In the high castle of Drontheim many knights sat assembled to hold council for the weal of the realm; and joyously they caroused together till midnight around the huge stone table in the vaulted hall.A rising storm drove the snow wildly against the rattling windows; all the oak doors groaned, the massive locks shook, the castle-clock slowly and heavily struck the hour of one.Then a boy, pale as death, with disordered hair and closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wild scream of terror.He stopped beside the richly carved seat of the mighty Biorn, clung to the glittering knight with both his hands, and shrieked in a piercing voice, "Knight and father!
father and knight! Death and another are closely pursuing me!"An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole assembly, save that the boy screamed ever the fearful words.But one of Biorn's numerous retainers, an old esquire, known by the name of Rolf the Good, advanced towards the terrified child, took him in his arms, and half chanted this prayer: "0 Father, help Thy servant! I believe, and yet I cannot believe." The boy, as if in a dream, at once loosened his hold of the knight; and the good Rolf bore him from the hall unresisting, yet still shedding hot tears and murmuring confused sounds.
The lords and knights looked at one another much amazed, until the mighty Biorn said, wildly and fiercely laughing, "Marvel not at that strange boy.He is my only son; and has been thus since he was five years old: he is now twelve.I am therefore accustomed to see him so; though, at the first, I too was disquieted by it.The attack comes upon him only once in the year, and always at this same time.
But forgive me for having spent so many words on my poor Sintram, and let us pass on to some worthier subject for our discourse."Again there was silence for a while; then whisperingly and doubtfully single voices strove to renew their broken-off discourse, but without success.Two of the youngest and most joyous began a roundelay; but the storm howled and raged so wildly without, that this too was soon interrupted.And now they all sat silent and motionless in the lofty hall; the lamp flickered sadly under the vaulted roof; the whole party of knights looked like pale, lifeless images dressed up in gigantic armour.
Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only priest among the knightly throng, and said, "Dear Lord Biorn, our eyes and thoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderful manner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God.You perceive that we cannot withdraw them; and you would do well to tell us exactly what you know concerning the fearful state of the boy.
Perchance, the solemn tale, which I expect from you, might do good to this disturbed assembly."Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, "Sir chaplain, you have more share in the history than either you or Icould desire.Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these light-hearted warriors with so rueful a tale."
