It was close upon midnight, and all was ready. The sun lay low down to the north, red as molten gold, tingeing with a [[36]]marvellously beautiful purple glow the clouds and sky, and glittering like diamonds and rubies over the foaming waves, which the Arctic Ocean dashed, with a sullen roar, upon the rocky coast.
The fight began. Sword clashed with sword, and the golden red of the sun shimmered on the crossing sword-blades. Ambrose soon recognised, after the first thrust had been made and parried, that he had a practised foe before him. He was obliged even to give way in parrying the furious blows which Anika showered upon him, and he had to retreat to the edge of the circle.
According to the story as it is told, the one who was driven outside the circle was accounted as conquered. As Ambrose was in the act of retreating in parrying the blows, Anika sought with one desperate blow to finish him. The blow was so tremendous that only an adept could withstand it. It was parried about an inch from the top of Ambrose’s head, but his hat, which he had on, was knocked off by it, so that the whole of his noble face and his beautiful priestly hair, which fell on his shoulders, could be seen. A shout of astonishment and of contempt broke forth from Anika’s men. ‘It’s a monk, it’s a priest, who has come here to fight our unvanquished chief!’
But now the scar in Ambrose’s forehead turned a brilliant red, and it seemed as if, all at once, his limbs had become steeled. His strokes fell so rapidly and so furiously that it was Anika’s turn to retreat nearer and nearer towards the ring, on the opposite side. The fishermen cheered on the stranger with shouts of encouragement, Anika defended himself with desperation, but it was as if a panic had seized him on the discovery that he was fighting with a monk, and without resistance he was driven backwards to the ring. ‘Pirate,’ shouted the stranger at the last, ‘you shall die!’ and at the same moment he levelled such a fearful blow at Anika in the forehead that he fell backwards, ‘three ells outside the ring,’ as the legend has it.
Anika’s men took to immediate flight. They ran straight back to the ship, weighed anchor, and made off. They were seen no more. The Russians dug a grave inside the ring. In it they laid the warrior Anika, and a stone barrow was raised over him. Then the fishermen accompanied the mysterious [[37]]stranger back to the shore. There he called them together before him, and said: ‘See, the sun is now rising again over the world, and is casting his glorious light over man’s path! Fall each one of you upon his knees this newborn day, and give thanks to God. Your foe is no more, and henceforth no one will hinder you in your peaceful labours. God be with you all. Farewell.’ With these words the stranger vanished, and no one knew whence he came or whither he had gone.
So the legend runs, and it is not possible to say how much of it is history and how much romance.
A few years ago, however, a traveller visited the place, and long years after Anika’s death the barrow was opened. Some mouldering human bones were found, and among them a couple of leg-bones of an unusual size. We may therefore reasonably assume that Anika once lived, that he fought, and was conquered, and found his grave at this spot; but up to this time very few persons have known anything of the legend which associates Ambrose, a monk from the monastery of Petschenga, with his conqueror.
Ambrose made his way back again over the waste swamps, and Unnas was ever at a little interval behind him. Presently he drew nearer. Ambrose heard something moving behind him, and turned round and saw him.
‘Well, are you there, my little friend? Come nearer, then,’ he said.
Unnas sprang forward to him, and fell on his knees and kissed his hand. Then he took out of his bosom some bread and dried fish.