After a bit somebody in the inn yard said, "Let us go in to supper"; and then another, "Where is Halward, and what is he doing?"
A man said, "He is outside talking with Gunnar Helming."
Then another: "Let us have Gunnar in to sup with us. He is the best company."
They all agreed to that.
After a time of more waiting a man went out of the yard to see where Halward and Gunnar were, and came back with a serious face.
"Come out with me," he said. "Here's a bad affair."
They all tumbled out together with the lamp, and there found Halward dead in his blood. He was stiffening already.
Then, after silence, all began to talk at once. Nobody could understand the slaying, nobody could doubt who had done it, for everybody had seen Gunnar come into the yard, or the few who had not took it from the many who had. Not a word of doubt was raised about it.
As Halward was a friend of the king's certainly the king must have the news; but all hung back from the errand because all men liked Gunnar. The end of it was that, having brought the body into the yard and covered it with a carpet, they went in to supper and ate and drank thoughtfully and in silence.
While they were sitting at their drink in came Sigurd Helming to see if Gunnar was there. He asked for him and could not but notice how his question wasreceived. Repeating it, he had no answer at all. A third time he asked it, and of one man by name. He was answered that Gunnar had been there, but had spoken to nobody.
"That is not like Gunnar," Sigurd said. "What did he do when he came in?"
"He beckoned to one of us, and went out again."
"And to which of you did he beckon?"
"It was to Halward Neck."
"And where is Halward Neck?"
Then there was a silence, and after that another man, very red in the face and with gleaming eyes, spoke between his teeth.
"I will show you where Halward Neck is," he said. "Come with me." He led him out into the yard, while the rest crowded at the door.
He showed him the dead man; he held the lamp close to his face.
"Who did this?" said Sigurd. Then,beginning with a low murmur, all voices rose and the name of Gunnar was cried in his ears. Sigurd lifted his head, and all were silent.
"I don't believe it," he said, "but somebody must tell the king of it."
They went back into the house and shut the doors. Sigurd was told what every one knew, or thought that he knew. One man had seen Gunnar go down to the hard in his cloak and hood; half-a-dozen had seen him come into the yard afterwards; three or four had heard Halward greet him; some had seen the beckoning, others had seen Halward follow him out. Then they had gone out to look for them, and there found Halward slain.
Sigurd said, "It looks very black against Gunnar, but I cannot believe it. Yet I know that the king must be told, and that he will be ready to think the worst of my brother because he has been so stiff against his religion. Now my thought at firstwas that I would tell him myself, since none of you seemed ready to go with the news—but see here, my friends, you would not have me bear witness against my own brother?"
They all agreed to that. Then he said, "I will ask one or several of you to tell the king in the morning. It is late now, and he will not expect you to disturb him at this hour of the night. Yet I tell you fairly that I myself shall go to find Gunnar and warn him of what is astir against him. If I think, when I see him, that he is the guilty man, it may be that I shall go with you to King Olaf. If I leave him still in the mind I am in now, then I shall not testify against him."
They all said, No, no. They said that he knew nothing of the matter, and that his name need not be in the business at all. Sigurd said, "The king will speak to me about it, I know. But I shall have time for what I want to do." Then heleft them sitting at their drink, and went to find Gunnar.
Now first I will deal with the embassy to the king, and then with what happened when Sigurd saw his brother. Olaf was in a great taking. He grew red and thumped the table with his fist. "This is what comes of clemency. That rascal refused my religion and I let him go. He vowed that he would serve me and I believed him, like a fool. This is how it is brought back to me, sevenfold into my bosom. Now do you go and apprehend Gunnar, and hang him up on a tree. Don't let me see him, for I am in such a rage that I should insult him in his chains. Hang him out of hand, and let us get on with our affairs."
That was what the king said, and they left him with heavy hearts. But Gunnar was not hanged because he was not at home when they went to fetch him.
The very night of the slaying Sigurd had gone to him. He went directly to him from the inn where Halward lay dead.
"Gunnar," he said, "what was the grief between you and Halward that you must deal him a dog's death?"
Gunnar gaped at him. "Halward? Is Halward dead? Who did that?"
Sigurd said, "They say that you did it this very evening at the inn on Markfleet."
Gunnar answered him, "That be far from me." But he had no more to say.
"Well," said Sigurd, "you say what I believe, but it looks very black against you." Then he told him what the rumours were, how he had been seen go down the street, then come up the street, how he had shown himself in the yard, said nothing, but beckoned Halward out; how he had not been seen again, and how Halward had been found stiff in his own blood in the street.
Gunnar heard all this in silence, andremained silent so long that Sigurd had to make him speak. "Well, what are we to answer them?" he said.
Gunnar lifted his head and looked at him. "I can only tell you," he said, "that I am innocent of this deed."
"Do you know nothing at all of it?" he was asked.
"Ah," said Gunnar, "that is where you touch me. Now I must tell you fairly that I can say nothing more to you or anybody at this hour."
Then Sigurd said, "You had better be off. The king will certainly hang you for it."
Gunnar thought. "Yes," he said, "I must go. All may be set straight some day; but not by me." Then Sigurd left him, and Gunnar made his preparations.
He took very little with him, for he knew that he must go far, and most of it afoot. The king's hand stretched to the confines of Norway, and even in Icelandhis power was being felt. Gunnar thought that he must travel East—on horseback so far as he could get, but after that, he must cross the mountains and get down into Sweden. He took a sword and a sack of provision, and those were all that he took. No, there was one thing more. He could not bring himself to relinquish the fine cloak he had had from Ogmund Dint. Besides, if it were found when men came to look for him it might be witness against the man who had done the deed. It was against Gunnar's religion to betray a man's secret. He rolled up the cloak therefore and stuffed it into the saddle-bag.
