The white dawn

Preface

Just as I am about to write a few words of greeting to commend to you this wonderful book, which takes us back to Norse Mythology, America awakes to the problems of reconstruction. These burning questions, which a world-peace brings, must take us back to the nations of the Old World.

The reader will herein find a new understanding in social and religious thought. There is need of Viking courage now, that we may make peace the most militant thing in all the world. There is need of sympathy, that we may understand each other in this new brotherhood of man. There is need of personal purity. There is need of a true religion, without which we, too, must sink in the slough of desolation.

There is need of a broader vision on the extended horizon of a new, dawning day.

(Signed)

Hillsboro, N. D., May 25. 1919.

Chapter I

HE flaring lights of many candles illuminated the festive board of Thorold the Strong, son of Sigvat Skaldaspiller. At its head he sits, large and florid, his hair thick and ruddy. Ruddy too is his wavy beard, rippling over his broad bosom, His features are large and strong, his eyes are steely blue, his deportment is dignified, almost haughty. Along both sides of the table sit friends and retainers. Near the “high-seat,” occupied by the master, sit the relatives and close friends; below them, the retainers and servants, themselves the offspring of those who, in their time, served Thorold’s progenitors.

The huge trenchers of bread and meat had been emptied and the honey-cakes were brought on. Now the mead flowed freely. Skaal after skaal they drank, to the pagan kings, to Odin, to Thor, to a dozen lesser deities. Then the sound of the harps drew the young people into the dance, while Thorold was left at the table with the older men, faithful friends to him thru many a bout.

“Sing us now songs of the old kings and our Norse gods !” he cried, nodding to a young skald whp^ idly Jl^aning against the wall behind him, stood tensely watching a young girl as she flitted past with her partner in the dance, ''Sing, Oyvind, sing, for this purpose I brought you into my holdings !”

With a straightening, as if just roused from a dream, Oyvind took the harp and, with practiced fingers, awakened the sweet spirit of his loved instrument. His eyes flashed as he played. The young blood ran riot in his veins and stained his cheeks, for Gunlaug, daughter of Thorold the Strong, sent him a look that more than made up for his enforced stay among the older men.

'Tt is true, my friends,” continued the host in his mighty roar, turning to those around the table, "the White Christ must be worshiped in the church built for that purpose, now that Olaf has so ordained; but here in my hall, among my friends, here shall our old gods be held in reverence. Ye comfortable old gods, we drink to you!”

Oyvind the Skald was two and twenty, tall and slender, with a shock of yellow hair, which was inclined to curl. The beauty of his face, with its fresh coloring and delicately chiseled features, might well have been envied by a beautiful woman. His hands were small and well formed, his movements were as graceful as the panther’s walk. In his large, purple eyes lay the soul of a dreamer. Many were the bright eyes that slyly sought his, many the girlhearts that fluttered in sudden agitation in his presence.

But to Oyvind only one pair of eyes, only one form had any meaning. Without Gunlaug, daughter of Thor old the Strong, the happiest throng became but a sad gathering; the dreariest place that held her straightway became an earthly paradise, with singing birds and a wonder of grass and flowers.

Not only was Gunlaug the daughter of the richest man in Lesje, she was the handsomest woman in the valley. In many respects she was different from the blue-eyed, flaxen-haired maidens of her acquaintance. Thorold had been a far-going Viking in his day. From an expedition to the south he had brought with him one who, the saying went, was beautiful beyond the right of mortal woman. It was said her complexion was made of milk and blood, that her eyes were soft and black, like the blackest velvet from Frankland, but in their depths slumbered a fire that frightened all but Thorold.

Gunlaug had inherited her mother’s beauty of face and form. Her eyes were a mixture of velvety black and steely blue, resulting in a soft grey brown that reflected her every emotion in their clear pools. Her hair was coal-black and her complexion would have presented a baffling challenge to any artist, ambitious of immortalizing his prowess in the reproduction of the damask and the waxy white, struggling for mastery in her perfectly featured countenance. As the daughter of Thorold she would have been a queen in any gathering, even without her beauty; as it was, no one nourished any jealousy nor attempted to dispute with her the place of supremacy.

