“One thing there is that makes me glad,”
he said, “and that is because I may now be held
worthy of this sweet bride of mine so strangely given,
as indeed I fear that I am not. Men will say that
she has done no wrong in wedding me; and for all that
Alsi may say, it will be believed that she knew well
whom she was wedding. There will be no blame to
her.”
That seemed to be all his thought of the matter now,
and it was like him. Then he went back to his
princess, and we spurred on to Grimsby, and set all
to work, that the greeting might be all that we could
make it.
And so, when those two rode into our garth, and the
gates were closed after them, we reined our horses
round them, and drew our swords, and cried the ancient
greeting with one mighty shout:
“Skoal to Havelok Gunnarsson—Skoal
to Goldberga, Havelok’s wife! Skoal!
Yours we are, and for you we will die! Skoal!”
Now one would like to tell of quiet days at Grimsby;
but they were not to be. Three days after Havelok’s
homecoming we were on the “swan’s path,”
and heading for Denmark, with the soft south wind of
high summer speeding us on the way. And I will
tell how that came about, for else it may seem strange
that Havelok did not see to the rights of his wife
first of all.
That was his first thought, in truth, and we brothers
planned many ways of getting to work for her, for
it was certain that Alsi would be on his guard.
And on the next day came a man from Lincoln to seek
Berthun, with news. That good friend had done
what none of us had been able to manage, for he had
told the merchant, his friend, to bide in the hall
and hear what went on, and then to let him know all
else that seemed needful that we should hear.
Now he had learned all from the words of Griffin and
Alsi, who took no care in their speech, thinking that
none in the hall knew the Welsh tongue that they used.
It being the business of a merchant to know that of
every place where he trades, and he travelling widely,
there was no difficulty to him, and mightily he enjoyed
the sport. Then he sent off straightway to us;
and now it was plain that we were in danger—not
at once, maybe, but ere long. Griffin would hear
sooner or later that his quarry was in Grimsby after
all. So we went to our good old friend, Witlaf
of Stallingborough, and told him all.
“Why,” he said, “I will have no
Welsh outsiders harrying my friends. Light up
your beacon if he comes, and shut your gates in his
face, and I and the housecarls will take him in the
rear, and he will not wait here long. I have
not had a fight for these twenty years or so, and it
does me good to think of one.”
So we thought that there was little fear of the Welshman.
When I came back from this errand, however, I chose
to pass the mound where my father slept, and on it,
hand in hand, sat Havelok and Goldberga—for
it was a quiet place, and none came near it often.
It was good to see them thus in that place, and happy
they seemed together.