Then he got out his sorrel mare and rode off in the dusk. He went East by a dale which he judged would bring him soonest out of King Olaf's holding; and he rode all night and till noon the next day.
GUNNAR CROSSES THE MOUNTAINS
It was slow going in the dark, but the sorrel picked up her feet, and the road was well known to Gunnar. He had not much time to think, but found little to regret except Halward's death. He had liked Halward, as he was ready to like most men. Nevertheless, he had now to admit that he had little esteem for Ogmund Dint.
"That was a dirty trick to serve a man who had done him no harm. And I took his bait down like a codling, and served his turn finely. A sharp practiser is Ogmund Dint, and gets by foul means what he dare not try for fairly." So he thought of it—and then he said to himself, justifying the man, "When all's said, a man must look after himself. Halward had manyfriends to avenge him; and if Ogmund had been caught red-handed he was done for. I am thinking King Olaf would have been cheated of his rope-work. Somebody or other would have hewn him down before news ever got to the Court. Yes, I don't see what else he could have done—and yet I would not have done it myself. Well, I am a fine cloak to the good, which I will keep in case I want it some day as testimony." He chuckled over his great gains, glad that he had brought it with him, though he had had another purpose in his mind when he packed it into his bag. "May be the Swedes will take me for a king's son." He knew nothing of the Swedes, believed to be a dark and savage people, a people of forests and swamps; but he must venture among them if he wished to save his neck. "Oh, yes, certainly I wish to save my neck."
He found himself to be passably happy, riding under the stars up the dales whichgrew ever narrower, and more intricate. There was little cantering ground, and the way difficult to find. Knowing the stars well, he steered by them. Besides that the season was still fair and it could never be called dark.
He rested not until the sun was warming the snow on the peaks above him, and then not for long. But he had to go very slowly now, up the bed of a water-course which he must cross and re-cross half-a-dozen times in the half-hour to get tolerable going ground. The sorrel stretched her neck and blew through her nose. She was tired and he knew it, and felt heavy at the thought that he and she must soon part. She was his dearest possession. He thought that he loved her as much as his brother. Both of them had served him well in this affair. "It was a generous thing of Sigurd, so near as he is to King Olaf, to come and warn me. He may get into trouble over it. All depends on theking's mood. If he is in a rage he may tie Sigurd up and keep him in bondage on my account. But no! I trust that king. He was good to me about his religion." He laughed over the memory of that, and looking up into the clear sky, which the sun was burning to whiteness, watching the soaring eagles, marking up the glittering snowfields the herds of deer stretched out in thin lines of travel like trees in file, he felt happy.
The time came when he must send the mare home. He freed her of saddle and bridle. He loaded himself with the pack-bag, cut himself a birch-sapling for staff, and stood ready. Then he kissed Sorrel's nose, and turned her face westward. "Home with thee, dear one," he said, "and keep thy counsel when thou art there. We shall meet again if the luck holds. Neigh at thy stable door and Sigurd will befriend thee. Farewell." He gave her a hearty smack on the buttock, then held his armswide and said "Off." She looked round at him, prick-eared and close-eyed. She whinnied to him, then turned to nibble the grass. "What, thou wilt not? But I tell thee, go. One more kiss perhaps." He kissed her again, and whispered in her ear, "Home, my dear." She looked forward down the rocky vale she had climbed and then walked soberly down. Once or twice she stopped and looked round, and then she neighed after him. "Shoo, mare!" he said. "Shoo, girl!" and opened his arms. Sorrel went down the valley and he lost sight of her.
He turned to his way which asked him to cross a mountain shoulder deep in snow. That was heavy going, for it was soft in the sun. From the top he saw his work before him, fold within fold of snow, brown valley-bottoms, and over all the great ridge of white with pines like scars upon it, which was the boundary between Norway and Sweden. Heavens! What a jobhe had got. But he went on, nothing doubting, and kept a stout heart. "A lonely place to be hanged in, and few trees fit for it. But I doubt I should have a fight for it here."
I need not delay over his journey, which took him two days longer, and two nights. By the time he had climbed the great ridge he had come near the end of his strength and his provisions for it. Yet he must go on; for that was no place in which to spend the night, a waste of snow and a line of torn pines driven everlastingly by a cruel wind. When he saw what was now in front of him and below, his heart might sink, though it did not. So far as eye could range all was forest. It was like looking upon a dark sea, featureless except for the lines of light and shadow which ran over it when wind and sun played together. He saw no ways, no clearings; there rose no chimney-smoke anywhere.Not a bird sailed above, not a wolf grieved, not a fox stirred. "And is that Sweden then? And are there people dwelling in the dark beneath? There are two worlds there, and there might be dwellers in the tree-tops who know nothing of the inhabitants of the deep, and are themselves unknown. How am I to guide myself through that thicket, and who is going to feed me or give me drink?" Looking into it, he shivered in the wind. "Outlandish country, you must do better for me than this," he said. He had a traverse of a league of snow-slope before he could enter the forest. To that he addressed himself now, with a prayer to all the Gods in Valhall.
GUNNAR IN THE FOREST HEARS TELL OF FREY AND HIS WONDERS
The course of the snow-slope brought Gunnar to rocks and a precipice from a gorge in which descended a river of ice. Far below him he heard the thunderous crash of water, and judged that in following that, if it could be done, he would find his best chance of guiding his way through the forest. The river would join another; that other must in time reach the sea. So he determined to do; but it was easy talking. It took him the best part of a day to get down the cliff. He spent a miserable night crouched under a rock, and started off again in the morning almost fasting. There was coarse grass nowgrowing wherever there was hold for it. In one of these he saw a white hare lying flat, and by a trick he knew he fell his length upon her and secured her. He had no fire, and made what he could of her raw and sinewy flesh. So replenished, he went on his downward course, reached the waterfall bathed in sweat, and followed it as nearly as might be down into the chill and silence and darkness of the forest.
