How Geirald the Coward Was Punished

How Geirald The Coward Was Punished

Once upon a time there lived a poor knight who had a great many

children, and found it very hard to get enough for them to eat. One day

he sent his eldest son, Rosald, a brave and honest youth, to the

neighbouring town to do some business, and here Rosald met a young man

named Geirald, with whom he made friends.

Now Geirald was the son of a rich man, who was proud of the boy, and

had all his life allowed him to do whatever he fancied, and, luckily

for the father, he was prudent and sensible, and did not waste money,

as many other rich young men might have done. For some time he had set

his heart on travelling into foreign countries, and after he had been

talking for a little while to Rosald, he asked if his new friend would

be his companion on his journey.

“There is nothing I should like better,” answered Rosald, shaking his

head sorrowfully; “but my father is very poor, and he could never give

me the money.”

“Oh, if that is your only difficulty, it is all right,” cried Geirald.

“My father has more money than he knows what to do with, and he will

give me as much as I want for both of us; only, there is one thing you

must promise me, Rosald, that, supposing we have any adventures, you

will let the honour and glory of them fall to me.”

“Yes, of course, that is only fair,” answered Rosald, who never cared

about putting himself forward. “But I cannot go without telling my

parents. I am sure they will think me lucky to get such a chance.”

As soon as the business was finished, Rosald hastened home. His parents

were delighted to hear of his good fortune, and his father gave him his

own sword, which was growing rusty for want of use, while his mother

saw that his leather jerkin was in order.

“Be sure you keep the promise you made to Geirald,” said she, as she

bade him good-bye, “and, come what may, see that you never betray him.”

Full of joy Rosald rode off, and the next day he and Geirald started

off to seek adventures. To their disappointment their own land was so

well governed that nothing out of the common was very likely to happen,

but directly they crossed the border into another kingdom all seemed

lawlessness and confusion.

They had not gone very far, when, riding across a mountain, they caught

a glimpse of several armed men hiding amongst some trees in their path,

and remembered suddenly some talk they had heard of a band of twelve

robbers who lay in wait for rich travellers. The robbers were more like

savage beasts than men, and lived somewhere at the top of the mountain

in caves and holes in the ground. They were all called “Hankur,” and

were distinguished one from another by the name of a colour—blue, grey,

red, and so on, except their chief, who was known as Hankur the Tall.

All this and more rushed into the minds of the two young men as they

saw the flash of their swords in the moonlight.

“It is impossible to fight them—they are twelve to two,” whispered

Geirald, stopping his horse in the path. “We had much better ride back

and take the lower road. It would be stupid to throw away our lives

like this.”

“Oh, we can’t turn back,” answered Rosald, “we should be ashamed to

look anyone in the face again! And, besides, it is a grand opportunity

to show what we are made of. Let us tie up our horses here, and climb

up the rocks so that we can roll stones down on them.”

“Well, we might try that, and then we shall always have our horses,”

said Geirald. So they went up the rocks silently and carefully.

The robbers were lying all ready, expecting every moment to see their

victims coming round the corner a few yards away, when a shower of huge

stones fell on their heads, killing half the band. The others sprang up

the rock, but as they reached the top the sword of Rosald swung round,

and one man after another rolled down into the valley. At last the

chief managed to spring up, and, grasping Rosald by the waist, flung

away his sword, and the two fought desperately, their bodies swaying

always nearer the edge. It seemed as if Rosald, being the smaller of

the two, MUST fall over, when, with his left hand, he drew the robber’s

sword out of its sheath and plunged it into his heart. Then he took

from the dead man a beautiful ring set with a large stone, and put it

on his own finger.

The fame of this wonderful deed soon spread through the country, and

people would often stop Geirald’s horse, and ask leave to see the

robber’s ring, which was said to have been stolen from the father of

the reigning king. And Geirald showed them the ring with pride, and

listened to their words of praise, and no one would ever have guessed

anyone else had destroyed the robbers.

In a few days they left the kingdom and rode on to another, where they

thought they would stop through the remainder of the winter, for

Geirald liked to be comfortable, and did not care about travelling

through ice and snow. But the king would only grant them leave to stop

on condition that, before the winter was ended, they should give him

some fresh proof of the courage of which he had heard so much. Rosald’s

heart was glad at the king’s message, and as for Geirald, he felt that

as long as Rosald was there all would go well. So they both bowed low

and replied that it was the king’s place to command and theirs to obey.

“Well, then,” said his Majesty, “this is what I want you to do: In the

north-east part of my kingdom there dwells a giant, who has an iron

staff twenty yards long, and he is so quick in using it, that even

fifty knights have no chance against him. The bravest and strongest

young men of my court have fallen under the blows of that staff; but,

as you overcame the twelve robbers so easily, I feel that I have reason

to hope that you may be able to conquer the giant. In three days from

this you will set out.”

