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Updated: May 8, 2025
Shielded from the heat by his palm, Canute's face was in the shadow, and the giant shape of the son of Lodbrok was a blot against the flames, but the glare lay strong on Sebert of Ivarsdale, revealing a picture that caused one spectator to catch her breath in a sob.
"Because when he made Beorn speak, Beorn said that Eadmund the King had set him on to slay Lodbrok. I heard the man confess it." "But he left that story, telling the truth about himself," I said. "Aye, so he did. But the tale has stuck in Ingvar's mind, and naught will he hear but that he will have revenge on him." "What will he do?"
"If we go in peace," he repeated slowly. "And if we do not?" The Dane shrugged his burly shoulders. "There are no terms for that. You will find it necessary to take what comes." Again there was silence. Sebert put his last question: "How long does the son of Lodbrok give me to consider how I am to order things?" The man shattered the silence with his boisterous laughter.
Among the most celebrated Sagas of the remaining divisions are the "Sagas of Erik the Wanderer," who went in search of the Island of Immortality; "Frithiof's Saga," made the subject of Tegner's great poem; the Saga of Ragnor Lodbrok, of Dietrich of Bern, and the Volsunga Saga, relating to the ancestors of Sigurd or Siegfried, the hero of the Nibelungen Lied.
So soon as we had stepped ashore there came in haste one of our housecarles with word from my mother that Eadmund, the king, had that day come to our house from Caistor; so at once my father bade the man return and bring changes of clothes for himself and me and Lodbrok to our steward's house, that we might appear in more decent trim before our guest and master.
Yet now Lodbrok was at ease with us, seeing the end of his stay, and being in high favour with our king, so that he was seldom away from his side in all the hunting that went on.
I could say nothing, for I knew not how far we had run; yet we had come a long way, and I thought that surely we must have sailed as swiftly as Lodbrok, for the sea had favoured us rather than given trouble. Even now I thought the colour of the water changed a little, and I began to think that we neared some land at last.
I will take care that I upheave no strife, and I will make all my inquiries of the monks." "Go a little more slowly, lord, and consider the other side of it," the old knight entreated. "Suppose the message is false, the black tress around it proves nothing. Suppose the son of Lodbrok has spread a net for you?"
Even as the mighty Ragnar Lodbrok and his fierce men in mail launched merciless onslaught with the breaking of day, so did Sarnia's young warriors look eastward for the Dawn. NOVEMBER 20th, 1917 It was just after six in the morning of November 20, 1917, and the dew lay thick on the soil. Men were quietly roused, rifles slung, and with fast tattooing pulse paused for orders.
"Ho, men," said the leader, "which is your captain?" One of our crew pointed to me, and I came to the break of the deck saying: "I am master of this ship." And I spoke as a Dane, for my long company with Lodbrok had given me the very turn of his speech. At that the viking stared at me, and one of his men said: "When did Danes take to trading on this coast?"
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