Hakon of Rogen's Saga

6

THE WIND blew from the east and carried the voices of the invaders up to us on the mountain. We watched them take possession of our homes, and knew by the rising smoke from the hole in the roof above the hearth that the fires had been lit again. We were so near our homes that we could see everything; and yet, so far away that most of us despaired of ever living in them again. As Thora had feared, it was not Magnus Thorsen who led the invaders, but his nephew, Rolf Blackbeard, renowned for his ability with a s\vord and his courage. But courage without pity and feeling is mere brutality, and deserves even more contempt than cowardliness does. Magnus had stayed at home, telling anyone in Tronhjem who cared to listen to him that my father was a common robber and it was beneath his dignity to punish him personally. An agreement might have been reached with Magnus, for he wr as fond of gold and probably would have found a price for his honor. Rolf was cruel. He found pleasure in playing with his victims . He was a cat, not a bear. My stepmother, Thora, hated him; for her heart bled for the weak who like 36 6 sticks of wood are caught in the surf, those lowly ones whose death no one desiresto avenge. The first few days, the invaders did not come near our mountain fortress. They were busy planning their attack. They sent scouts to spy on us, but they were careful to keep at a distance, beyond the reach of an arrow. Each day that spared us from battle weakened our spirit. We watched the water diminish in our lake, and it seemed to me that our courage sank with it. In all the stories of ancient times that I had ever heard during the long winter nights, the hero was fearless, he went into battle as lighthearted as if he were attending a feast. Were all these stories lies, or were they just dreams? In a hunchback's dream, no back is crooked. Still, I believe I know now what courage is: it is to smile, when fear has locked all smiles within your breast. A week passed without any battle. We wounded one of their scouts, and they, one of our sentries. But in order for our losses to be equal we should have wounded four of their men, for we were but seventy and they were more than three hundred. On Odin's Day, ten days after their arrival, the enemy attacked in force. On the morning of that hideous day, a thick fog came up from the south. Beginning on the sea, it had crawled over the island and up the mountainside, until it covered our camp. We could see nothing; but almost worse was the fact that we could not hear. The 37 voice of a person standing nearby sounded as if it came from a great distance. Our sentries did not see their attackers before they were upon them. They screamed for help, but the fog made it difficult for us to guess from what direction the screamscame. Though the fog gave the enemy an initial advantage, it proved no friend to them either. For we fought on land that we knew, while they were fighting on strange soil, and often we heard their curses as they stumbled upon the rocks. It was a strange battle. An approaching shadow might be an enemy or a friend, and more than one man killed hiscomrade, that day. "To the ships! To the ships!" This loud cry, asif shouted by a giant, rent its way through the fog, and all men stood still. "For Odin! For Odin!" This time it was my father 's voice, and it felt as if cold water were trickling down our spines. "To the ships!" our enemiesnow screamed. "For Odin!" we answered, asloud aswe could. The enemy retreated down the side of the mountain. The sun broke through the fog and tore it asunder, leaving the mountaintop bare in the noonday sun. For a moment we stood in silence, then the screams, curses, and moans of the wounded began. This is the song of the battlefield that no one dares tell. Twelve of our comrades were shooting arrows in Odin's company, and another six were wounded so seriously that we...