V
Ingolf bore towards the west. He had the wind on his right side, a little against him. He had to climb rising ground, although not very steep. He only made slow progress. But he felt his strength and how his body was, as it were, braced together in one strain. And it was as though this consciousness of his own strength continually produced new strength again. He was so absolutely determined to hold out till he found Leif or fell dead that there was not the slightest breach in his will, where doubt and fatigue might insinuate their poisonous disintegrating vapours.
For the present, his object was only to go round the wood to the other side and see whether he could not findLeif's tracks and the place where he had entered the wood. If he could find Leif's, or rather the horse's, tracks, his dog would be a considerable help in following them. And ifhecould not find them, it was not impossible that the dog might. Such was Ingolf's plan.
Now and then he looked at the dog faithfully plodding after him. When it ran along unnoticed, it dropped its tail discontentedly. It did not see any object in such an expedition in this weather, and could not possibly approve of it at first. But as soon as Ingolf spoke kindly to it, or it only noticed that it was observed, it cocked its tail and sprang forward at his side, gladly barking, and talked to him in dog-language.
They went steadily forward, although their progress was slow. To his joy, Ingolf noticed that the wind was abating. The snow-clouds were gradually dividing, and the moon's pale disc shone against a background of blue. Around him spread a white expanse, abruptly broken by the dark line of the edge of the wood a little to the right. There was no longer an upward incline; he sped along easily and softly on his ski, and looked about him. The snow-clouds as they departed opened an ever-widening horizon to his view. He must clearly ascertain where he was. Now he knew the place and could do that correctly for himself. Yes, he was up on the heath, and had only to turn to the right and follow the line of the wood. His snow-shoes glided easily upon the smooth, even surface of the snow. With each step he increased his speed. For now a mental tension took hold of him, and filled him with restlessness. He called to his dog, roused it up, and urged it on with short,explanatory shouts. He made it understand that he was seeking something, and counted on its help. Suddenly the dog was awake in every nerve. Now he could understand his master and feel with him. Eagerly he ran on ahead, nosing at the snow. Hither and thither he ran, in larger and smaller curves. Now and then Ingolf seemed to perceive in it an impulse to stand still. But it never came completely to a stop, only making a half pause. The dog was so engrossed in its mission of finding something, though it knew not what, that it completely forgot its tail, and let it hang obliquely down behind, completing the impression of self-forgetting absorption.
It was as though Ingolf's mental tension had transferred itself to the animal, which continually increased its speed. Ingolf had difficulty in keeping up, although he sped as though for his life, so that the sweat poured in streams down over his face and dropped from his eyebrows and chin.
Thus they sped on for a long time. Ingolf knew well that he must husband his strength. But it seemed as though the part of his excitement which had communicated itself to the dog had returned to him with double strength. He completely forgot to economize his forces. He put them all forth, well knowing that by doing so he imperilled the success of his quest. He simply could not do otherwise. The one thing was to hold out and follow the dog. He dared not keep it back. "On!" he said to himself. "As long as you can keep your head up."
Suddenly the dog stopped and began running roundand round. Ingolf was a good way behind him. He hurried on as quickly as possible, and gave close attention to the animal, which now stood and sniffed for a time. Then it ran a little way in the direction of the wood. Oho! Here it was, then! But what now? The dog stood still, sniffed, and ran some way back. Then it paused again. What was the matter?
And see! Now it lifted its head, stood and sniffed now towards the wood, now in the opposite direction, with a slight, hasty jerk of its body. Its tail was lifted too, and stood straight out.
Now Ingolf felt certain. This was where he should enter the wood. Now there remained nothing necessary but to take off his ski and to walk.
But before he had quite got up to the dog, the latter had already started again—away from the wood. Ingolf shouted to it. It must be mistaken. It stood still as it was ordered, but did not come back. It remained standing, waiting for further directions. Ingolf called it again, but it remained standing as before. And now Ingolf heard it utter a low whine. What did it want? Ingolf shouted encouragingly to it and immediately it started off again. Ingolf followed, without yet leaving the edge of the wood. He thought the dog was still on the track, and only following it in the wrong direction. It would soon perceive its mistake and turn round.