She was so far out of their class that their personal feelings entered not in at all in their regard of her. Hal she been a queen, in reality she could not have been farther removed from them, tho she was present in every gathering and carried herself precisely as the other maidens the country had produced.

Gradually the old Vikings fell under the influence of the mead, and with more noise than music they threw themselves into the songs, stamping their feet, clinking their filled bowls, laughing, cursing, drinking. Oyvind knew at what moment he could escape. After a long, tense look into Gunlaug’s eyes, as she came swinging towards him in the dance, he hung his harp on the wall and left the room.

With quick steps he walked into the wedge-shaped shadow of a giant pine, lying inky black across the scintillating surface of the new-fallen snow. It was Candlemas night. They had gathered early that morning, for there was much to do. First the remembrance cups of the Asa-gods were blessed, according to old forms. The young horses and cattle had been slain and the dishes had been sprinkled with their blood. The preceding summer had been cold and dry, resulting in a meagre crop of corn, and this, was the day to bespeak the Asa-gods’ aid for the following year. Accordingly, every ceremony was accompanied by prayers for a good season. They trembled, too, as they made their offerings. Evidently the old gods were angry that the people of Eesje had accepted Christianity. But now

THU WHITE DAWM 13

it was all over, only the feasting and dancing were left.

Presently Gimlaug emerged at a side entrance. A faint sound, like a night-bird’s call, led her to Oyvihd. First he found her hands, then he drew her into his arms.

“I love you, Gunlaug!” he whispered, “you are the sweetest, the most beautiful being on earth ! Just now, while I was compelled to sing for those old men and watch while you danced, first with one, then with another, I thought my heart would break. I had to see you ! Thank you for coming ! Thank you for listening! In my station of life I have no right to speak of my love, it would be meet that I should perish of loneliness rather than so speak to the daughter of Thorold the Strong, son of Sigvat Skaldaspiller 1”

Her hands went up around his neck and she pressed her burning cheek close to his face. “No ! No !” she murmured. “Don’t say that. I am glad you spoke. Glad you told me. Had you not, perhaps I should have perished in my despair. Did I think you loved another woman the spirit of my southern mother would perhaps rise up in me and I should do her harm ! The fierce blood they say runs in me would not suffer a rival to live! But now, come what will, this happiness of knowing that you love me will never pass.” Her voice trembled, and from her emotions she swayed in his arms like a reed in the wind.

“Is there any hope for me, Gunlaug?” he asked eagerly, “I shall do what you ask me to do. I shall no longer wander among the forest and mountains interpreting the wonderful music of nature. I shall hang my harp on the wall and go on Viking-raids. I will go to Gardarike, whither an expedition will soon be on the way. Many a poor man has found riches and renown in the land of the Russ.”

“Don’t lay up disappointment for yourself in such vain hopes,” whispered the girl ; “that would not appeal to my father. He wants me to marry a landowner who can give me a good living and as many maidens in the servants’ quarters as I now possess. You might return a Russ jarl, and it would not move him. Perhaps this very night he decides whom I shall wed.”

She shivered, for she remembered Gunstein the Brave, who that moment sat drinking with her father. He had sent her such appraising glances while she moved about the dance. It had filled her with such a strange fear.

“But if I secure the riches by which I can buy for you the things your father desires his daughter to possess?” persisted Oyvind.

“My father would not let me wait, my skald,” she whispered, “even now he may have chosen him whom I must wed.”

Oyvind made no reply, only held her a little closer as in defiance of any one who might attempt to take her from him.

'‘There is only one thing we can do/’ she murmured ; “as long as I am free I shall come to you, like this, till we are discovered. Tonight I am free, the gods know for how long!”

“You shall not be wed to any one against your wishes!” he declared fiercely, “I will not suffer it, Gunlaug! I shall find a way! I shall steal you! I may sell my soul to the Christians’ Devil, but I’ll never allow any one to take you from me lest you so wish!”

