voice the old man went on,—
"Even as over the windows of this poor house there hang those skins, so over my life hangs a curtain which may not yet be fully lifted—perchance the fates may decree that it shall ever hide me. A little, however, I may venture to raise it. Listen, Estein!"