Day and night were alike to him now; for a time whose duration he took no pains to guess at, he worked his way downwards, a more fearful toil, with more of peril in it than any he had spent in climbing the ridge. This great forest was untouched by the hand, unvisited by the foot of man so far as he could understand. He saw no living thing, though high above him he sometimes heard the battling of wings, and once or twice hoarse cries which he judged must come from the air. He listened for wolves or foxes, but heard none;he kept his eyes aware for the track of roe-deer or bear, but vainly. All was silent and accursed. Except on the banks of the torrent there was little vegetation to be seen, for among the pine stems the needles lay close and deep upon the ground, and nothing could live in such a soil or in such a chill and dank air. Whither he went, or how far he had come, he knew not; for all his steadiness of heart, the conviction turned him sick that if he did not soon meet with men there would be one man less in the world.
"Better to have been hanging on a green tree in the warm and living air than to slowly fritter away into corruption, and become bleached bones here in the dark and cold." He looked back with wistfulness to such a genial death. "Sigurd would have piled a cairn for me. He would have grieved for me, and said prayers to his new God in the king's new temple. Well, hanging is a man's death, as battleis. But to fight the dark, to grow weak by chill and hunger, to be so lonely that not a raven troubles about your dead eyes! This is a death for wolves—but not for men who love to lie snug among their fellows."
These were his thoughts at the worst; at the best he felt that before long he must hit upon a sign of life.
He was now on level ground, and true it was that he came at last upon a clearing. A broad green road ran on either side of a ford in the river. Here he stood and looked up at the blue sky, and saw how the sun made the tree-tops seem cut out of gold. He forgot his emptiness, his loneliness and dark forebodings. "Oh, now I see that the sun is a God who loves men!"
As if that was true, and he was to be assured of it, a shaft of sunlight struck the ford and turned his eyes that way. It clarified the water and brought the stonesinto sight. Presently he saw a better thing: a goodly fish lay in the deeper part, faintly swaying his tail. Gunnar made a wide cast over the river and crawled up the bank on his belly. He lay motionless, watching his prey, and then, inch by inch, approached his hand to the belly of the fine fish. Inch by inch he went upwards to the head; then, judging his time, snapped his fingers together into the gills and jerked him out of the water. Here truly was a prize awarded him by the sun. The fish was good eating. He ate him all but the head and bones.
Now he must decide what to do, whether he should follow the river or the road. If he followed the road, by which hand should he be guided? He was not long in deciding the first issue. The sun and the sky were too dear to him to be lost again. For the second, he was for following the sun, which was high in the heavens. If it was noon, the road which ran intothe sun would lead him to the South. On the South also was the sea. Besides all that there was to be said that the road had been cleared by men, and must lead to the dwellings of men.
Strong in this assurance, he went briskly along a good green track. Now he could tell night from day; now he saw birds flying overhead; presently a fox trotted across the way in front of him, saw him and sat up to watch. He barked shortly once or twice and then galloped into the thicket. But Gunnar felt enheartened by the sight of him. After that he heard wolves howling afar off, as their custom is at sunset. But the great event of all was on the next day, when he saw two things, one after the other, which made his heart beat. The first was a dog, which the moment he caught sight of him pelted away up the track with his tail clapped to his hinder parts; the second was a young woman. As he came round a curvein the road she was standing in the middle of it at a bowshot's distance. She was very pale, black-haired, short-kirtled and barefoot. He stopped immediately to watch; but at that moment she saw him and slipped among the trees. Gunnar ran with all his might; he called; he shouted. No answer. He couldn't find her anywhere. No matter. Sweden was inhabited. He would not die lonely. His heart was high to be sure of that, and he went on rejoicing.
Next he came to an open place, a clearing in the trees where men had lately been. He saw the ashes of their fire, bones, the skin of a goat. He saw leaves and branches which had been slept upon; he saw the prints of hoofs—ponies' or donkeys' hoofs. So he journeyed on, and at last smelt the friendly smell of burning wood. "Now to accost the Swedes," he said. "What will they make of me? Or I of them?"
Guided by the smell he was not longbefore he saw men about a great fire. There may have been eight of them there. They looked black, and he knew that they were charcoal-burners—which in fact they were. Taking his life in his hands he went directly towards them, and when they saw him, and scrambled to their feet in amazement, he lifted his hand in greeting and came among them. They were cooking over their fire; a great pot was bubbling. Their dogs came smelling about his calves; but they themselves stood speechless where they were. "Do these blacks intend my death?" he asked himself. He hoped not, but did not draw the sword.
Seeing that they did not move, and that their very dogs had now withdrawn themselves and were barking uneasily at a distance, Gunnar advanced with friendly gestures. Hereupon the men with one accord fell to their knees and stooped their bodies until their faces touched theearth. "Good souls, they take me for a God," he thought. He was now fairly within the line of them, and stretching his hands over the fire. The smell from the pot tickled his nostrils and brought water into his mouth. How long was it since he had tasted cooked food? It was too much for him. Forgetting the dangers of manhood and the honours of godhead alike, he fished in the pot for a morsel, sat down and began to eat. He found himself ravenous, and in good case to better himself; he might have eaten the contents of the pot, but that by cautious degrees the charcoal-burners began to consider him. He found bright eyes peering at him from between sooty fingers. Finally one bolder than the rest lifted his head, and fairly asked him if he were a man or a God. He spoke hoarsely, but could be understood.
"Friend," Gunnar said, "you may see by my procedure that I am a man and ahungry one, though not now so hungry as I was."
