Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
you--what shall I tell Sylvester of the name or estate of those who
send me to him?" The two strangers said: "We are the Apostles Peter
and Paul, who endured death here in thy city of Rome for the Holy Name
of Christ, and we bid Sylvester teach and baptize thee into the true
faith. So shall the Roman Empire become the kingdom of the Lord and of
His Christ." So saying, they blessed him, and passed into the heavens
out of his sight, and Constantine awoke from his slumber and knew that
he had seen a vision. He called aloud eagerly, and his servants
waiting in an outer room ran in to him quickly, for there was urgency
in his voice. To them Constantine told his vision and the command
which was laid upon him.
Sylvester Summoned
Messengers rode in hot haste to Mount Celion, and inquired long and
anxiously for Sylvester. At last they found him, a holy and venerable
man, and summoned him, saying: "The Emperor calls for thee: come,
therefore, at once." Sylvester's clergy were greatly affrighted, not
knowing what this summons might mean, and dreading the death of their
dear bishop and master; but he went forth gladly, not knowing to what
fate he was going. When he was brought to the palace the emperor
greeted him kindly, and told him all his dream, and the command of the
Apostles Peter and Paul, and ended with these words: "Now I have done
as the vision bade, and have fetched thee here: tell me, I pray, the
glad tidings which shall bring healing to my body and soul." When
Sylvester heard this speech he was filled with joy and wonder, and
thanked God for the vision He had sent to the emperor, and then he
began to preach to him the Christian faith: he told of the Fall of
Man, and the redemption of the world by the death and resurrection of
Jesus Christ, of the Ascension of Jesus and His return at the Day of
Judgment, of the justice of God, who will judge all men impartially
according to their works, good or bad, and of the life of joy or
misery to come. As Sylvester taught, the monarch listened and
believed, and, when the tale was ended, announced his conversion to
the true faith, and said he was ready, with his whole heart and soul,
to be baptized.
Constantine Baptized
At the emperor's command, they took the great vessel of silver which
had been made for the children's blood, and Sylvester bade them fill
it with pure water from the well. When that was done with all haste,
he bade Constantine stand therein, so that the water reached his chin.
As the holy rite began a great light like the sun's rays shone from
heaven into the place, and upon Constantine; and as the sacred words
were being read there fell now and again from his body scales like
those of a fish, till there was nothing left of his horrible disease;
and thus in baptism Constantine was purified in body and soul.
CHAPTER V: HAVELOK THE DANE
The Origin of the Story
The Danish occupation of England has left a very strong mark on our
country in various ways--on its place-names, its racial
characteristics, its language, its literature, and, in part, on its
ideals. The legend of Havelok the Dane, with its popularity and
widespread influence, is one result of Danish supremacy. It is thought
that the origin of the legend, which contains a twofold version of the
common story of the cruel guardian and the persecuted heir, is to be
found in Wales; but, however that may be, it is certain that in the
continual rise and fall of small tribal kingdoms, Celtic or Teutonic,
English or Danish, the circumstances out of which the story grew must
have been common enough. Kings who died leaving helpless heirs to the
guardianship of ambitious and wicked nobles were not rare in the early
days of Britain, Wales, or Denmark; the murder of the heir and the
usurpation of the kingdom by the cruel regent were no unusual
occurrences. The opportunity of localising the early legend seems to
have come with the growing fame of Anlaf, or Olaf, Sihtricson, who was
known to the Welsh as Abloec or Habloc. His adventurous life included
a threefold expulsion from his inheritance of Northumbria, a marriage
with the daughter of King Constantine III. of Scotland, and a family
kinship with King Athelstan of England. In Anlaf Curan (as he was
called) we have an historical hero on whom various romantic stories
were gradually fathered, because of his adventurous life and his
strong personality. These stories finally crystallized in a form which
shows the English and Danish love of physical prowess (Havelok is the
strongest man in the kingdom), as well as a certain cruelty of
revenge which is more peculiarly Danish. There is resentment of the
Norman predominance to be found in the popularity of a story which
shows the kitchen-boy excelling all the nobles in manly exercises, and
the heiress to the kingdom wedded in scorn, as so many Saxon heiresses
were after the Conquest, to a mere scullion. There can be no doubt,
however, that Havelok stood to mediaeval England as a hero of the
strong arm, a champion of the populace against the ruling race, and
that his royal birth and dignity were a concession to historic facts
and probabilities, not much regarded by the common people. The story,
again, showed another truly humble hero, Grim the fisher, whose
loyalty was supposed to account for the special trading privileges of
his town, Grimsby. In Grim the story found a character who was in
reality a hero of the poor and lowly, with the characteristic devotion
of the tribesman to his chief, of the vassal to his lord, a devotion
which was handed on from father to son, so that a second generation
continued the services, and received the rewards, of the father who
risked life and all for the sake of his king's heir.
The reader will not fail to notice the characteristic anachronisms
which give to life in Saxon England in the tenth century the colour of
the Norman chivalry of the thirteenth.
Havelok and Godard
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 Swanborow 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 pity 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 have 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 led 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 Godard'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