CHAPTER III

CHILDE HORN


There dwelt once in Southland a King named Altof, who was rich,
powerful, and gentle. His Queen was named Gotthild, and they had a young
son called Horn. The rain never rained, the sun never shone upon a
fairer boy; his skin was like roses and lilies, and as clear as glass;
and he was as brave as he was handsome. At fifteen years old his like
was not to be seen in all the kingdoms around. He had a band of
play-fellows, twelve boys of noble birth, but not one of them could
throw the ball so high as Horn. Out of the twelve, two were his special
companions, and one of them, Athulf, was the best of the company, while
the other, Figold, was altogether the worst.

It came to pass one summer morning that good King Altof was riding on
the sea-shore with only two attendants, and he looked out to sea and saw
fifteen ships lying in the offing. It was the heathen Vikings who had
come from Northland, bent on plundering Christian lands. When these saw
the three Norsemen, they swarmed on to shore like a pack of wolves, all
armed and full of battle fury. They slew the King and his knights, and
made themselves masters of the whole land.

Queen Gotthild wept much for her lord, and more for her son, Childe
Horn, who could not now ascend his father's throne. She clad herself in
mourning garments, the meanest she could find, and went to dwell in a