The man, at this, punched his neighbour of either side, and said, "Up, for this is a man like ourselves." Presently they were all up and about him, very curious.
"You come from afar off? You are not of this country? Whence then do you come?"
Gunnar said that he was from Norway. They had never heard of Norway. One of them said that he had lived all his days in the forest country and had never seen a stranger before.
Gunnar pointed to the West. Norway, he said, lay over there, beyond the mountains. They replied that he must be mistaken, because on the level of the mountains was a great lake of snow and water in which the sun dropped every night and was quenched with a furious hissing. They said that you could hear it when the wind came that way, and that themountain-tops were covered with steam thrown up by the dying sun, which sometimes stayed there for days at a time.
"And yet," Gunnar said, "every day the sun comes up again. How do you account for that?"
They said that was easy to understand; for the lake had no bottom. Therefore the sun dropped through, and when it had emerged kindled again upon its flight through the air. And this went on for ever.
Gunnar said, "You tell me marvellous things. Now let me tell you some." So he spoke of Norway and Iceland, and of the great ocean beyond Orkney; and of Ireland, and the poets and holy men there. Then he went on to talk of the inland sea where there were no tides, but only rushing currents, and whirlpools and desperate storms. Lastly he spoke of Micklegarth and of a sea beyond that again, which is called the Black Sea, and of the terriblefolding rocks which are on the edge of that. To all of this they listened with open mouths.
When they inquired what had brought him into Sweden he frankly told them how it was. They said that he was safe enough here, and that nobody would do him any harm. "Few men fight here," they said. "The worst that may happen to you is that you will go into the cage and be offered up to Frey. But that is reckoned an honourable way of death. You serve Frey, and you serve Frey's people, and you may be sure that Frey won't forget it."
"It may be true," Gunnar said, "that Frey won't forget me, but we know very little about Frey, never having seen him at any time; and for my part I should not care to risk it."
They all looked at him in wonder. "But," said one of them, "everybody has seen Frey."
"I assure you," said Gunnar, "that Ihave not—for one. And I'll answer for every man in Norway."
"We know nothing of the Norwegians, of whom we hear for the first time," he was told; "but the people of this part have good reason to know Frey, and to fear him, seeing he lives among them, and is now a day's and night's journey from here. I myself," the speaker said, "saw him but fourteen days ago, in his holy place."
"What is his holy place?"
The man said, "It is his temple where he lives when he is not upon his rounds. All the winter he lives there with his wife, and the people worship him and make feasts for him. But when the winter is over, and the rains come to wash the world clean for the sun, Frey goes off in his wagon and visits all the villages in turn, and blesses the grain and makes it fertile. That is how the world goes on, and men get food for their pains."
Gunnar was amazed. "Do you say that Frey has a wife?"
"I do say so, since it is true. But as yet she is not fruitful, which vexes Frey."
"Let Frey consider himself," said Gunnar. "It is not always a wife's fault if she is not fruitful."
"You may be sure that the fault is not Frey's," they said.
"I am not at all so sure," said Gunnar. "Does Frey do his duty by her?"
They said, "For certain he does. He has been married to her these two years."
"There's time yet," said Gunnar; "these are early days. Is she a young woman?"
"She is in the flower of her age. She must be sixteen years old."
"And is she of this country?"
"It is not certainly known. A woman from the South had her. She said that her husband had been slain on the sea-coast; but no one here can say anything of it because no one has ever seen the sea.Well, when the girl was of marriageable age Frey chose her; so she was given him."
"And how did Frey choose her?"
"He took her."
Gunnar thought all this very remarkable, and said that he should himself go to see Frey. They answered to that, that undoubtedly he would; for if he did not they would be bound to take him, as an offering, since that was Frey's pleasure.
"Does Frey demand human sacrifice?" Gunnar asked. They said that he did.
Gunnar said, "He shall be baulked of me; but I have a very handsome cloak about me, which I shall give him as a present if he pleases to be benevolent to me."
"All depends upon his wife," they told him. "She has the power of choice in these matters." Gunnar said, "Leave me to deal with Frey's wife. I have a way with women."
GUNNAR MEETS WITH FREY. CONCERNING FREY'S WIFE
Directed by the charcoal-burners, Gunnar made his way to the village where he was to find Frey in his temple. He reached a fine clearing in the forest by the late afternoon, and was soon remarked and almost as soon beset by the inhabitants. Young and old, mostly women, they came about him like a cloud of gnats. They were a wild, dark-haired and pale people, well-made but not tall. They were all barefoot, and had fierce, husky voices; but they were harmless, touching him by the prompting of curiosity, and delight in a thing so rare. His beard especially moved them. They must by all means touch that. "It is like Frey's beard.He is Frey's brother. Bring him to Frey then." So they spoke to each other. As they came into the village they formed a kind of procession. A young woman took him by either hand; children danced in front of him singing a shrill song; the older ones shuffled behind. Dogs capered and barked about.
Wooden houses built clear of the ground on piles formed the village. It was full of dogs and children, with one or two old men peering at the entry from the shelter of trees. He saw the roof of Frey's temple, a long building with a steep gable. The roof was of heather. They entered a forecourt and stood before the temple. In the midst was an altar of stone. There was a gallery to the house sheltered by the eaves of it, and held up by trunks of trees, smoothed and painted with zigzags in red, blue and yellow. A curtain hung over the doorway. He saw neither Frey nor his wife.
The women who had conducted him sat upon their heels and began their song again. The rest of the village crowded the entry of the court. When they had sung for some time, the curtains of the doorway moved; Gunnar thought that he saw the outline of a shoulder, and then was positive that a hand was at the opening. He could not answer for it, but he fancied that he was being looked at.