“Don’t, Oyvind !” she protested, shuddering. “Don’t mock at the Christians’ Devil! The White Christ is a much greater God than the ^ser, whom the men still worship, and I am afraid of the Christians’ Devil! The good priests tell us he is worse than the Jjz^tuls and the Frost Giants, that he reigns over a region far worse than the one of Hel, goddess of the shades, and there is no escape from him after he has once reached his claws into you. I better pray to the White Christ and His Holy Mother that They forgive that dreadful speech. Perhaps the Virgin will help us, as Freya has been known to help unhappy lovers. And, listen ! No longer do we hear the harps, Oyvind! You must let me go lest we be missed and suspicion aroused at once.”

A few days after the feast a rider stopped in Thorold’s tun. He bore a messenger-token from Olaf, calling Thorold the Strong to Nidaros.

Olaf was very angry when the old Viking came before him.

“What is it I hear of thee and the people of Lesje?” he asked sharply. “Didst not thou and all thy people accept the White Christ when my laws were read to your binder, assembled in Thing, and did I not then make thee my lens-man? Now I have learned that, at Candlemas-tide, thou, with thy friends and people, hadst a feast, blessing the remembrance cups and making sacrificial ofYerings to the ^ser? Is it so you do in Lesje?”

“We had no other feasts than our friendly drinking-parties,” replied Thorold with dignity. “What may have been told you that should have fallen from our lips, how do I know? Lesje’s people, mothers’ men of good understanding, would take care not to use such language. But from using foolish and drunken talk I can not keep the people.”

“But I understand that you have feasts round about where you offer to the ^ser for peace and a good season,” persisted Olaf.

“We have had Yule-feasts and Candlemas feasts round the district,” returned Thorold diplomatically, “and our people do not prepare their feasts so sparingly that there is not something left over that can be consumed afterwards. It is hard, at times, to know who may partake. My holdings are large, with many houses. From far and near people come, and it is a joy to drink together, many in one company.”

Olaf knew Thorold lied. When he bade him godspeed he said:

“I shall come to Lesje, Thorold, sooner or later, then I shall come to the truth of what you are telling me. So if you and your people have overstepped the bonds laid upon you by the White Christ and the Holy Church, do not try it again!”

Then Thorold went home. He sent messenger-tokens all about the valley, and when they met together he said to his men :

“I have come from Nidaros, where I went in answer to Olafs command. He is enraged. He thinks, since he had made me his lens-man, I should have kept you to the new faith. He has an eye on Lesje, and we must have a care lest we be found guilty of disobeying his laws. That Olaf finds illy done, and it will mean that some of us will lose eye or limb, be taken into strange places as hostages, or laid in irons. From now on it behooves us well to be on the lookout against those who carry tales to Olaf.”

Chapter II

FTECT INTER gave way to spring — spring in the Northland, where the tender green of the birch against the sombre background of the pine and spruce forests makes a pleasing pattern which, in its restfulness, is never seen except in the North. Spring had returned with its myriad birds, among which the nightingale sang his wonderful love-notes, and with its balmy, transparent nights, during which the sun barely sets.

Gunlaug was always abroad then, and at that season of the year no one ever tried to keep her indoors. Often at peep of dawn she left her home to wander among the trees and the mountains all day, perhaps till far into the night. She loved the beauty of her wild surroundings, she reveled in the sweet scents of growing things, and she talked to the girds and animals. These had no fear of the silver-voiced maiden and she, in turn, knew not the need of fear. Perhaps there were dangerous animals and even more dangerous men, but she knew nothing of either. She enjoyed the free life of the woodland fawn as soon as the welcome visitor, spring, had reached into the deep valley, where, for generations, her forefathers had made their homes.

There was one place where she especially loved to linger. It was in a deep grotto, cut into the perpendicular wall of the mountain, rising high above its fellows, called Ditmorpiggen. It was a little hard of access, but by climbing upward, zigzag fashion, and high above the grotto, she could let herself down to a narrow ledge leading to the mouth of the cave. The floor of the cavern was covered with a deep layer of sand, the result of centuries’ erosion, mingled with dry leaves, sent in by the wind. After entering, which was accomplished by getting down on one’s knees, there was room for the tallest man to stand upright, and the floor covered, roughly speaking, about twelve feet square.