But it was far from turning round. On the contrary, it came to a stop and remained standing by a slight elevation in the snow. There it paused and ran about, nosing here and there eagerly. It was easy to see that it had found something of great importance.
Ingolf came to a stop. He had to rally all his will power in order not to collapse.
He could not stir from the spot. Was Leif lying there? Had a tragedy happened after all? The gods he had braved had at last taken vengeance on Leif for his insolence and mockery. Ingolf felt himself struck in a vital nerve. For how could he live after that?
As he stood there it occurred to him suddenly that here his race came to an end. Leif was dear. Only he and Helga were left. He with a stain upon his honour—in a fit of temper he had let Leif ride unhindered away from him to meet obvious death—a stain he could only wash away in one way—by giving himself a sacrifice to Odin. And Helga ... yes, Helga would not survive that. So here the race would cease. All his dreams, all his purposes blown away like chaff before the wind.
Suddenly Ingolf heard the dog close by him. It stood in front of him, with its snout lifted and its ears laid back, whining up at him. At first he looked down without seeing it and without giving heed to its supplicating look; then suddenly he woke to attention. The dog certainly did not look sorrowful. It looked rather as if it had something special, and to a certain degree joyful, to announce. And its whining also seemed to signify the same.
In Ingolf's mind there dawned a spark of hope. He set his ski in motion and followed the dog.
But the nearer he came to the white mound, by which his dog already stood, looking back beseechingly and whining softly—the slower he moved. Suddenly he stood still as though struck. What was it? Whatsort of a sound was that? He stood still awhile and collected himself to listen. But his own blood's throbbing made it hard for him to interpret the sound he heard. Suddenly the sound grew louder, till here was no mistaking it. It was the heavy snoring of one dead tired.
Here was Leif, then, calmly asleep. He was not too dead to lie there snoring, so that it could be heard a long way off.
In an instant Ingolf was there; he threw off his ski and began to excavate the snow with his bare hands. Leif in the horse's stomach was so covered with snow that no one could guess what this mound in the landscape really contained.
Ingolf took hold of a corner of the cloak and pulled. Leif did not follow it, as he had expected. The cloak came up empty, and only exposed Leif's legs to view. Leif was not interested in what was going on—he continued to lie there and snore. So Ingolf began to pull Leif's leg with all his might, and at last dragged him out. A hasty look in the hole showed him the ripped-up stomach of a horse. Leif opened a pair of sleep-drunken and astonished eyes, rose with a bound, looked closely at Ingolf and at the dog, gave a glance into the hole he had been hauled out from, shook off his stiffness, yawned, and began to rub his eyes, as though he wished to look more closely into the matter before he believed it.
Ingolf stood and stared at him without uttering a word. Leif looked dirty and bloody, but it was certainly not his own blood. He did not seem to have lost anything, and was at any rate alive. And how like Leif that was. He had at last rubbed his eyes well and wasawake. For a moment he sat with his eyes wide open and looked at Ingolf.
"Well, you have been home," he blurted out in a voice that was hoarse and still a little sleepy. "Brought anything to eat?"
Then Ingolf sat down and laughed—laughed so that he had to hold his stomach with both hands—laughed so that at last he had to fall backwards, and rolled on one side. Leif looked at him, but his mental faculties were still a little benumbed by sleep. Then he, too, began to chuckle inwardly. When, a little while after, they had put on their ski, and were on the point of starting homeward, Leif stopped suddenly, and reflected. Then he looked Ingolf in the eyes and reached out his hand. He did not utter a word, but pressed his hand and looked straight in his eyes again. There was a slight quiver about his large mouth.
Then quickly they loosed each other's hands. And they started off home at full speed. They were as though born again, and did not feel weariness, cold, or hunger. By their side raced Ingolf's dog, his warm, bright red tongue hanging far out and his tail cheerfully erect.
So they sped along the way by the wood. Down the slopes above the house they went at a pelting pace. When at last they were at home in the courtyard, and had stowed away their ski in the outhouse, the dawn was beginning to break. No one was up yet. Noiselessly they crept to their beds. They did not feel bold enough to meet any one this morning. The best thing was to take refuge in sleep from all explanations.