In the meantime the crowd began to draw away from him and to form two companies, one on each side. He found himself standing alone, and looking presently round, saw an old bearded man coming towards him with a long bare knife in his hand. He had glittering eyes and a determined expression. "This old man is going to shed blood," said Gunnar to himself. "He chooses for mine, but there are two parties to a bargaining of that sort."
The old man, being now beside him,produced from the bosom of his gown a coil of cord. "He will truss me like a fowl," said Gunnar; then he greeted the man fairly, giving him the time of day.
"You are welcome," said the old man. "It is the hour of the evening sacrifice."
"Is that so?" Gunnar answered. "I hope you don't take me for your offering. I have not escaped one kind of death to fall into another."
"Frey must be contented," said the old man.
"He shall be," Gunnar said; "I will give him my cloak."
He opened his pack, and brought out the famous cloak. Shaking out the folds of it, he put it on and displayed it. The assembly murmured applause; even the old knifer was moved.
"I have brought this cloak as a gift for Frey," said Gunnar. "Set open the temple; let him show himself and he shall have it. It will last him longer thana blood-offering, which is a beastly thing not at all suitable to a great God. In my country we serve Frey—or we did once upon a time—but not with men's blood. Oxen and sheep are pleasing to him; dogs also and hens. But he has other uses for men."
The old man was fingering the cloak. The gold work on the back was a delight and wonder to him.
"Frey has never had so much gold as this. You are fortunately come. He shall have the cloak and you too."
"You are mistaken," said Gunnar. "But in order to make sure, I will go and ask him."
With these words he stepped sharply forward and went up the steps to the temple before any one could stop him. The curtains opened and a young woman came out and stood before them, closing them behind her.
She was frightened, but bore herself withgreat dignity. She could not check the shortness of her breath, however; nor the scare in her eyes. She was not tall, and she was very young; she was dressed in blue which had red embroidery round the neck. Her black hair was plaited, and on her head she had a double band of gold wire with thin leaves of flat gold between the wires. Gunnar saw that she was a very pretty girl, and thought that he could deal with her if he had the chance.
He saluted her civilly and told her what was the matter. "This old man wishes to cut my throat," he told her, "and I, on the other hand, am strongly against it. I have come to appeal to you or to Frey against such a breach of hospitality."
She did not answer him at first; but her eyes were upon his own, and her lips moved as if she was uncertain what to say.
Presently she said, "Who are you, and whence do you come?"
He said, "My name is Gunnar Helming,and I am from Norway over the mountains of the West. I am outland-faring as you see, and have no friends in these parts, unless you are inclined to be one."
She hesitated, but had already made up her mind. "I will send the people away," she said, "and then we will ask Frey."
Gunnar said, "I am sure that Frey will be guided by you"; but she had not waited to listen to that, being already down the steps and among the people.
"There can be no blood-sacrifice of this man," she said to them, but not in Gunnar's hearing. "This man is the friend of Frey, and it is lucky for you, I can tell you, that you have not shed his blood. I was just in time to prevent a dreadful thing which Frey would never have forgiven you. Now you must go away and leave the two together. They have not met for a long time, and have a great deal to tell each other." With that theydispersed, and Frey's wife came back to Gunnar.
"Now," she said, "we must see Frey."
"I am going to offer him this cloak which I am wearing. It is very fine, as you see."
She touched the gold, and then took one of the sable tails in her hand. "It is beautiful," she said. "Where did you get it?"
"I had it from a great rascal," Gunner said, "who made a pretext of it to do me the wrong which brings me here. I will tell you the tale if you care to listen to it." She had fixed and considering eyes, and still held the sable-tail. Then she said shortly, "We must go in to Frey. Come with me."
Frey stood in the middle of the temple. He was a young man of Gunnar's height and proportions. His beard was red and his hair was brown. He had staring blueeyes, scarlet nostrils and a fixed smile. His lips also were scarlet. On his head was a crown of golden oak-leaves and acorns. In one hand he held a golden cone, like the fruit of a pine-tree, but much larger. In the other he had a staff which was tipped with a bud. He had a green tunic upon him and red hose. His legs below the knees were bound in leather, and he was shod with soft leather dyed red. He himself was made of wood and painted all over in colours brighter than life, but his clothes were as real as yours or mine.
"So this is Frey," said Gunnar to himself with great astonishment. "I would rather have the friendship of his wife."
This wife of his did not take much notice of her husband, it seemed to him. She drew a settle out a little way from the wall, and sat on it, inviting Gunnar to a seat beside her. "Now tell me the tale," she said. So he did.
She said, "The man is not your enemy.Neither is the king. The man acted basely, but the king could not do otherwise than he did, for appearances were against you. But I see that you are an unlucky man, because Frey has no liking for you."
"How can you say that?" said Gunnar.
"I can tell by the look of him. He will not say anything. It is not his way. But he is no friend to you."
"If I give him my cloak," said Gunnar, "he may think better of me."
She shook her head. "I doubt it. But certainly he must have it. There is no other way. Besides, when the people see that he has accepted your cloak they at least will be contented."
Gunnar gave her the cloak, and she cast it over Frey's shoulder, and touched his beard while she whispered to him what it was. In order to whisper in his ear she had to stand tiptoe.
"Well," said Gunnar, "and how does he take it?"
"Very ill," she said.
"Then do you send me away?"
She hung her head, and thought about it. "No," she said, "I can't do that just yet. You shall stay here for three days, and maybe he will like you better. I will talk to him about it to-night when we are in bed."
"Do you go to bed with Frey?" he said in astonishment; but her own was equal to his.
"Where else should I go if I am his wife?" she said. Then she grew red and turned away her face.
Gunnar said, "I will ask you what your name is, Frey's wife. I can't call you that for three days."
