Adventure Magazine Cover — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~~ ey i ee a gt et a 4 Pen” Jee \S acd, ay, Ssh tery ee et th, ee EO kh ee ee gee ge a Ap ee all Si Ra! TIEN Sh Sh A a Eh Arg og Ns WR Eee RR aS Ta a ne ae Sele eee ‘Prisoners of War _ Tros was puzzled. - ““What if I should take you back to Mal- moe, and try an issue with the men of Helsing and reestablish you? What then?” “Ah, you laugh at me.” But there was no laughter in his eyes, and she was watch- ing them. ‘You might make my brother a king again, for you are a bold man and you can handle a ship. But the scalds would call me a black-haired foreigner’s wile until the very serving-wenches mocked me.’ “Said I one word about wifinge” Tros asked, astonished. But she was astonished, too; backed away two steps from him looking as if he had struck her with a whip. “T am a prisoner by my brother’s oath of battle. I must abide that,” she answered. “You are a prince? Have you a wife?” “No,” said Tros, watching her. He knew now she was much more puzzled than he had been. “You will not degrade me,”’ she said with an air of confidence. She implied they had both been talking in a foreign tongue and so could hardly un- derstand each other. Biting her lip again, she calmed herself, made a nervous effort to be patient with him. “T will speak with Olaf Sigurdsen,” said Tros; and strode to where the Northman leaned against the stern all swathed in bandages, nervously thumbing his ax-hilt. But Sigurdsen knew no Gaulish other than the words for mast and oar, beef, beer and a dozen place-names. Helma had to stand there and interpret. “What shall I do with her?” Tros asked, signifying Helma with a sidewise motion of his head. “She is yours!” said the Northman, as- tonished. “You won her!’ Helma interpreted, mimicking even the voice-note. Suddenly, as if she thought Tros had not understood yet, she pulled off her amber-and-gold shoulder ornaments and thrust them toward him. “Have you a wife?” asked Sigurdsen. Helma translated. Sigurdsen’s wife stood up beside her husband, staring at Tros as if he were some new kind of creature she had never heard of. She began whispering, and Sigurdsen nodded, spoke, with a note of grandeur in his voice. “What does he say?” Tros demanded. “He says—you returned him his weapon; you accepted his oath as a free man; but you did not say you returned me to him. Nevertheless, perhaps you meant that. Therefore, he being my brother and a king’s son although without fief or following, and you his conqueror in battle and his sworn friend, he swears by Thor and Odin and his ax-blade I am born in noble wedlock and a fit bride; and he gives me to you; to be wife and to share your destiny on land and sea.” “Zeus!” NO THOUGHT of marrying had =e | ever entered Tros’ head, except :|2=|1 as something he would never do. ~ He made no oath, but he had seen too many men grow fat and lazy in the meshes of a family not to promise himself he would die free of woman’s ministering. He had something of his father’s conviction that marriage was earthy of the earth, a good enough thing for the rabble but a trap that kept a strong soul from aspiring to the heights. Sigurdsen spoke again, not knowing who Zeus might be, not understanding the ex- plosion. He had never heard of a man’s refusing a king’s daughter. “She is fair. She is young. She is a vir- gin. Call her wife before the Britons come and men speak ill of her.’ Helma had to translate. She did itin manlywise, her blue eyes—they were more blue, than the northern sky—accepting destiny as something to be met and very proudly borne. “T think you did not understand me yes- terday,” she said. “‘NorI you. You area brave man, Tros, and I will bear you sons of whom you shall not be ashamed.” Brave! Tros felt as weak as a seasick landsman! He was ashamed. He might refuse, and he would hate himself. He might accept, and learn to hate the woman! He might give her to some other man, and evermore regret itl» Why had he taken pris- oners? Why hadn’t he made a gift of them to Caswallon when he had the chance? Slowly—he was striving to hear the inner voice that usually guided; but either the ~ inner man was deaf or the voice was sleep- ing. He let his left hand leave his sword- hilt; he did not know why. She stepped closer, smiling. Both arms stretched to- ward the girl before he knew it. She came into them, her head on his breast and at that very moment Conops wakened. Eomicboo IN Ss.co pi Tire | SAE En Be