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- Джек Лондон
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I
knew
no
woman
.
Old
Lingaard
was
midwife
and
nurse
,
and
for
nursery
were
reeling
decks
and
the
stamp
and
trample
of
men
in
battle
or
storm
.
How
I
survived
puling
infancy
,
God
knows
.
I
must
have
been
born
iron
in
a
day
of
iron
,
for
survive
I
did
,
to
give
the
lie
to
Tostig
's
promise
of
dwarf-hood
.
I
outgrew
all
beakers
and
tankards
,
and
not
for
long
could
he
half-drown
me
in
his
mead
pot
.
This
last
was
a
favourite
feat
of
his
.
It
was
his
raw
humour
,
a
sally
esteemed
by
him
delicious
wit
.
My
first
memories
are
of
Tostig
Lodbrog
's
beaked
ships
and
fighting
men
,
and
of
the
feast
hall
at
Brunanbuhr
when
our
boats
lay
beached
beside
the
frozen
fjord
.
For
I
was
made
drink-boy
,
and
amongst
my
earliest
recollections
are
toddling
with
the
wine-filled
skull
of
Guthlaf
to
the
head
of
the
table
where
Tostig
bellowed
to
the
rafters
.
They
were
madmen
,
all
of
madness
,
but
it
seemed
the
common
way
of
life
to
me
who
knew
naught
else
.
They
were
men
of
quick
rages
and
quick
battling
.
Their
thoughts
were
ferocious
;
so
was
their
eating
ferocious
,
and
their
drinking
.
And
I
grew
like
them
.
How
else
could
I
grow
,
when
I
served
the
drink
to
the
bellowings
of
drunkards
and
to
the
skalds
singing
of
Hialli
,
and
the
bold
Hogni
,
and
of
the
Niflung
's
gold
,
and
of
Gudrun
's
revenge
on
Atli
when
she
gave
him
the
hearts
of
his
children
and
hers
to
eat
while
battle
swept
the
benches
,
tore
down
the
hangings
raped
from
southern
coasts
,
and
,
littered
the
feasting
board
with
swift
corpses
.
Oh
,
I
,
too
,
had
a
rage
,
well
tutored
in
such
school
.
I
was
but
eight
when
I
showed
my
teeth
at
a
drinking
between
the
men
of
Brunanbuhr
and
the
Juts
who
came
as
friends
with
the
jarl
Agard
in
his
three
long
ships
.
I
stood
at
Tostig
Lodbrog
's
shoulder
,
holding
the
skull
of
Guthlaf
that
steamed
and
stank
with
the
hot
,
spiced
wine
.
And
I
waited
while
Tostig
should
complete
his
ravings
against
the
North
Dane
men
.
But
still
he
raved
and
still
I
waited
,
till
he
caught
breath
of
fury
to
assail
the
North
Dane
woman
.
Whereat
I
remembered
my
North
Dane
mother
,
and
saw
my
rage
red
in
my
eyes
,
and
smote
him
with
the
skull
of
Guthlaf
,
so
that
he
was
wine-drenched
,
and
wine-blinded
,
and
fire-burnt
.
And
as
he
reeled
unseeing
,
smashing
his
great
groping
clutches
through
the
air
at
me
,
I
was
in
and
short-dirked
him
thrice
in
belly
,
thigh
and
buttock
,
than
which
I
could
reach
no
higher
up
the
mighty
frame
of
him
.
And
the
jarl
Agard
's
steel
was
out
,
and
his
Juts
joining
him
as
he
shouted
:
"
A
bear
cub
!
A
bear
cub
!
By
Odin
,
let
the
cub
fight
!
"
And
there
,
under
that
roaring
roof
of
Brunanbuhr
,
the
babbling
drink-boy
of
the
North
Danes
fought
with
mighty
Lodbrog
.
And
when
,
with
one
stroke
,
I
was
flung
,
dazed
and
breathless
,
half
the
length
of
that
great
board
,
my
flying
body
mowing
down
pots
and
tankards
,
Lodbrog
cried
out
command
:
"
Out
with
him
!
Fling
him
to
the
hounds
!
"
But
the
jarl
would
have
it
no
,
and
clapped
Lodbrog
on
the
shoulder
,
and
asked
me
as
a
gift
of
friendship
.
