Hakon of Rogen's Saga

9

THE SONG of the sea is always pleasant to the ear; only the shipwrecked or the starving fisherman will curse it, as the storm-whipped ocean laughs at his misery. From my childhood on, it has ever been my friend, I have listened to its gay song in summer, and my heart has followed its beat when the winds have whipped it to anger in the fall storms. The song of the sea is nature's greatest song. It is, I believe, the voices of the gods, for in the laughter of the sea, there are hidden tears, and in its anger, laughter. The bird's song in spring has no promise of winter in its melody; and the cry of the seagull in winter, no promise of spring. Only the voice of the sea says "I am eternal. I am eternal." And that blessing makes it laugh when the hot sun fondles it, and that curse makes it sigh when the stormtorn , white moon of winter kisses it. At dawn — while we were still sleeping — the day after the enemy had left, my uncle and his men came. They were all armed, and my uncle was on horseback. Sigurd Sigurdson flung open the door with such force that it banged against the wall, awakening all of us. With sleep-matted eyes we stared at him. He was wearing his finest clothes and his right hand rested on 57 9 his sword hilt. "Awake and dress yourselves," he cried, assuming what he must have thought to be a masterful pose. "You are late, Sigurd," one of my father's old comrades spoke from his bench. "We are tired from work. We have earned a bit of sleep. Go sing your song somewhere else." My uncle had little courage but much pride. He drew his sword and walked over to Bjorn, who was lying motionless on his bench, as if he intended to return to sleep. "Get up, Bjorn." Bjorn smiled and said, "I think I hear a fly buzzing, a carrion fly." "I warned you!" screamed my uncle, his face contorted with anger. Then swiftly, before anyone could stop him, he thrust hissword through Bjorn. "Brave man," Bjorn muttered; then sighing, he spoke his last words, "Now I shall sleep." Blood flowed from his mouth, and his body twisted and fell with a dull thud from hisbench to the floor. Rogen that had first been ruled by my father's justice , and later by my stepmother's love, now would know how it felt to be ruled by the sword. Like many weak people's, my uncle's cruelty was dictated by his fears. Ruled by fear himself, he could not conceive that man could be governed by love and respect. Several of the men in the hall gladly would have killed him, but behind him stood his men with swords drawn. We were a sad-looking group that stood outside the hall in the yellow light of the early autumn morning. 58 My uncle climbed back upon his horse, feeling no doubt that he could impress us more, speaking from that position. "My brother harvested the crop that grows from the seeds of folly. The gods have meant people to be ruled, and have given them kings and earls and chieftains to obey. My brother thought himself mightier than Magnus Thorsen and paid the price of disobedience , asBjornhas just paid it." Some men mumbled something about not being slaves, but none dared to speakaloud. "I am now the ruler of Rogen, and those who serve me well shall be fittingly rewarded. And so" — here my uncle laughed — "shall those who serve me ill." To our surprise, two of Sigurd's men now entered the hall and came back with the body of Bjorn. "For those who disobey me, there will be shame, and their death shall be like the death of an animal." Turning to his men he ordered, "Go, throw his body into the sea, and let thefisheseat it." I thought the murder of Bjorn a shameful deed, but his last resting place not an unfit one for a hero. Each of us had to swear allegiance to Sigurd. When my turn came, my uncle said, "I need not the word of a child. I shall be in your father's stead, and I shall teach you humility. Go among the women, and give me that...