From the folklore of England
In Denmark, long ago, lived a good king named Birkabeyn, rich and powerful, a great warrior and a man of mighty prowess, whose rule was undisputed over the whole realm. He had three children – two daughters named Swanbarow and Elfleda the Fair, and one young and goodly son, Havelok, the heir to all his dominions. All too soon came the day that no man can avoid, when Death would call King Birkabeyn away, and he grieved sore over his young children to be left fatherless and unprotected; but, after much reflection, and prayers to God for wisdom to help his choice, he called to him Jarl Godard, a trusted counsellor and friend, and committed into his hands the care of the realm and of the three royal children, until Havelok should be of age to be knighted and rule the land himself. King Birkabeyn felt that such a charge was too great a temptation for any man unbound by oaths of fealty and honour, and although he did not distrust his friend, he required Godard to swear,
“By altar and by holy service book,
By bells that call the faithful to the church,
By blessed sacrament, and sacred rites,
By Holy Rood, and Him who died thereon,
That thou wilt truly rule and keep my realm,
Wilt guard my babes in love and loyalty,
Until my son be grown, and dubbed knight;
That thou wilt then resign to him his land,
His power and rule, and all that owns his sway.”
Jarl Godard took this most solemn oath at once, with many protestations of affection and whole-hearted devotion to the dying king and his heir, and King Birkabeyn died happy in the thought that his children would be well cared for during their helpless youth.
When the funeral rites were celebrated Jarl Godard assumed the rule of the country, and, under pretext of securing the safety of the royal children, removed them to a strong castle, where no man was allowed access to them, and where they were kept so closely that the royal residence became a prison in all but name. Godard, finding Denmark submit to his government without resistance, began to adopt measures to rid himself of the real heirs to the throne, and gave orders that food and clothes should be supplied to the three children in such scanty quantities that they might die of hardship; but since they were slow to succumb to this cruel, torturing form of murder, he resolved to slay them suddenly, knowing that no one durst call him to account. Having steeled his heart against all pitiful thoughts, he went to the castle, and was taken to the inner dungeon where the poor babes lay shivering and weeping for cold and hunger. As he entered, Havelok, who was even then a bold lad, greeted him courteously, and knelt before him, with clasped hands, begging a boon.
“Why do you weep and wail so sore?” asked Godard.
“Because we are so hungry,” answered Havelok. “We have so little food, and we have no servants to wait on us; they do not give us half as much as we could eat; we are shivering with cold, and our clothes are all in rags. Woe to us that we were ever born! Is there in the land no more corn with which men can make bread for us? We are nearly dead from hunger.”
These pathetic words had no effect on Godard, who had resolved to yield to no pity and show no mercy. He seized the two little girls as they lay cowering together, clasping one another for warmth, and cut their throats, letting the bodies of the hapless babies fall to the floor in a pool of blood; and then, turning to Havelok, aimed his knife at the boy’s heart. The poor child, terrified by the awful fate of the two girls, knelt again before him and begged for mercy:
“Fair lord, have mercy on me now, I pray!
Look on my helpless youth, and pit me!
Oh, let me live, and I will yield you all –
My realm of Denmark will I leave to you,
And swear that I will ne’er assail your sway.
Oh, pity me, lord! Be compassionate!
And I will flee far from this land of mine,
And vow that Birkabeyn was ne’er my sire!”
Jarl Godard was touched by Havelok’s piteous speech, and felt some faint compassion, so that he could not slay the lad himself; yet he knew that his only safety was in Havelok’s death.
“If I let him go,” thought he, “Havelok will at last work me woe! I shall hve no peace in my life, and my children after me will not hold the lordship of Denmark in safety, if Havelok escapes! Yet I cannot slay him with my own hands. I will have him cast into the sea with an anchor about his neck: thus at least his body will not float.”