“We will be ready, your Majesty,” answered Rosald; but Geirald remained

silent.

“How can we possibly fight against a giant that has killed fifty

knights?” cried Geirald, when they were outside the castle. “The king

only wants to get rid of us! He won’t think about us for the next three

days—that is one comfort—so we shall have plenty of time to cross the

borders of the kingdom and be out of reach.”

“We mayn’t be able to kill the giant, but we certainly can’t run away

till we have tried,” answered Rosald. “Besides, think how glorious it

will be if we DO manage to kill him! I know what sort of weapon I shall

use. Come with me now, and I will see about it.” And, taking his friend

by the arm, he led him into a shop where he bought a huge lump of solid

iron, so big that they could hardly lift it between them. However, they

just managed to carry it to a blacksmith’s where Rosald directed that

it should be beaten into a thick club, with a sharp spike at one end.

When this was done to his liking he took it home under his arm.

Very early on the third morning the two young men started on their

journey, and on the fourth day they reached the giant’s cave before he

was out of bed. Hearing the sound of footsteps, the giant got up and

went to the entrance to see who was coming, and Rosald, expecting

something of the sort, struck him such a blow on the forehead that he

fell to the ground. Then, before he could rise to his feet again,

Rosald drew out his sword and cut off his head.

“It was not so difficult after all, you see,” he said, turning to

Geirald. And placing the giant’s head in a leathern wallet which was

slung over his back, they began their journey to the castle.

As they drew near the gates, Rosald took the head from the wallet and

handed it to Geirald, whom he followed into the king’s presence.

“The giant will trouble you no more,” said Geirald, holding out the

head. And the king fell on his neck and kissed him, and cried joyfully

that he was the “bravest knight in all the world, and that a feast

should be made for him and Rosald, and that the great deed should be

proclaimed throughout the kingdom.” And Geirald’s heart swelled with

pride, and he almost forgot that it was Rosald and not he, who had

slain the giant.

By-and-by a whisper went round that a beautiful lady who lived in the

castle would be present at the feast, with twenty-four lovely maidens,

her attendants. The lady was the queen of her own country, but as her

father and mother had died when she was a little girl, she had been

left in the care of this king who was her uncle.

She was now old enough to govern her own kingdom, but her subjects did

not like being ruled by a woman, and said that she must find a husband

to help her in managing her affairs. Prince after prince had offered

himself, but the young queen would have nothing to say to any of them,

and at last told her ministers that if she was to have a husband at all

she must choose him for herself, as she would certainly not marry any

of those whom they had selected for her. The ministers replied that in

that case she had better manage her kingdom alone, and the queen, who

knew nothing about business, got things into such a confusion that at

last she threw them up altogether, and went off to her uncle.

Now when she heard how the two young men had slain the giant, her heart

was filled with admiration of their courage, and she declared that if a

feast was held she would certainly be present at it.

And so she was; and when the feast was over she asked the king, her

guardian, if he would allow the two heroes who had killed the robbers

and slain the giant to fight a tourney the next day with one of her

pages. The king gladly gave his consent, and ordered the lists to be

made ready, never doubting that two great champions would be eager for

such a chance of adding to their fame. Little did he guess that Geirald

had done all he could to persuade Rosald to steal secretly out of the

castle during the night, “for,” said he, “I don’t believe they are

pages at all, but well-proved knights, and how can we, so young and

untried, stand up against them?”

“The honour will be all the higher if we gain the day,” answered

Rosald; but Geirald would listen to nothing, and only declared that he

did not care about honour, and would rather be alive than have every

honour in the world heaped upon him. Go he would, and as Rosald had

sworn to give him his company, he must come with him.

Rosald was much grieved when he heard these words, but he knew that it

was useless attempting to persuade Geirald, and turned his thoughts to

forming some plan to prevent this disgraceful flight. Suddenly his face

brightened. “Let us change clothes,” he said, “and I will do the

fighting, while you shall get the glory. Nobody will ever know.” And to

this Geirald readily consented.

Whether Geirald was right or not in thinking that the so-called page

was really a well-proved knight, it is certain that Rosald’s task was a

very hard one. Three times they came together with a crash which made

their horses reel; once Rosald knocked the helmet off his foe, and

received in return such a blow that he staggered in his saddle. Shouts

went up from the lookers-on, as first one and then the other seemed

gaining the victory; but at length Rosald planted his spear in the

armour which covered his adversary’s breast and bore him steadily

backward. “Unhorsed! unhorsed!” cried the people; and Rosald then

himself dismounted and helped his adversary to rise.