VI
Helga, though she had only lived for twelve winters, knew already a good deal of life. She knew what it was to be anxious for one whom she loved. Long before she was conscious of her love for Leif, she suffered all a lover's anxiety. Leif took her thoughts with him wherever he went and travelled. And she could never feel secure about him. She could, on the other hand, be sure that if she had not seen him for the space of a day, not to speak of the occasions when he was absent many days, that during that interval he had been once, or probably many times, near the border of the next world, and that it was at any rate only due to the incredible luck which always followed him that he came home with whole limbs.
She knew, in fact, the long days and still longer nights of waiting and anxiety. She knew what it was to lie awake most of the night and see terrible sights. She turned restlessly on her bed, and neither dared to close her eyes nor to stare into the darkness, because everywhere she encountered the figure of him she loved, either dead or dying. She had learnt to prize two things which a woman, who must generally miss and be anxious for him she loves, cannot live without—dreaming and work. She knew how small occupations shorten the day, and the relief won by showing love to animals, being kind to them, and lavishing kind words upon them, and she experienced the joy it gives to be loved by dumb creatures. It was known to her, also, how the way is made easy to the land of dreams, where the hours fly quickly,by busying one's hands with needle and thread. When she sat making something ornamental for herself or small gifts for him, there were moments when she seemed to triumph over distance, and felt her friend so near that she suddenly let her hands sink, looked up, and was quite surprised that he was not standing behind her. Was it because she did not look up quickly enough? Just before, hehadbeen standing there! Helga, with her twelve short winters, knew also happiness. There was the happiness of seeing Leif come home radiant, and hearing his dear, glad voice tell of great adventures. Leif always came across great adventures, so that his tongue nearly ran away with him. There was the joy of noticing that his eye always sought her first, and really only her. It was a joy that he never found rest when near her, except at her side, and that he could only be quiet and lose himself in dreams when she held his hand. It was a joy finally to see him forget everything, even herself, when he had some purpose in his head, or was bent upon going to some other place. Even the pain at seeing herself thus forgotten was mingled with the deepest feelings of joy. For that was just Leif's way. He came so near her by leaving her. She loved him exactly as he was, regardless of limits and without consideration. Because he was one of those whom no bond holds, it was such a happy thing to know that he was hers, when he only remembered it—hers and no one else's.
And, besides, she knew that she could not cease to love him. She was so completely convinced that though in knightly bravery and unbounded courage he might,perhaps, have an equal, he could not have a superior. It was impossible for her to cease loving him.
Yes, Helga knew happiness. She knew what it was to love, and to feel herself beloved. She knew by experience how absence deepens and intensifies affection. She felt how her latent longing slowly grew, and was prepared to burst all bonds. She possessed in full measure woman's pure and unbounded devotion. Matured early as she was, Helga often reflected on the relation between Leif and her brother, Ingolf, which caused her distress. She was fond of her brother. Ingolf, though fundamentally different from Leif, was such that if she once had to leave him in order to follow Leif, she would not make Leif so complete and happy as she ungrudgingly wished him to be. Therefore the great difference in their characters caused her perpetual anxiety—an anxiety which flamed up anew whenever Leif and Ingolf became angry with each other, or even a little at variance. In her heart she accused them alternately—Ingolf, when his phlegmatic character irritated Leif; and Leif, when, by his hastiness and teasing, he provoked Ingolf. Neither Leif nor Ingolf had any suspicion of Helga's deep distress each time a trivial misunderstanding divided them for a short time. For Helga concealed her anxiety, and fought her battle in silence.
She was always on the watch for the fluctuations in their temperaments. She could always perceive when they had been at variance, even when they had been reconciled and had forgotten what had occurred, before they met her. When anything concerned them, she was as sensitive as a feather in the wind. And she did notcease till she had examined the cause of their disagreement to the minutest detail, and cleared away the remnants of ill-humour which might still remain in one or both of their minds. They felt sometimes that it was a little tiresome, being called to account in this way. But they reconciled themselves to it, because both were so fond of her, and because she was wise, quiet, and impartial. They did not guess at all that she fought for her future happiness with a heart torn by anxiety, that her calm had been won by a severe struggle, that her seeming cool, wise impartiality was a screen behind which she concealed herself.
