CHAPTER I.

SIGURD FINDS A FRIEND IN HIS STEPMOTHER.

In olden times there lived a king and queen who had an only son called Sigurd. All went happily until the boy was about ten years old, and then the queen became very ill and died. According to the custom of that land, her body was embalmed and placed on a funeral pile, and there it was watched by the king, who sat day after day beside it in inconsolable grief.

Time went on, but he refused to leave the funeral pile, and all the business of the kingdom came to a standstill, for the sovereign gave no heed to what went on around him, and the courtiers had one and all failed to influence him.

At last one day he raised his eyes from the ground and looked towards the great pine forest that stretched away as far as you could see round the palace, and there, under the trees, coming towards him, he saw a most beautiful woman, her tall figure clothed in costly black robes.

“Who are you?” he asked, as she drew near.

“My name is Injibjörg,” she answered, in a low, sweet voice. “Why are you sitting here alone?”

“Because the queen is dead, and my heart is filled with sorrow.”

“Alas! I can sympathize with you in your grief,” she replied. “I, too, lost my husband only yesterday, and now I am alone in the world.”

The king for the first time began to be interested in something. Here was a person as sad as himself. They soon began talking like old friends, and in the end decided that, as they were both so lonely, it would be a wise thing for them to marry. The king invited her to return with him to the palace, and in a few days the wedding took place, amid the rejoicings of the people at the return of their sovereign once more to everyday life and work.

Under the wise influence of Injibjörg the king soon regained his usual health and spirits. He began to take up the neglected affairs of the kingdom, and rode out constantly hunting and fishing, attended by his court. And Sigurd? In his stepmother the boy found a true friend, who cared for him with a real mother’s love, and made his life full of sunshine. They were inseparable companions, and people would stop and watch them as they passed along the roads, or played together in the palace gardens, saying, “Ah, the good stepmother! See how she loves the poor motherless boy.” They were a pretty picture—the fair-haired, handsome little prince, and the beautiful tall woman, with her gracious manners and winning smile.

And thus their lives went happily on until Sigurd was almost a youth and as tall as his stepmother.

One evening Sigurd and Injibjörg were returning to the palace from a long stroll. The sun was lighting up the stems of the pine trees as they walked along beneath them. He had noticed for some days that his mother, as he loved to call her, appeared sad and out of spirits, but to-day the deepest depression seemed to possess her. As they drew near home, she laid her hand lovingly on the boy’s arm.

“My son, your father goes hunting to-morrow. It is my wish that you go with him and leave me alone for a day.”

“But, mother, why? You are sad, I see; my place is surely with you. I love hunting, as you know, but I cannot leave you thus.”

And all her persuasions were in vain.

Next morning the king set out, but the young prince remained with his stepmother, in spite of all she could say.

“Alas! alas!” she said, when they were left alone, “why did you disobey my wishes? I fear me that you will repent it sorely.”

Then she led Sigurd to her own room, and told him to hide under her bed until she called him forth. Directly he was safely hidden, the ground began to tremble, there was a terrific noise like thunder, and out of a great fissure appeared a huge giantess. Her feet were buried in the earth up to her ankles, for she was too tall to stand upright in the room. Through a small aperture in the hangings of the great bed, Sigurd watched to see what would happen.

“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg!” he heard the giantess say. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” replied Injibjörg. “He has gone hunting with his father.”

Then the queen spread the table for her terrible giant sister, with rich and dainty dishes. When the meal was at an end, the giantess said, “I thank you for the nicest food and the best drink of mead that I have yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

Again Injibjörg said no. So the giantess took leave of her and departed; the floor closed up, and all was quiet once more. Then the queen called Sigurd, embraced him with the greatest affection, and, after a short time, regained her usual cheerfulness.

When the king returned in the evening from the chase, neither the queen nor Sigurd told him what had happened during his absence.

The next morning he declared his intention of going out hunting in a still further part of the kingdom, and once more Injibjörg tried to persuade the boy to go with his father. Her persuasions were useless. He was more than ever determined to stay with her, hoping, in some unforeseen way, that he might be of use; for that there was some dreadful mystery about the giantess, he was sure.

This time, directly the king left, Injibjörg put the prince into a large press, and as she turned away, he saw tears in her eyes, and guessed that she feared some terrible new visitor. And he was right. Hardly had she closed the door when the noises of yesterday were renewed; the ground quaked, and a still greater giantess appeared, her feet buried in the floor up to her knees to allow of her entering the room.

“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg,” she cried. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” said Injibjörg. “How should he be, when the king, his father, is hunting far from the palace?”

And, as yesterday, she immediately began to spread the table with delicacies. When the meal was over, the giantess took her leave, saying, “I thank thee for the best food and most refreshing draught of ale that I have yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

Again Injibjörg said no, and in a few moments she was alone, and all was quiet.

Then Sigurd came out of the press, and once more his mother clasped him in her arms, and he heard her say to herself, “My son, my son! if I can but save him once more, all may yet be well.”

With tears she entreated him, for her sake, to go away with his father the next day.

“Twice I have hidden you successfully, but my third sister comes to-morrow, and she is sharper and fiercer than either of the others. If I can save you this time, they will never come again. My son, leave me this once. Even if they do me harm I shall know that you are safe.”

“Mother,” Sigurd answered, “I am no longer a little child. If you are in danger at all, my place is with you. And I am sure that your sister cannot do me any real harm.”