han conjecture, and I have been
content with "cousinship."

C. W. Whistler

Stockland, 1898.

Chapter I. The Seeking of Sword Helmbiter.

Men call me "King Alfred's Viking," and I think that I may be proud
of that name; for surely to be trusted by such a king is honour
enough for any man, whether freeman or thrall, noble or churl.
Maybe I had rather be called by that name than by that which was
mine when I came to England, though it was a good title enough that
men gave me, if it meant less than it seemed. For being the son of
Vemund, king of Southmereland in Norway, I was hailed as king when
first I took command of a ship of my own. Sea king, therefore, was
I, Ranald Vemundsson, but my kingdom was but over ship and men, the
circle of wide sea round me was nought that I could rule over, if I
might seem to conquer the waves by the kingship of good seaman's
craft.

One may ask how I came to lose my father's kingdom, which should
have been mine, and at last to be content with a simple English
earldom; or how it was that a viking could be useful to Alfred, the
wise king. So I will tell the first at once, and the rest may be
learned from what comes after.

If one speaks to me of Norway, straightway into my mind comes the
remembrance of the glare of a burning hall, of the shouts of savage
warriors, and of the cries of the womenfolk, among whom I, a
ten-year-old boy, was when Harald Fairhair sent the great Jarl
Rognvald and his men to make an end of Vemund, my father. For
Harald had sworn a great oath to subdue all the lesser kings in the
land and rule there alone, like Gorm in Denmark and Eirik in
Sweden. So my father's turn came, and as he feasted with his ninety
stout courtmen, the jarl landed under cover of the dark and fell on
him, surrounding the house and firing it. Then was fierce fighting
as my father and his men sallied again and again from the doors and
were driven back, until the high roof fell in and there was a
sudden silence, and an end.

Then in the silence came my mother's voice from where she stood on
the balcony of the living house across the garth {i}. I mind
that she neither wept nor shrieked as did the women round her, and
her voice was clear and strong over the roaring of the flames. I
mind, too, the flash of helms and armour as every man turned to
look on her who spoke.

"Coward and nidring art thou, Rognvald, who dared not meet Vemund,
my husband, in open field, but must slay him thu