Godard left Havelok kneeling in terror, and, striding from the tower, leaving the door locked behind him, he sent for an ignorant fisherman, Grim, who, he thought, could be frightened into doing his will. When Grim came he was let into an ante-room, where Godard, with terrible look and voice, addressed him thus:
“Grim, thou knowest thou art my thrall.” “Yea, fair lord,” quoth Grim, trembling at Goard’s stern voice. “And I can slay thee if thou dost disobey me.” “Yea, Lord; but how have I offended you?” “Thou hast not yet, but I have a task for thee, and if thou dost it not, dire punishment shall fall upon thee.” “Lord, what is the work that I must do?” asked the poor fisherman. “Tarry: I will show thee.” Then Godard went into the inner room of the tower, whence he returned leading a fair boy, who wept bitterly. “Take this boy secretly to thy house, and keep him there till dead of night; then launch thy boat, row out to sea, and fling him therein with an anchor round his neck, so that I shall see him never again.”
Grim looked curiously at the weeping boy, and said: “What reward shall I have if I work this sin for you?”
Godard replied: “The sin will be on my head, as I am thy lord and bid thee do it; but I will make thee a freeman, noble and rich, and my friend, if thou wilt do this secretly and discreetly.”
Thus reassured and bribed, Grim suddenly took the boy, flung him to the ground, and bound him hand and foot with cord which he took from his pockets. So anxious was he to secure the boy that he drew the cords very tight, and Havelok suffered terrible pain; he could not cry out, for a handful of rags was thrust into his mouth and over his nostrils, so that he could hardly breathe. Then Grim flung the poor boy into a horrible black sack, and carried him thus from the castle, as if he were bringing home broken food for his family. When Grim reached his poor cottage, where his wife Leve was waiting for him, he slung the sack from his shoulder and gave it to her, saying, “Take good care of this boy as of thy life. I am to drown him at midnight, and if I do so my lord has promised to make me a free man and give me great wealth.”
When Dame Leve heard this she sprang up and flung the lad down in a corner, and nearly broke his head with the crash against the earthen floor. There Havelok lay, bruised and aching, while the couple went to sleep, leaving the room all dark but for the red glow from the fire. At midnight Grim awoke to do his lord’s behest, and Dame Level, going to the living-room to kindle a light, was terrified by a mysterious gleam as bright as day which shone around the boy on the floor and streamed from his mouth. Level hastily called Grim to see this wonder, and together they released Havelok from the gag and bonds and examined his body, when they found on the right shoulder the token of true royalty, a cross of red gold.
“God knows,” quoth Grim, “that this is the heir of our land. He will come to rule in good time, will bear sway over England and Denmark, and will punish the cruel Godard.” Then, weeping sore, the loyal fisherman fell down at Havelok’s feet, crying, “Lord, have mercy on me and my wife! We are thy thralls, and never will we do aught against thee. We will nourish thee until thou canst rule, and will hide thee from Godard; and thou wilt perchance give me my freedom in return for thy life.”
At this unexpected address Havelok sat up surprised, and rubbed his bruised head and said: “I am nearly dead, what with hunger, and thy cruel bonds, and the gag. Now bring me food in plenty!” “Yea, lord,” said Dame Level, and bustled about, bringing the best they had in the hut; and Havelok ate as if he had fasted for three days; and then he was put to be, and slept in peace while Grim watched over him.
However, Grim went the next morning to Jarl Godard and said: “Lord, I have done your behest, and drowned the boy with an anchor about his neck. He is safe, and now, I pray you, give me my reward, the gold and other treasures, and make me a freeman as you have promised.” But Godard only looked fiercely at him and said: “What, wouldst thou be an earl? Go home, thou foul churl, and be ever a thrall! It is enough reward that I do not hang thee now for insolence, and for thy wicked deeds. Go speedily, else thou mayst stand and palter with me too long.” And Grim shrank quietly away, lest Godard should slay him for the murder of Havelok.
