THE THRALL OF LEIF THE LUCKY

A Story of Viking Days

By Ottilie A. Liljencrantz

CONTENTS

FOREWORD
CHAPTER I
        Where Wolves Thrive Better than Lambs
CHAPTER II
        The Maid in the Silver Helmet
CHAPTER III
        A Gallant Outlaw
CHAPTER IV
        In a Viking Lair
CHAPTER V
        The Ire of a Shield-Maiden
CHAPTER VI
        The Song of Smiting Steel
CHAPTER VII
        The King's Guardsman
CHAPTER VIII
        Leif the Cross-Bearer
CHAPTER IX
        Before the Chieftain
CHAPTER X
        The Royal Blood of Alfred
CHAPTER XI
        The Passing of the Scar
CHAPTER XII
        Through Bars of Ice
CHAPTER XIII
        Eric the Red in His Domain
CHAPTER XIV
        For the Sake of the Cross
CHAPTER XV
        A Wolf-Pack in Leash
CHAPTER XVI
        A Courtier of the King
CHAPTER XVII
        The Wooing of Helga
CHAPTER XVIII
        The Witch's Den
CHAPTER XIX
        Tales of the Unknown West
CHAPTER XX
        Alwin's Bane
CHAPTER XXI
        The Heart of a Shield-Maiden
CHAPTER XXII
        In the Shadow of the Sword
CHAPTER XXIII
        A Familiar Blade in a Strange Sheath
CHAPTER XXIV
        For Dear Love's Sake
CHAPTER XXV
        "Where Never Man Stood Before"
CHAPTER XXVI
        Vinland the Good
CHAPTER XXVII
        Mightier than the Sword
CHAPTER XXVIII
        "Things that are Fated"
CHAPTER XXIX
        The Battle to the Strong
CHAPTER XXX
        From Over the Sea
CONCLUSION

FOREWORD

THE Anglo-Saxon race was in its boyhood in the days when the Vikings lived. Youth's fresh fires burned in men's blood; the unchastened turbulence of youth prompted their crimes, and their good deeds were inspired by the purity and whole-heartedness and divine simplicity of youth. For every heroic vice, the Vikings laid upon the opposite scale an heroic virtue. If they plundered and robbed, as most men did in the times when Might made Right, yet the heaven-sent instinct of hospitality was as the marrow of their bones. No beggar went from their doors without alms; no traveller asked in vain for shelter; no guest but was welcomed with holiday cheer and sped on his way with a gift. As cunningly false as they were to their foes, just so superbly true were they to their friends. The man who took his enemy's last blood-drop with relentless hate, gave his own blood with an equally unsparing hand if in so doing he might aid the cause of some sworn brother. Above all, they were a race of conquerors, whose knee bent only to its proved superior. Not to the man who was king-born merely, did their allegiance go, but to the man who showed himself their leader in courage and their master in skill. And so it was with their choice of a religion, when at last the