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Updated: June 9, 2025
In the neighbourhood of the moorland, hard by the great arm of the German Ocean and the Cattegat, which is called the Lümfjorden, lay the wooden house of the Viking, with its stone water-tight cellars, with its tower and its three projecting stories. On the roof the stork had built his nest; and stork-mamma there hatched the eggs, and felt sure that her hatching would come to something.
Not far from Aalesund was the castle of Rollo, the conqueror of Normandy. All this part of the coast is Viking ground: from these fjords went forth their piratical dragons, and hither they returned, laden with booty, to rest and carouse in their strongholds.
So Olaf quitted Holmgard and went on shipboard, and stood out with his viking fleet into the Baltic Sea. He now owed no allegiance to any man, but was free to journey where he pleased, a king upon his own decks. At this time he was scarcely eighteen summers old; but his limbs were so well knit and strong, and he was withal so tall and manly, that he seemed already to have attained to man's estate.
Further, Christian though he had been long before Viking times, the Pict of Cat derived his Christianity at first and chiefly from the Pictish missions, and later from the Columban Church, both without reference to Papal Rome; and his missionaries not only settled on islands off his coasts, but later on worshipped in his small churches on the mainland; and many a Pictish saint of holy life was held in reverence there.
When I got there, though, the whole planet was in a mess; not raiding, but plain wanton destruction. The locals were just digging themselves out of it when I landed. Some of them, who didn't think they had anything at all left to lose, gave me a fight. I captured a few of them, to find out what had happened. One of them had that pistol; he said he'd taken it off a Space Viking he'd killed.
Next day the old man was more silent and reserved than before, but every now and then Estein saw that his eyes followed him, and the few words he spoke were couched in a kindlier manner. "Sing to him again," whispered Osla in the evening, and night after night the young skald sang and the hermit and his daughter listened. Sometimes when he was finished the old Viking would talk on various themes.
But my Viking preferred his harpoon. In the forecastle reigned similar confusion. But there was a snug little lair, cleared away in one corner, and furnished with a grass mat and bolster, like those used among the Islanders of these seas. This little lair looked to us as if some leopard had crouched there. And as it turned out, we were not far from right.
As he stood there, proud but respectful, his flaming red beard falling over his broad chest, he looked like some Viking who had just stepped out of an old myth. "Alexander Andrieff, our overseer," Peter explained, and the man bowed low to Paul. "And now, Natalie, if you will entertain Sir Paul for the next hour he will perhaps overlook my rudeness."
"Say," exclaimed Harvey, "I don't wonder you learned to sail the Viking quick as you did. You've got the nerve." "Now we've got to take it up there," said Henry Burns. Harvey stopped short. "Take that dress and give it to a girl?" he asked. "No, we won't give it to her," replied his comrade. "She might not like to have us and I wouldn't know what to say, would you?" "Would I!" exclaimed Harvey.
Most of them are ground-fighters." That started Count Steven off. Questions, about battles and raids and booty and the planets Trask had seen. "I wish I were a Space Viking!" "Well, you can't be, Count Ravary. You're an officer of the Royal Navy. You're supposed to fight Space Vikings." "I won't fight you." "You'd have to, if the King commanded," the old captain told him. "No.
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