In the confusion that followed it was easy for Rosald to slip away and

return Geirald his proper clothes. And in these, torn and dusty with

the fight, Geirald answered the king’s summons to come before him.

“You have done what I expected you to do,” said he, “and now, choose

your reward.”

“Grant me, sire, the hand of the queen, your niece,” replied the young

man, bowing low, “and I will defend her kingdom against all her

enemies.”

“She could choose no better husband,” said the king, “and if she

consents I do.” And he turned towards the queen, who had not been

present during the fight, but had just slipped into a seat by his right

hand. Now the queen’s eyes were very sharp, and it seemed to her that

the man who stood before her, tall and handsome though he might be, was

different in many slight ways, and in one in particular, from the man

who had fought the tourney. How there could be any trickery she could

not understand, and why the real victor should be willing to give up

his prize to another was still stranger; but something in her heart

warned her to be careful. She answered: “You may be satisfied, uncle,

but I am not. One more proof I must have; let the two young men now

fight against each other. The man I marry must be the man who killed

the robbers and the giant, and overcame my page.” Geirald’s face grew

pale as he heard these words. He knew there was no escape from him now,

though he did not doubt for one moment that Rosald would keep his

compact loyally to the last. But how would it be possible that even

Rosald should deceive the watchful eyes of the king and his court, and

still more those of the young queen whom he felt uneasily had suspected

him from the first?

The tourney was fought, and in spite of Geirald’s fears Rosald managed

to hang back to make attacks which were never meant to succeed, and to

allow strokes which he could easily have parried to attain their end.

At length, after a great show of resistance, he fell heavily to the

ground. And as he fell he knew that it was not alone the glory that was

his rightfully which he gave up, but the hand of the queen that was

more precious still.

But Geirald did not even wait to see if he was wounded; he went

straight to the wall where the royal banner waved and claimed the

reward which was now his.

The crowd of watchers turned towards the queen, expecting to see her

stoop and give some token to the victor. Instead, to the surprise of

everyone, she merely smiled gracefully, and said that before she

bestowed her hand one more test must be imposed, but this should be the

last. The final tourney should be fought; Geirald and Rosald should

meet singly two knights of the king’s court, and he who could unhorse

his foe should be master of herself and of her kingdom. The combat was

fixed to take place at ten o’clock the following day.

All night long Geirald walked about his room, not daring to face the

fight that lay in front of him, and trying with all his might to

discover some means of escaping it. All night long he moved restlessly

from door to window; and when the trumpets sounded, and the combatants

rode into the field, he alone was missing. The king sent messengers to

see what had become of him, and he was found, trembling with fear,

hiding under his bed. After that there was no need of any further

proof. The combat was declared unnecessary, and the queen pronounced

herself quite satisfied, and ready to accept Rosald as her husband.

“You forgot one thing,” she said, when they were alone. “I recognized

my father’s ring which Hankur the Tall had stolen, on the finger of

your right hand, and I knew that it was you and not Geirald who had

slain the robber band. I was the page who fought you, and again I saw

the ring on your finger, though it was absent from his when he stood

before me to claim the prize. That was why I ordered the combat between

you, though your faith to your word prevented my plan being successful,

and I had to try another. The man who keeps his promise at all costs to

himself is the man I can trust, both for myself and for my people.”

So they were married, and returned to their own kingdom, which they

ruled well and happily. And many years after a poor beggar knocked at

the palace gates and asked for money, for the sake of days gone by—and

this was Geirald.

[From Neuislandischem Volksmärchen.]

Hábogi

Once upon a time there lived two peasants who had three daughters, and,

as generally happens, the youngest was the most beautiful and the best

tempered, and when her sisters wanted to go out she was always ready to

stay at home and do their work.

Years passed quickly with the whole family, and one day the parents

suddenly perceived that all three girls were grown up, and that very

soon they would be thinking of marriage.

“Have you decided what your husband’s name is to be?” said the father,

laughingly, to his eldest daughter, one evening when they were all

sitting at the door of their cottage. “You know that is a very

important point!”

“Yes; I will never wed any man who is not called Sigmund,” answered

she.

“Well, it is lucky for you that there are a great many Sigmunds in this

part of the world,” replied her father, “so that you can take your

choice! And what do YOU say?” he added, turning to the second.

“Oh, I think that there is no name so beautiful as Sigurd,” cried she.

“Then you won’t be an old maid either,” answered he. “There are seven

Sigurds in the next village alone! And you, Helga?”

Helga, who was still the prettiest of the three, looked up. She also

had her favourite name, but, just as she was going to say it, she

seemed to hear a voice whisper: “Marry no one who is not called