"Why so?" she asked him, rather fiercely.
"Because it seems to me foolishness."
"I am called Sigrid," she said.
"Then I shall call you Sigrid," said Gunnar.
TALK BETWEEN GUNNAR AND SIGRID
Gunnar was a friendly man and made himself pleasant about the place. He used to sit out in the sun and converse with the village people. He told tales to the children and played games with them. The old man who had been wishful to sacrifice him bore him no malice; but Gunnar told him plainly that he did not approve his practices. "In my country, and in Iceland also, there has been much devotion to Frey, who is a great God; but human sacrifice is not required by him, nor are we profaned with it. Prisoners of war may not be used that way. We think it barbarous and abominable."
"Well," the old man said, "it has alwaysbeen the custom here. And you must remember the services Frey performs. He is resting now. His work is over. But when the spring comes there will be no man in the country busier than Frey. There is not a tilled field he must not visit; and the grass-lands and the gravid sheep, and the lambs and sucklings of all sorts; the sick draught-animals; the ewes who are to go under the rams; the bulling cows; the reindeer—well, you can see for yourself that he must be propitiated. And how else, pray, would you have it done?"
"The Christians, who are to the fore in Norway just now," replied Gunnar, "have a God who has given them another law altogether. Their God had a Son Who said to His Father, 'Enough of these human sacrifices. I detest them and will have nothing to say to them.' 'What will you do then?' his Father asked. 'Why,' said He, 'I will be made man myself. I will be born of a woman, and put to death.That will be a sufficient sacrifice for every one in the world.' And so it was, they say, and their God accepted it as sufficient. But the Christians have a strange power which is resident in their priests; and that is, that the priest does sacrifice every day, and makes anew the Son of God into a man of body and blood. Every day he offers it on the altar. So the prime sacrifice is every day renewed, and all goes well. That is what they say."
The old man was very much astonished. "You are speaking of marvellous things," he said. "It is the way of you travellers. But I do not believe that the Swedes would be content with such a sacrifice, and I am sure that Frey would not."
"We shall see," Gunnar said, but said no more at the time. He was determined that while he remained in Frey's house Frey would go without human blood upon his altar-stone.
Sigrid liked him to be there. She foundhim very good company. He made her laugh, which Frey, she said, had never done yet. "He will though," Gunnar told her, but she shook her head.
At the end of three days, he asked her what he was to do about staying on. They sat together under the gallery outside the house. Frey was inside behind his curtains. It was the hour before the sacrifice, when his curtains would be opened, and himself shown in his fine new cloak. So far there had been no attempt made to sacrifice a man or child, which Gunnar was glad of, because he was not yet sure enough of his footing.
She frowned and nursed her chin. "Why," she said, "I don't know what is to be done. Frey doesn't like you at all; I can see that."
"Have you talked it over with him as you promised me?" She nodded her head.
"And what did he say?" She looked away as she answered him.
"He said very little; but he was very stiff."
"I should think he was always rather stiff," Gunnar said, and she frowned and grew red.
"But what do you feel about it yourself?" said Gunnar. "I believe that you find me well enough."
She nodded. "Yes, I do. I like you to be here. You make me laugh. I feel younger than I did."
"That is good news," said Gunnar. "I understand that you are sixteen years old. Do you now feel that you are twelve?"
She laughed. "Sometimes I do."
"Then," said Gunnar, "keep me here a month or two longer and I shall rock you in your cradle."
She considered whether he was laughing at her, and then asked him suddenly, was he married, had he children?
"No, sweetheart," he said, "but Ishould like a wife very well if I could get one to my mind."
Now she reproved him. "You must not say that. I am not to be called so."
"Why, what is the harm in that?" he said. "It's what I used to call Sorrel, my mare."
"It may be so," she replied, "but I am not your mare."
"No indeed," he said. "But what then shall I call you? Shall I say 'Pretty one' or 'Kind lass'?"
"No. Frey would dislike it."
"But," he said, "all these names are true of you."
She said, "Frey will like them all the less."
Gunnar said that he would risk it. And certain it is that he did, and that she said nothing more about it.
She decided that he should stay on until the winter feasts began. "And then we will see what can be done. Maybe he will be more used to you by then."
"Oh, as for him," Gunnar said lightly, "he has had a fine cloak from me, and I suppose that is enough."
She frowned, and tossed her foot. "You don't know Frey yet."
Then came the hour of sacrifice and a leading-in of sick animals to be blessed by Frey. Gunnar was very useful here, for he was skilled in farriery, and could do much too with sheep and cattle. They called him the new priest of Frey, and held him in great honour. But the more that they thought of Frey on his account the less, naturally, Gunnar thought of him on his own. He did not now believe that even a devil resided in him, or found it difficult of belief. Frey had the appearance of frowning sometimes, and sometimes there seemed to be a red flame in his eyes. Another thing he could do with his eyes: he could cause them to follow you all over the room. Those eyes of his were for ever upon Gunnar and Sigrid so that they usedto say to each other, "We can't talk here. Let us go into the gallery." She never said, "Let us go into the chamber," and it never entered Gunnar's mind to propose it. But it had entered into hers.
Gunnar, however, began to dislike Frey. He despised him, and yet found that added to his dislike. He told himself that Sigrid's marriage was a black shame.
After he had been with her a while she told him what she knew about herself. She had never known her father, nor even what his name was. Her mother had been called Sea-child; and Sigrid remembered being carried on her back, slung in a shawl. Her mother had had black hair and yellow eyes which looked black in the dark, and as pale as the palest amber in strong light. She was rather tall, whereas Sigrid—who also had black hair and amber eyes, though of a darker tint—was a little woman. She thought that she remembered her mother saying that they had crossed the sea; andthat somebody, her mother or an old man who used to be with them sometimes, had spoken of a city called Prag. She thought that this must be true, because she had never heard anybody in Sweden speak of Prag, and doubted she could have made up the name for herself. Gunnar told her that she had not. "There is a city called Prag, on a mighty river. I have seen the river," he said, "but not the city of Prag."
