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Updated: June 26, 2025
He sat up near all night in his long coat, makin' speeches to himsilf; but tord mornin' he come over to my place where O'Brien sat with his la-ads. 'Well, says O'Brien, 'how does it suit ye? he says. 'It's sthrange, says Dorgan. 'Not sthrange at all, says Willum J. O'Brien.
Berg Rese fell head foremost to the floor, his body rolled after. Blood and brains spouted out, the axe fell from the wound. In the matted hair Tord saw a big, red, gaping hole from the blow of an axe. The peasants came rushing in. They rejoiced and praised the deed. "You will win by this," they said to Tord.
These letters he sent to King Charles, but they put him upon a new adventure of his own. One of the traitors was Ture Bjelke, master of Axewalla Castle, and Sir Tord, fancying that the traitor would be as welcome a present to the king as his letters, set out for the castle with thirty men.
We will both go together to the places which are so holy that all sin is taken away from him who draws near them." "What do the monks answer?" asked Berg. "They want to have me saved. They want to have me on the rack and wheel." "Shall I betray my dearest friend, I ask them," continued Tord. "He is my world. He has saved me from the bear that had his paw on my throat.
A few days later he fell ill. His lungs wheezed, and when they were expanded to take in air, he felt excruciating pain. He kept up as long as his strength held out, but when one evening he leaned down to blow the fire, he fell over and remained lying. Berg Rese came to him and told him to go to his bed. Tord moaned with pain and could not raise himself.
The sleeper, awakened by his entrance, raised himself a little in the bed and asked what he wanted. For answer the murderous wretch brought down his axe with so heavy a blow that the head of Sir Tord was cleft in twain to the shoulders. Then, taking to his boats, the assassin made his escape to the Danes, by whom his bloody act was probably instigated.
There are two ways of disposing of a troublesome foe, one by fair and open warfare, one by treachery. As Sir Tord could not be got rid of in the former manner, his enemies tried the latter.
Involuntarily Tord walked quicker and quicker, but the creatures hastened after him. When he felt that they were only two steps distant and were preparing to strike, he turned. There was nothing there, and he had known it the whole time. He sat down on a stone to rest. Then the dry leaves played about his feet as if to amuse him.
"Is it I who perhaps have struck it? Why shall I see it?" "The saints only know, Tord," said Berg Rese, pale and with terrible earnestness, "what it means that you see a wound from an axe. I killed the monk with a couple of knife-thrusts." Tord stood trembling before Berg and wrung his hands. "They demand you of me! They want to force me to betray you!" "Who? The monks?" "They, yes, the monks.
Then for the first time Tord spoke of his fear. "It was terrible in the wood. I heard ghosts and raw spectres. I saw white monks." "'Sdeath, boy!" "They crowded round me all the way up Broad mountain. I ran, but they followed after and sang. Can I never be rid of the sound? What have I to do with them? I think that they could go to one who needed it more." "Are you mad to-night, Tord?"
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