Free Hrolf Kraki's Saga by Poul Anderson Page B

for gold?”
    “In that wise, there’s none like her.”
    “I’d heard the same. Well, then, she’ll like this, and she’s bound to claim it, here being her land. Now I don’t want to turn my good luck into bad and try hiding a treasure. How could one like me grow rich overnight, and not be supposed a robber and strung up for crowbait? No, let her take it, and give me what part she sees fit; that’s best. D’you think she’ll trouble herself to come after the hoard?”
    “That I do, if she can go unbeknownst save for a close-mouthed warrior or two.”
    “I was about to say that’s how she’d better fare,” nodded the wanderer. “If her find got noised abroad, the headmen of the kingdom would await feasts and gifts; and they tell me as how she’s a chary one. But look here, I don’t want anybody else about. Only you and her. You can see I’m nothing to be afraid of.” He stooped and reached. “Here’s a jewel and a ring I’ll bury offside and give you afterward, can you get her to come alone. Should she grow angry at you, I’ll take care of that.”
    At first the thrall refused. Smooth swift-flowing talk turned his mind. He guessed the stranger knew of more gold elsewhere, and wanted to bargain about it under four eyes. So glib a tongue could surely turn the queen’s wrath. And later he, the thrall, could give her those two costly things in payment for his freedom and a bit of a farm.
    Thus he left the stave-carl on guard and himself hastened to the lodge, his heart thumping. He needed a while to get Olof aside, where he panted to her how he had found a mighty hoard, and asked her to follow him and lay hands on it, telling no one else lest envy of him make them spiteful.
    Her rust-brown eyes weighed him. A flush crept over her broad-boned face. “If you’re telling the truth,” she answered, “this news will bring you luck. Otherwise it’ll cost you your head. However, I’ve always found you faithful. I’ll trust what you say.”
    She set a meeting after dark. At that time she arose, dressed, and sneaked from her bower. The watch was against a band or a fleet of foes. A single person, used to stalking game, went easily past. Beneath a moon-silvered oak stood the thrall. He guided her into the murk beyond.
    The chests lay close to a small glade. Moonlight drifted between leaves and boughs to pick out the glint of metal—on a drawn sword in the hand of the man who stepped from night.
    “Greeting, Queen Olof,” laughed his hidden lips. “Do you remember Helgi Halfdansson?”
    She shrieked, whirled, and started to run. In a long stride, he caught her. The thrall whimpered and struck at him with his staff. Helgi’s blade knocked it aside. “I could slay you, fellow,” said the king, as steadily as if the woman were not yelling, writhing, clawing, and kicking in his grasp. “But since we’ll be gone before you can fetch help, my rede is that you flee elsewhere.” The thrall gibbered. Helgi pointed downward with his sword. “There lies that which I promised you.” The thrall was not too stunned to pick it up. Helgi poked swordpoint at him. “Go!” The thrall crashed off through the brush.
    Helgi sheathed his blade. “Be still,” he told Olof, and gave her a cuff that rattled her teeth. “Did you think I’d leave your treachery unavenged?”
    She fell to hands and knees, sobbed a short while, rose and stammered, “Yes, right, I’ve borne myself ill toward you. In payment, I’ll … now … become your lawful wife.”
    “No,” said he, “you won’t get by so easily this time. You’re coming along to my ship, and there you’ll stay as long as I want. For the sake of my honor I can’t do aught but treat you as grossly and shamefully as you did me.”
    “Tonight must your will be done,” she whispered.
    He used woodcraft to hide their trail the first part of the way. Later was no need, in that spear-wall of brush. He did not drag her along. Once she tried to break from the