Well then she told him that the Swedes had ill-treated the old man who used to be with them. They had put him into an osier basket, and pierced that through and through with swords; she remembered the bright blood welling out between the plaited wicker. That had been done upon the altar of a God—she believed it was Frey. As for her mother, some man had taken her to live in his house, and she herself had lain about with the cattle, and had been sent to keep swine in the woods. Nobody had hurt her, but she had gone in terror ofwolves, which in winter were dangerous, and came sometimes into the villages and carried off children from the doorways. They were so hungry that even when they were beaten off they only ran to a little distance, and then came back again to snuff about for what there might be in their way.
Then she remembered a day when her mother brought her into the house, and took off her rags, and put a new gown on her. She twisted up her hair into a long plait, and made her see if she could still sit upon it. That was easy. After that she was kept at home with the children of the house; and men used to take notice of her, kiss her and take her on their knees. She had liked that for a time, because she liked people who were kind and friendly; but there was too much of it, and she used to run away and hide herself.
There had been a lad, she said, called Tostig, belonging to the household of hermother's husband. He had been in love with her, she supposed. At any rate he was always in her company, and she had liked him very well. One day when they were all in the temple before Frey, with garlands of flowers, his eyes had burned fiercely, and by and by he fell forward upon Tostig and knocked him down. They picked up Frey; and the priests said that Tostig was to be sacrificed. That was done. They put him in an osier basket and transpierced it with their swords. After that Frey's eyes were cool and steady, and nothing more occurred until the following spring when Frey was to have started on his rounds to bless the vegetation. Then again when they were in the temple his eyes burned, and again he fell, this time upon herself. She was thrown backwards and Frey upon her. Then she believed that her last hour was at hand; but her mother was shrill and urgent with the priests, calling them fools. She said that Frey had been jealous ofTostig and fell upon him on that account; but he fell upon Sigrid for no reason of that sort, but to mark her for his own. Sigrid, she said, was now marriageable. Frey wanted to marry her, and to disoblige him would be at their peril. There was high debate about all this, and other priests from other villages were called in. Frey was asked, and they say that he nodded his head. She herself was not asked; but she was taken into the temple one night by her mother and told what she would have to do. On the next day was the wedding and great rejoicings all over the forest country.
Gunnar stopped her here. "They married you to that block of painted wood?"
She said, "They married me to Frey."
Gunnar said, "But——" and then he stopped short himself. "There is no more to be said."
"No," she said, "that is the end of it. We set out in the ox-wagon soon after that."
"How long ago was this?" he asked her.
She replied, "I was marriageable, my mother said. I don't know when it was." Then she thought aloud. "One, two, three—yes, it was three springs ago last spring."
"And you say you are sixteen years old."
"I don't say so," she replied; "the people here say so. My mother died two springs ago when I was away with Frey on his rounds."
Gunnar got up from the bench where they were sitting. "Wait here for me," he said, and went into the temple, folding the curtains behind him. There stood Frey, crowned and standing, with his shining scarlet nostrils. Gunnar went up to him and took him by the nose. "God or devil," he said, "I'll get this out of joint before I've done with you, or you with Gunnar." Frey rocked under the force of his passion, but said nothing.
Gunnar came back and found Sigrid where she was. She did not look up. Hestretched out his hands towards her, then dropped them and began to whistle a tune.
That made her look up smiling. "You seem in good spirits," she said.
"I feel considerably better than I did," he told her, "but there is much to do before I am perfectly myself again."
GUNNAR TURNS FREY ABOUT AGAINST FREY'S WILL
Sigrid told Gunnar that the old priest of Frey who lived in the village, and who had been the man wishful to slay him on the altar, intended to have a sacrifice on the morrow. "Oh, does he so?" said Gunnar. "And what is he going to sacrifice?"
She said, "It is a boy."
"We will see about that," Gunnar said. "It may be that it will be himself who gets the worst of it."
The next day, before the hour of sacrifice, Gunnar told Sigrid to go into the court and leave him to draw the curtains. She didas she was told. The people assembled, and he heard their singing, and the stamping of their feet as they danced about the victim. Then they all called on Frey, and he peeped through the curtains and saw the old man in a crown of leaves, with his knife in his hand, and the victim naked except for a loin-cloth, bound up tightly with cords. There also was the basket of osier. Having done what he wished to do in the temple, he drew the curtains. To their great consternation they saw that Frey had his back to them instead of his face. Gunnar, who had come out by a side door, joined Sigrid in the gallery of the temple. They sat close together looking at the amazed people.
The old man gave a shrill cry. "Frey abandons us! He is angry." Then he turned to his flock and spoke vehemently, but Gunnar could not hear his words. Sigrid watched them with keen and bitter eyes.
Presently the old man turned again and beckoned to Gunnar. He, however, satwhere he was. Then he was hailed by his enemy. "You, stranger, come down."
Gunnar said, "I am a servant of the temple, and will not come down. Do you come up rather and say what you have to say."
The old man then came shuffling up, with his gown dragging at his ankles. When he stood before Gunnar, he was out of breath, and that added to his rage.
Gunnar asked him what the matter was, and Whitebeard gnashed his gums together.
"The matter is that Frey is angry—not because of sacrifice, but because there has been none since you came here. There must be much more blood shed—and the sooner the better."
"I assure you," Gunnar replied, "that there will be bloodshed if you persist, and that blood will be your own."
