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Updated: May 18, 2025
There were deep caverns which the waters filled when the tide was up, so lone and dark that men were almost afraid to go into them. But Thorsten Vikingsson and the King his master were not daunted.
He sat in his father's halls, surrounded by his companions; upon his right was seated his bosom friend Bjorn, and twelve bold champions clad in steel were ranged around the board. And they drank in silence to the memory of Thorsten Vikingsson. But suddenly the harps struck up, and the skalds poured forth their songs in honor of the dead thane.
But Old Hilding told them not to talk nonsense, for Ingebjorg was a king's daughter, and Frithiof but the son of a thane. In a room of his palace stood King Belé. He was leaning on his sword, musing over all that was past, and thinking of the future. He was an old man, and he felt that his strength was failing him. With him was his faithful friend Thorsten Vikingsson.
Dark was the countenance of Helgi, and there was blood upon his hands, for he had just been assisting at the midday sacrifice. But the face of Halfdan was bright as the early morning, and he was as light and joyous as his brother was dark and gloomy. Frithiof also came, for the thane Thorsten Vikingsson desired to see him, that he too might bless his son when King Belé blessed the royal princes.
Thorsten Vikingsson died also, and Frithiof became lord of his ancestral home of Framnäs. Rich treasures did that home contain, three of them of magic power. The first was the sword of Angurvadel. Blood-red it shone in time of war, and wo to him who contended with its owner on the battle-field.
The handsome boy was the son of the thane Thorsten Vikingsson; the little girl, with dove-like eyes and silken tresses, was the daughter of good King Belé. Together the little ones played through the long pleasant days in their foster-father's garden, or wandered through the woods, or climbed the hills that sheltered them from the northern winds.
Let us hope that Ingeborg changed her dress occasionally, and that Balder's temple was not full of fleas; that Thorsten Vikingsson placed before his guests something better than fladbröd and rancid butter; and that Björn and Frithiof acted as honestly towards strangers as towards each other.
"It is my arm-ring," said Thorsten Vikingsson; "it is the spirit of the viking Soté." And forthwith he forced his way into the tomb, and, after a deadly conflict with the specter, regained his treasure. And the two friends sailed home in triumph.
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