The place was to become still dearer to Gunlaug, for one day she met Oyvind near Ditmorpiggen. His face turned crimson at the sight of her. With a sudden spring he stood before her, arms outstretched.

‘T was just wondering how it would seem to meet you in the woods !” he cried. “I can scarcely believe my own senses ! Almost I fear I have encountered an elf-maiden who has taken your form to bewitch me ! Who knows but she’ll resume her natural appearance in my embrace?”

A sudden chill struck her heart. Then she shook it off and laughed shyly up at him. “Pray that you never come nearer to the elf-maidens than now, Oyvind,” she said with whimsical solemnity. “From me they are ever far away.”

In obedience to her request he climbed the mountain with her. Then carefully they glided downward to the ledge, which they followed till they stood before the grotto. Then they stooped and crept within.

“How wonderful! It must have been made for unfortunate lovers, without a portion, this light and airy little cavern, Gunlaug!” he cried as they sat together among the sand and leaves, her head against his breast.

“I, too, have thought so,” she smiled back at him. “Could I let you know when I come here, this should be our trysting-place, Oyvind. We must think of some signal by which to let each other know we are present here.”

“Would it be well for you?” asked Oyvind wistfully. “Might not your father discover that you meet the poor, unportioned skald here, in this lonely mountain cavern? Might it not bring you trouble, dearest ?”

“Let trouble come!” she cried with eyes ablaze, “I dare risk anything for your love, your companionship ! What lies in the future, this I know not, now Fm free ! Even now my father may have chosen him whom I must wed. When I am a wife it’ll be too late ; till then I shall follow my own inclinations, unless you, Oyvind, are afraid.”

“I ?” he laughed. Then he grew serious. “Have you any preference?” he asked jealously, “is there any one you wish him to select for you?”

“Yes,” she replied demurely, “there is one.”

THB WHITU DAWN

He sat up, stiff and forbidding; with a jerk he withdrew his arms from about her and folded them across his breast. “Of course, it would be too much if I should venture to ask his name?” he murmured, pale and trembling.

Gunlaug laughed a low, rippling, teasing laugh. “Of course you may ask, and don’t you wish I’d tell?” she returned, looking up at him from the corners of her eyes.

A vivid flame burned in his eyes, a slow white wave crept around his mouth, but he was silent. At last Gunlaug felt pity for his suffering.

“Dearest,” she whispered, “his name is Oyvind the Skald !”

He opened his arms to her and she crept back, with her head nestling against his side. She felt how his heart pounded as if it would break from its narrow prison. His face was no longer white, but the flame in his eyes continued, tho not the white flame of pain and disappointment. It was one equally deadly, and in it there lurked the greatest danger to the unwary lovers.

Chapter III

« HE glorious spring days not only tended to feed the flame of love that burned in the hearts of Oyvind and Gunlaug, they also brought back to life the tiny spark lurking among the ashes of the past. Gunlaug’s fear that night in February had not been unfounded. Gunstein the Brave, so called from his many Viking-raids, was rapidly throwing off the grief for his deceased spouse and had begun to look for someone to occupy the place of the dear defunct at his fire-side. For six years she had slumbered in the grave which was dug for her and which, since the advent of the White Christ, had been consecrated by the priest. There let her rest. His fifteen-year-old daughter needed a firmer hand than that of his aged aunt. The boys needed attention, too.

Above all he needed a closer companion than any he had now, and he wanted a maiden, young, strong, and comely. He had not far to go. He had kept an eye on Gunlaug, daughter of Thorold the Strong, son of Sigvat Skaldaspiller. She was the one woman worthy of him. He would ride out to her father’s gaard and bid her fair.

The blood of kings flowed in Gunlaug’s veins.

