Bele whispered to Thorsten, “Let us go down together and fight with this fiery spectre!”
But half angrily Thorsten answered, “Nay, one against one was the custom of our fathers; alone will I strive with it.”
Long they contended as to which should first encounter that ghastly foe, but the lot fell to Thorsten. One blow of his spear burst in the door, and he descended into the vault, while, shield before him and sword in hand, King Bele listened without. Wild chantings he heard at first, like some magic spell, then loud clashing sounds, as of swords crossed in conflict. Then came a horrible scream, followed by instant silence, and out staggered Thorsten, pale and distraught; but on his arm he bore the ring. Never in after days would he relate what had passed in those awful depths, and when questioned would turn away shuddering. But he was often wont to say, “Truly, ’twas dearly bought, this arm-ring. But once in my life have I trembled, and that was when I took it!”
Last of the three family treasures was the good ship “Ellida.” Frithiof’s ancestor, Wiking, so it was said, returning once from a foray, discovered on his own shores a shipwrecked man. Tall he looked and nobly formed, with an open countenance, whose expression was constantly changing like the glancing of waves in the sunlight. Sea-green floated his hair, white as wave-foam his beard. A blue mantle enveloped his form, and the golden belt he wore was set with corals. Steering directly to the spot, Wiking rescued the unfortunate, took him to his home, and feasted him right nobly. But when at night the stranger was offered a bed he shook his head, smiling:
“Fair is the wind and my ship a good one,” he said, “and many a mile I hope to leave behind me ere the break of day. Naught but thanks have I to offer thee in return for thy hospitality, for my wealth lies deep beneath the ocean wave. Yet in the morning it may be thou wilt find some gift from me upon the shore.”
At daybreak Wiking hastened to the shore, and lo! with the swiftness of the sea-eagle darting upon its prey there came flying into the haven one of the warships commonly known as dragons. Not a soul was to be seen on board, neither steersman nor rowers; yet unerringly the rudder guided its winding course amid rocks and shoals. As it neared the land, the sails furled themselves, the anchor fell, and the slender vessel rested quietly upon the sandy beach. As Wiking stood gazing in astonishment at all this, voices sounded from the dancing waves. They chanted:
The man thou didst rescue and shelter
Was Ægir, the lord of the sea;
He forgets not his debt. See—yon dragon
He sendeth as token to thee.