Ulric the Jarl: A Story of the Penitent Thief

by William O. Stoddard

Then the war song ended, and the harp began to send out low, sweet music that made them think of the Northland. They said to one another that now the trees were in leaf, and the grass was green, and the wind was in the pines, and the waves were on the shores, and the voices of the gods could be heard in the fiords. The women and the children, too, were in the houses, or they were caring for the cattle, and the fisher boats were out from all the villages. So they grew quiet and looked across the blue waters of the Middle Sea less discontentedly, and the thirst for blood waned away for the hour. And yet they knew not that now the Greek was singing in his own tongue of Sapphira the Beautiful, and that he did not at all see the ship, or those who were in it, or the sea, but that his eyes, like those of the blind, were seeking far away for a face and a form that were out of sight, beyond—he knew not where.

His own countenance, with its perfect outlines and its youthful color, exhibited his sadness in keeping with the flowing music of his lyre, but he knew not that the eyes of Ulric and of Ben Ezra were reading him. Unlike the rest of the vikings, excepting Sigurd, they understood the words of the song, which was from one of the old poets of the better days of Greece.

"I have heard," whispered Ulric, "that even as he saith, the young women of his people have great beauty."

"Yea," returned the Jew, "I have seen many of them. I have seen this Sapphira, and she did excel. But no maidens are as those of Israel and Judah, the roses of Sharon and the lilies of the valley. Their voices are those of birds and their forms are of the heaven. Such was the mother of my son in her youth. Such were my daughters. I am glad that they fell by the sword——"

"How were they not captured by the Romans?" asked Ulric.

"Because of the swords of their husbands and their brethren," said the Jew, calmly. "All died together, but the fairest of them needed no sword save her own. She chose to die by her own hand rather than to become the sport of the heathen."

"She did well," muttered Ulric. "She was dark and she was beautiful. She was brave and true. I have never loved, but I would I could find one like her."

"If she were of the race of Abraham," replied Ben Ezra, "she might not wed save with one of her own people. That is our law concerning women."

"It is a good law," said Ulric. "Hilda, the saga woman, told me of it. She said that ye have good sagas of your own and that your runes are ancient. Are there any among you that are descended from the gods?"