Thorold was the son of Gunhild, daughter of Earl Halfdan and Ingeborg, who was daughter of Harald Haarfagre, the first king to rule the whole of Norseland. Adding to this that Thorold was the king’s lens-man and held more land in fief than any one else in Lesje, it is easy to see that Gunstein might well be proud to bid the maiden fair. In the matter of Viking-raids, none in Lesje could compete with Gunstein, none could boast so loudly as he nor so long. He had often sworn there was only one woman worthy to fill the big place at his side, Gunlaug, daughter of Thorold, the loveliest and mpst loved woman in all of Lesje.

Now that the time for going a-courting had arrived, he routed out his men. After they all had made themselves tidy, he set out with them, in state, as it behooves a man of his station, bent upon an important mission.

The old Viking presented a heroic figure as, astride his horse, he set out ahead of his dozen house-carls, towards the broad highway, leading to Thorold’s holdings. He wore a round cap, fitting tightly, and hiding the bald pate that bespoke advancing age. His short coat was buttoned with a double row of silver buttons. His grey vadmel breeches were held about the knees by newly polished silver buckles. His legs were covered with spirally wound vadmel, ending in low cow-hide shoes, also resplendent with silver buckles.

Thorold’s men met him at the gate and took the horse. Gunstein jumped lightly to the ground and, with outstretched hand, walked towards Thorold, who was coming to meet him.

“Good day. Friend Thorold, and thanks for when last we met greeted Gunstein.

“Thanks to yourself,” returned Thorold with a grip few men could have endured. “Call your men,” he went on hospitably, “my knaves shall take their beasts while the wenches in the servant quarters will gladly see after such stalwart carls as yours. In the meantime you and I shall have a dish of mead and a honey-cake in my hall.”

Side by side the two sturdy old men walked towards the guest-hall, a long structure across the tun from Gunlaug’s buildings.

Trenchers with meat and bread, pewter plates heaped high with honey-cakes and beakers of mead were set before the master and his guest, while they talked of wind and weather. They talked of the last expedition to Gardarike, of Bishop GrimkeFs harsh measures, of Thorold’s visit to Nidaros. They seemed glad to lay their tongues to any subject except that next to their hearts. The etiquette of the occasion demanded that the real errand should come out, as an afterthought, when the seemingly important business had been dispatched.

At last Gunstein cleared his throat. “I came in a weighty errand,” he began. “It is bearing in upon me, my friend Thorold, that I need some one to take the place of my dear, departed Ingegjerd. Whom should I then bid fair but the most beautiful maiden of the North, Gunlaug, daughter of my old friend, Thorold the Strong, son of Sigvat Skaldaspiller ?”

Thorold in turn cleared his throat. Then he replied with proper dignity :

“And for this I thank you. Whom should I as lief see ride into my holdings and bid me fair for my daughter as Gunstein the Brave, than whom none is richer in worldly goods, than whom none is more respected in Lesje, than whom none has a stronger heart in his breast! Added to all this, you are the friend of my youth. My consent to your suit I shall give, and I can also promise that of the girl, for she has been reared in the fear of the White Christ and obedience to her father. Bide here, Gunstein, I will hence to bring the maiden. From her own lips you shall hear your answer.”

“Remember, Thorold, there must be no pressure made to bear upon the maid,” returned Gunstein with a touch of hauteur, “there are enough maidens in the Northland would gladly be bride to Gunstein the Brave. I was happy with my cherished Ingegjerd, for she loved me ; I would my second wife would do likewise.”

A light cloud sat for a moment on Thorold’s forehead. “No need is there for pressure,” he replied a little sharply, “my daughter, since Olaf forbade the old gods, has been brought up to obey her father and fear the Lord. I shall bring her to you. In her father’s guest-hall you shall bid the maiden fair.”

But Thorold returned with empty hands to the impatient suitor. Nowhere was Gunlaug to be found. Shortly after this Gunstein rode away with his carls, having exchanged with his friend mutual promises of felicity and faithfulness. Gunstein promised, too, that he would again ride into Thorold’s gaard, then to receive the coveted bride.