Now Grim saw in what a terrible plight he stood, at the mercy of this cruel and treacherous man, and he took counsel with himself and consulted his wife, and the two decided to flee from Denmark to save their lives. Gradually Grim sold all his stock, his cattle, his nets, everything that he owned, and turned it into good pieces of gold; then he brought and secretly fitted out and provisioned a ship, and at last, when all was ready, carried on board Havelok (who had lain hidden all this time), his own three sons and two daughters; then when he and his wife had gone on board he set sail, and, driven by a favourable wind, reached the shores of England.
Meanwhile in England a somewhat similar fate had befallen a fair princess named Goldborough. When her father, King Athelwold, lay dying all his people mourned, for he was the flower of all fair England for knighthood, justice, and mercy; and he himself grieved sorely for the sake of his little daughter, soon to be left an orphan. “What will she do?” moaned he. “She can neither speak nor walk! If she were only able to ride, to rule England, and to guard herself from shame, I shoudl have no grief, even if I died and left her alone, while I lived in the joy of paradise!”
Then Athewold summoned a council to be held at Winchester, and asked the advice of the nobles as to the care of the infant Goldborough. They with one accord recommended Earl Godrich of Corawall to be made regent for the little princess; and the earl, on being appointed, swore with all solemn rites that he would marry her at twelve years old to the highest, the best, fairest, and strongest man alive, and in the meantime would train her in all royal virtues and customs. So King Athelwold died, and was buried with great lamentations, and Godrich ruled the land as regent. He was a strict but just governor, and England had great peace, without and within, under his severe rule, for all lived in awe of him, though no man loved him. Goldborough grew and throve in all ways, and became famous through the land for her gracious beauty and gentle and virtuous demeanour. This roused the jealousy of Earl Godrich, who had played the part of king so long that he almost believed himself King of England, and he began to consider how he could secure the kingdom for himself and his son. Thereupon he had Goldborough taken from Winchester, where she kept royal state, to Dover, where she was imprisoned in the castle, and strictly secluded from all her friends; there she remained, with poor clothes and scanty food, awaiting a champion to uphold her right.
When Grim sailed from Denmark to England he landed in the Humber, at the place now called Grimsby, and there established himself as a fisherman. So successful was he that for twelve years he supported his family well, and carried his catches of fish far afield, even to Lincoln, where rare fish always brought a good price. In all this time Grim never once called on Havelok for help in the task of feeding the family; he reverenced his king, and the whole household served Havelok with the utmost defence, and often went with scanty rations to satisfy the boy’s great appetite. At length Havelok began to think how selfishly he was living, and how much food he consumed, and was filled with shame when he realized how his foster-father toiled unweariedly while he did nothing to help. In his remorseful meditations it became clear to him that, though a king’s son, he ought to do some useful work. “Of what use,” thought he, “is my great strength and statue if I do not employ it for some good purpose? There is no shame in honest toil. I will work for my food, and try to make some return to Father Grim, who has done so much for me. I will gladly bear his baskets of fish to market, and I will begin tomorrow.”
On the next day, in spite of Grim’s protests, Havelok carried a load of fish equal to four men’s burden to Grimsby market, and sold it successfully, returning home with the money he received; and this he did day by day, till a famine arose and fish and food both became scarce. Then Grim, more concerned for Havelok than for his own children, called the youth to him and bade him try his fortunes in Lincoln, for his own sake and for theirs; he would be better fed, and the little food Grim could get would go further among the others if Havelok were not there. The one obstacle in the way was Havelok’s lack of clothes, and Grim overcame that by sacrificing his boat’s sail to make Havelok a coarse tunic. In Lincoln Havelok found no friends and no food for two days, and he was desperate and faint with hunger, when he heard a call: “Porters, porters! Hither to me!” Roused to new vigour by the chance of work, Havelok rushed with the rest, and bore down and hurled aside the other porters to vigorously that he was chosen to carry provisions for Bertram, the earl’s cook; and in return he received the first meal he had eaten for nearly three days.