Whitebeard looked fiercely at him. "You are talking foolishly. Who would shedmy blood? And how would that be pleasing to my master Frey?"
Gunnar replied, "I will tell you the answer to your questions. To your first: I would very willingly shed your blood, and your blood is the only blood that I would willingly shed. And I believe that all these people would dip their hands in it and show it to Frey, who would then turn his face to them again. As for your second, it is plain that Frey is displeased with your present sacrifice."
Whitebeard was in a great rage. He put his face close to Gunnar's and said whispering (but Sigrid heard him), "It was you who turned Frey about."
"It was," said Gunnar.
"You own to your blasphemy. For blasphemy it is, though you said nothing."
"Take it so," said Gunnar.
The old man looked about him, not knowing what to do next. His eyes fell upon Sigrid, who stood stiffly by with fixed looks.
"Mistress," he said then, "Frey's wife, what say you?" She shivered.
"There must be no sacrifice," she said. "Frey will not have it."
"But you heard this man tell me that he turned Frey about?"
"I did," she said. "He did so at my desire."
"You own yourself party to his wicked mind?"
"His mind is the mind of Frey in this," she said.
The old man frowned deeply. "You avow that?"
"I do."
"Did Frey confide it to you?"
"He did."
"When this man Gunnar was not there?"
"He was not there."
The old man tossed his arms up. "There is no more to say."
Then Gunnar, even while his enemy stood by him, addressed the people. Hesaid, "I come from a distant country, where Frey has been had in honour, but not in your way. Your way is beastliness and great shame to you because you read into the mind of the God what is the secret pleasure of the vilest of you, such as this old toothless man here. He, loving to see men's blood flow, believes that Frey takes joy in it also. But Frey knows very well that a man is better than a beast, and if he love the smell of beasts' blood, that is his affair, but the blood of men is more honourable than that, and reserved for better work. He says that I put into the mind of Frey to be done with the slaughter of men. Have it that I did; did I not well to bring his mind to what is excellent in men? Of what use to Frey, or what pleasure can he have in the blood of base or craven men? I said that I would shed the blood of this vile old man, and so I would if I thought that Frey would be the better of it. But the fact is that it would make the ground sick,and Frey would curse you for the gift. Have done with that, and be sure that Frey does not need blood at all, but honesty and the good works of your hands. If you have children, offer them to Frey, but alive, not dead. Shed marrow rather than blood, and Frey will approve your fruitfulness and bless the seed and the seed-plot. And if blood must be shed, let Frey shed his own for you, as the God of the Christians did, Who gives His people every day His body to eat and His blood to drink—which turn in their breasts to milk and in their veins to courage. Let Frey show himself such a God, and you will have no need for lascivious-minded old men to lead you into their own nasty vices." Then turning to Whitebeard, he said, "Get you gone, old monster, and gnash your gums apart where none can see your impotent malice."
The people applauded him when he had done. Some brought branches of trees, and some nests of eggs to Frey. ThenGunnar turned him round to face them, and they rejoiced.
But Sigrid was pale and trembling, and would not look at Gunnar or speak to him all the rest of the day. She stood about by Frey, and put her hand in his, and talked to him, sometimes touching his beard.
Gunnar made the best of it, and let her alone; but seeing her next day in the same mood of alienation, he asked her what the matter was, and "Is there anything I can do about it?" She began to tremble again, and violently; but she used all her force to control herself, and presently told him that all he could do was to leave the place. "If you seek my happiness," she said, "that is what you will do."
"Well," said Gunnar, "I do wish you happy, sweetheart."
"Ah," said she, "it is your sweethearting of me that has made this trouble."
"Well," he said again, "and it does make trouble, my dear; but it is a pleasanttrouble when all's said; and there's a remedy for it."
"It is that which I desire," she said, and he said, "So do I desire it."
Then she said, "Do you know what you did yesterday? You made me untrue to Frey."
"How so?"
"Why, you drove me to say what was untrue. He did not speak his mind to me. That is not true. Or if he did, what he said was quite otherwise."
"You mean," said Gunnar, "that the mind of Frey, as you understand it, is not my mind."
"Certainly it is not," she said. "He hates you. He does not rest because of you."
Gunnar looked at her. "You mean, I believe, that you do not rest."
She stamped her foot. "It is the same thing. If he does not rest, how can I rest?"
Gunnar said, "It is not at all the same thing. And do you think you would rest better if I went away?"
She shook her head, but did not speak. He saw that she was crying.
"Well," said he after a while, "then I shall not go, but will stay here and make Frey a little more friendly."
"Ah," she said in her tears, "you won't do that. He is jealous of you. You can see it."
"I see nothing of it, I assure you," Gunnar said, "and he has no cause. But there are many ways of curing jealousy, one of which is easy." She waited to hear what it was, but without asking. She wanted to know very badly, but Gunnar did not tell her what it was. So after a while of waiting she said, "You are hateful; I hate you," and walked away. Gunnar went out into the sun; and by and by she came back with needlework and sat where she could see him at his business of tending thetemple-garth; but she would not speak to him for the rest of the day.
The season wore to the winter. With the first snow and the fall of the leaf men began to make ready for the winter feasts. There was now no question of Gunnar going. No man could travel that country in the winter when the days are but a few hours long, and the snow is deep and bends the trees to the earth. Gunnar, who did not want to go at all, put it jokingly to Sigrid that perhaps the god of the wolves wanted a human sacrifice, and that perhaps it was himself they wanted. She showed him her eyes full of trouble, and he was touched.
"You don't wish me to say that?"
She said, "I cannot bear you to talk lightly of such things."
"Frey would be glad of such a sacrifice, I am thinking."
She left him instantly and went to Frey. But she soon came back again. She was never long away from where he happened to be.
THE WINTER FEASTS