Chapter IV

UNLAUG had been the first one to see Gunstein as he rode in with his men. The gala costume he wore and the retinue of carls, accompanying him, made it easy to guess the nature of his errand. Like a flash it came to her, that appraising look from him, when she danced at the celebration of Candlemas. He had not been so far gone under the influence of the mead as the other men and she feared Gunstein had guessed her meeting with Oyvind that night.

It occurred to her, too, that Gunstein would not need to ask twice for her. It was to such a man her father would pledge her or not at all. In sudden panic she made her way into the woods, which quickly shut her out of sight from the home buildings.

Two young women, her cousin Gunhild and the maid Ylve, sat outside the women’s hall and saw Gunstein’s arrival and the reception he received at Thorold’s hands. Gunhild sighed.

“I fear me that my father’s brother will mate our young lady with the old Gunstein the Brave,” she said. She was a year older than Gunlaug, but after Thorold’s second wife, Thora, had died, the girl had stayed and looked after her cousin as if she had been an older sister.

“And it fares but ill if he does,” added Ylve, “it is but poor policy to mate young blood with such an old, heathen relic. Also, methinks she^ has found him her heart lists.”

“Wist ye that!” cried Gunhild with a quick look about her. “Have you, too, a suspicion that she finds him in the forest? Have you, too, observed that her wanderings are more frequent, her stay more prolonged than ever before? She scarcely sleeps under roof. The forest and mountains have her by day and by night.”

“Yes, I have observed it,” replied Ylve. “She has no fear of the bear, of the wolf, nor of any other wild things that prowl in the forest and among the naked crags. Something there is to protect her. Methinks it is a lover.”

“And still, can we blame the child?” cried Gunhild with trembling lips. “I may have been wrong not to watch her more closely, but how could I? For a few glorious weeks now she is free to roam, to love, where her heart chooses. Then Thorold will wed her to Gunstein or some other equally rich and equally far from pleasing our fair lady. After that her freedom is gone. Thereafter she will be as in a cage, and there will be no deliverance. These old codgers are hearty, you know, and bid fair to live long. Perhaps, however, I have done wrong in letting her come and go in that manner, according to her own sweet desire. Sometimes I fear that a lifetime of agony may have to pay for this her brief period of happiness. I like not this visit from Gunstein the Brave. It bodes ill for our sweet maid.”

Happily they were both unable to answer Thorold when he came and craved news of his daughter’s whereabouts.

“Her way leads into the forest,” said Gunhild, “and always she comes back unharmed. Such is her nature that she returns more sprightly, more lovely, each time she goes.”

“Yes, yes,” mumbled Thorold. Gunlaug was the pride of his heart, the joy of his existence, so like the adored Bianca, the mate of his youth. Bianca, child of the sun, who in the cold Northland had perished among the staid people of his kind. He had loved the beautiful woman, whom he had stolen from her sunny home, with an intensity peculiar to his nature. For this reason he had never been able to deny his child her desire to roam in the wilds. It had often worried him, too, this strange infatuation for the forest. In the Northland forest and mountain were endowed with a spirit conceived as a sinister force in the lives of individuals. But even tho Thorold had been lenient in this, it did not follow that he would yield to her entreaties in case she asked to be relieved of Gunstein. Gunhild wiped away the hot tears as she sat watching Thorold return to the guest-hall. In her mind Gunlaug was already as good as married to the old man.

In the meantime Gunlaug had dipped into the forest and was on her way to Ditmorpiggen. Over the thick carpet of pine-needles that silenced her tread she hurried towards her place of refuge, the grotto. Practically every day since she first met Oyvind near there they had met in the cavern, and many a happy hour had they spent in their cozy trysting-place. Oyvind was a wanderer, a dreamer, ever searching out the hidden melodies in the forest, glen, and mountain, and his aunt, his only relative, never knew where to find him. Not that it really mattered, however, for the wheels of the simple home machinery turned with equal precision whether Oyvind lounged in the shade by the wall, coaxing out the new melodies from the strings of his harp, or tramping into the farthest corner of the valley in his restless search.