On the next day Havelok again overthrew the porters, and, knocking down at least sixteen, secured the work. This time he had to carry fish, and his basket was so laden that he bore nearly a cartload, with which he ran to the castle. There the cook, amazed at his strength, first gave him a hearty meal, and then offered him good service under himself, with food and lodging for his wages. This offer Havelok accepted, and was installed as cook’s boy, and employed in all the lowest offices – carrying wood, water, turf, hewing logs, lifting, fetching, carrying – and in all he showed himself a wonderfully strong worker, with unfailing good temper and gentleness, so that the little children all loved the big, gentle, fair-haired youth who worked so quietly and played with them so merrily. When Havelok’s old tunic became worn out, his master, the cook, took pity on him and gave him a new suit, and then it could be seen how handsome and tall and strong a youth this cook’s boy really was, and his fame spread far and wife round Lincoln Town.
At the great fair of Lincoln, sports of all kinds were indulged in, and in these Havelok took his part, for the cook, proud of him mighty scullion, urged him to compete in all the games and races. As Earl Godrich had summoned his Parliament to meet that year at Lincoln, there was a great concourse of spectators, and even the powerful Earl Regent himself sometimes watched the sports and cheered the champions. The first contest was “putting the stone,” and the stone chosen was so weighty that none but the most stalwart could lift it above the knee – none could raise it to his breast. This sport was new to Havelok who had never seen it before, but when the cook bade him try his strength he lifted the stone easily and threw it more than twelve feet. This mighty deed caused his fame to be spread, not only among the poor servants with whom Havelok was classed, but also among the barons, their masters, and Havelok’s Stone became a landmark in Lincoln. Thus Godrich heard of a youth who stood head and shoulders taller than other men, and was stronger, more handsome – and yet a mere common scullion. The news brought him a flash of inspiration: “Here is the highest, strongest, best man in all England, and him shall Goldborough wed. I shall keep my vow to the letter, and England must fall to me, for Goldborough’s royal blood will be lost by her marriage with a thrall, the people will refuse her obedience, and England will cast her out.”
Godrich therefore brought Goldborough to Lincoln, received her with bell-ringing and seemly rejoicing, and bade her prepare for her wedding. This the princess refused to do until she knew who was her destined husband, for she said she would wed no man who was not of royal birth. Her firmness drove Earl Godrich to fierce wrath, and he burst out: “Wilt though be queen and mistress over me? Thy pride shall be brought down; though shalt have no royal spouse; a vagabond and scullion shalt thou wed, and that no later than tomorrow! Curses on him who speaks thee fair!” In vain the princess wept and bemoaned herself; the wedding was fixed for the morrow morn.
The next day at dawn Earl Godrich sent for Havelok, the mighty cook’s boy, and asked him: “Wilt thou take a wife?”
“Nay,” quoth Havelok, “that will I not. I cannot feed her, much less clothe and lodge her. My very garments are not my own, but belong to the cook, my master.” Godrich fell upon Havelok and beat him furiously, saying, “Unless thou wilt take the wench I gave thee for wife I will hang or blind thee;” and so in great fear, Havelok agreed to the wedding. At once Goldborough was brought, and forced into an immediate marriage, under penalty of banishment or burning as a witch if she refused. And thus the unwilling couple were united by the archbishop of York, who had come to attend the Parliament.
Never was there so sad a wedding! The people murmured greatly at this unequal union, and pitied the poor princess, thus driven to wed a man of low birth; and Goldborough herself wept pitifully, but resigned herself to God’s will. All men now acknowledged with grief that she and her husband could have no claim to the English throne, and thus Godrich seemed to have gained his object.
Sources:
Chapter 5, Hero-myths and Legends of the British Race, M.I. Ebbutt, 1910
Kotharian Lightning 