Now there was in Denmark a certain King called Birkabeyn, who had three children, two daughters and a son.  And Birkabeyn fell sick, and knowing that death had stricken him, he called for Godard, whom he thought his truest friend, and said, “Godard, here I commend my children to thee.  Care for them, I pray thee, and bring them up as befits the children of a king.  When the boy is grown and can bear a helm upon his head and wield a spear, I charge thee to make him king of Denmark.  Till then hold my estate and royalty in charge for him.”  And Godard swore to guard the children zealously, and to give up the kingdom to the boy.  Then Birkabeyn died and was buried.  But no sooner was the King laid in his grave than Godard despised his oath; for he took the children, Havelok and his two little sisters, Swanborough and Helfled, and shut them up in a castle with barely clothes to cover them.  And Havelok, the eldest, was scarce three years old.

One day Godard came to see the children, and found them all crying of hunger and cold; and he said angrily, “How now!  What is all this crying about?” The boy Havelok answered him, “We are very hungry, for we get scarce anything to eat.  Is there no more corn, that men cannot make bread and give us?  We are very hungry.”  But his little sisters only sat shivering with the cold, and sobbing, for they were too young to be able to speak.  The cruel Godard cared not.  He went to where the little girls sat, and drew his knife, and took them one after another and cut their throats.  Havelok, seeing this sorry sight, was terribly afraid, and fell down on his knees begging Godard to spare his life.  So earnestly he pleaded that Godard was fain to listen:  and listening he looked upon the knife, red with the children’s blood; and when he saw the still, dead faces of the little ones he had slain, and looked upon their brother’s tearful face praying for life, his cruel courage failed him quite.  He laid down the knife.  He would that Havelok were dead, but feared to slay him for the silence that would come.  So the boy pleaded on; and Godard stared at him as though his wits were gone; then turned upon his heel and came out from the castle.  “Yet,” he thought, “if I should let him go, one day he may wreak me mischief and perchance seize the crown.  But if he dies, my children will be lords of Denmark after me.”  Then Godard sent for a fisherman whose name was Grim, and he said, “Grim, you know you are my bondsman.  Do now my bidding, and to-morrow I shall make thee free and give thee gold and land.  Take this child with thee to-night when thou goest a fishing, and at moonrise cast him in the sea, with a good anchor fast about his neck to keep him down.  To-day I am thy master and the sin is mine.  To-morrow thou art free.”