Hakon of Rogen's Saga

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1 4 TOMORROW, that for so long had meant added fear, now was a word of comfort to me. So foolish was my uncle's and Eirik's rule over Rogen that the movement of the sun — time itself — worked in our favor. The tyrant falls, not because he is too weak, but because he is too strong; each injustice that seemingly strengthens his position, actually hastens his downfall. The dead body of Bjorn was more dangerous to Sigurd than Bjorn alive would have been. It was a symbol to the weak and the downtrodden, and when they would begin to fear for their own lives, their very cowardice would lead them to perform deeds that a brave man would never stoop to. The tyrant lives in fear of poison, the knife in the shadow, and the witch's brew. The brave and the just know their enemies as well as they know their friends. The tyrant can only guess at the fear that lives in the hearts of his subjects and, by ever increasing it, hope to escapetheirvengeance. Harold the Bowbender had told me that he would come to the cave with Rark when the sun had sunk into the sea for the fourth time after our meeting. During these four days I stayed in the cave and Trold was 93 a great comfort to me. I imagined poor Helga walking the mountainside looking for me, probably not knowing herself that she was a bait in Eirik the Fox's trap. I kept repeating to myself, "Harold will protect her." But I did not dare askmyself how. It was Trold's growl that told me of the arrival of Harold and Rark. I had retreated to the back of the big cave; while at the entrance I had built a fire, so that I could see anyone who might enter without being seen myself. "Hakon!" Rark called. I ran from my hiding place to embrace my friend. Rark was smiling and his eyes were moist. Tears are funny guests, as fond of arriving when you are happy as when you are unhappy. Harold's news was better than I had hoped for. For two days Eirik and his men had followed little Helga as she scoured the northern and eastern sides of the Mountain of the Sun. The steeper western and southern faces of the mountain she had avoided, complaining that they were too difficult to climb. When we heard this, Rark and I nodded our heads in amazement and admiration. Helga must haveguessed Eirik the Fox's plot, and suspected that I might be hiding in the same cave to which Rark had taken her, when Ulv Erikson washunting them. Poor Helga was tired, but no one hurt her. My uncle himself called off the search for me, and declared me dead. My birthright he claimed for his own eldest son. Few believed my uncle's assertion, and seven of the best warriors on Rogen told Harold the Bowbender 94 that, if I were alive, they would come to my aid as soon as I unfurled my banner. My old plan of escaping by boat was now discarded, and a new plan was formed — the retaking of Rogen. It would have been best for us if we could have waited — at least as long as it takes the moon to wane and grow full again — but we did not dare. Eirik the Fox had a sharp nose and a coward's heart. He was trying to convince my uncle to ban Harold and four other men from the island. They were to be given a small boat and enough food to reach the mainland. In this way Eirik hoped to get rid of his most troublesome subjects without creating new enemies. Apparently none but Rark and myself needed to fear for his life, for Eirik and my uncle had finally realized how much hate the murdering of freemen aroused. I thought it best that Rark should stay with me, but he refused, explaining that his escape might spoil our plot. We had decided that we would attack Eirik's hall on the first night of the dark moon. We were to meet at sunset, by those rocks which Eirik hid behind when he shot an arrow at me. It was sad to say goodbye to my friends, for, though my dog Trold was good company, I...