Helga was the only one who, to a certain extent, discovered the real circumstances connected with their journey over the heath. She was also the only one who discovered that they had separated, and separated in anger. Finally, she was the only one who obtained a truthful account of the slaughter of the horse.
Originally it was by no means their intention that she should find out anything of the matter. When Ingolf and Leif had slept uninterruptedly for twenty-four hours after their return from Gaulum, they woke the second night, towards morning, hungry and depressed, and began to examine the situation. They hastily agreed only to say that they had ridden over the heath, and up there had been obliged to kill their only horse, and for the rest to maintain an obstinate silence. If Orn and Rodmar were in the mood to punish them, they must submit; and, for the rest, ride out the storm as well as they could.
They had soon discovered that Orn and Rodmar hadmore important things to think about. It was enough for them that the boys had returned home safe and sound. They told them, seriously, that it was not the custom of a man of honour to break a promise once given, and that, since they had done that, they could not yet be accounted men. That hurt their feelings rather, but had to be borne. Ingolf and Leif discovered once more that one escapes most cheaply when one has been most anxious. So lightly did their fathers deal with them.
With Helga it was another matter. She held on, and held on. For many days they fought manfully; they did not want to make her their confidante in the matter. But she was not to be shaken off. And at last there came the moment when their tongues were altogether loosed, and she got a full account, down to the minutest details.
It happened in the following way. Their plan of defence had been to take care that neither should be alone with her. For many days it had been impossible for her to find them in a remote spot; not once had she succeeded in getting one of them alone. When she saw that it was not a fair fight, she had recourse to stratagem. She kept silence for a few days, and they immediately became less vigilant. Then she brought out some wild apples which she had kept since the preceding summer. She made them believe that she had seen her chance to snatch them. The apples smelt delicious. Leif and Ingolf were immediately willing to share the supposed stolen goods with her. So she succeeded in luring them into her ambush—an outhousewhere they could eat them quietly. She let them bolt the door carefully, so that they should not run the risk of being surprised. She took her seat on the edge of a sledge, and let the boys sit, one on each side of her. And then she spoke in a way to cut off all evasions, and made it impossible for them to be silent any longer. Too late they discovered that they had been caught in a trap.
Embarrassed and unhappy, they began their confession. With red faces and downcast eyes, they related brokenly and alternately what had happened between them on the heath in the evening and the night. Each of them accused himself and excused the other. But Helga, who listened with more than her ears only, became quite clear in her mind regarding what had happened.
Quite still she sat with bowed head, and let them tell their narrative. When they had finished and were silent, she still remained still, without moving or speaking a word. At last her silence seemed so strange to Leif that he lifted his head and looked at her in alarm. And what he saw increased his fear. She sat there by his side with her face white and, as it were, sunk in. Her eyes stared straight before her, her mouth was firmly closed, and tears trickled from her despairing eyes and ran down over her pale face. Leif felt an icy chill run through his whole body which made him shudder. This drew Ingolf's attention, and he also looked up. He had never seen his sister look like that; immediately he seized one of her hands. It was ice-cold, and remained passive in his.
Tears came to Leif's eyes, and he sat there inwardly helpless. It was not possible for him to bring out a word. He found nothing to say, and simply dared not open his mouth, for he was on the point of weeping.
Ingolf was the first to speak. He pressed his sister's limp hand, shook her arm cheerfully, and said: "You must not be so sad about that, Helga. We have forgotten it now. And each of us has certainly vowed in his heart that it shall never happen again."
Helga opened her mouth to answer him, but her tongue would not obey her. She had to struggle hard to control her emotion. When she had waited a little, she at last began to speak. "That is just it," she said, with a broken voice. "It always gets worse and worse with you—always more dangerous. When you are grown, you will not so easily get over it, nor so easily be reconciled afterwards. Perhaps you will even fight each other. Perhaps some day one of you will kill the other. If things go on like this, there will at last be hatred between you. And what shall I do?"
Ingolf and Leif sat and felt very uncomfortable. Both saw for once the relation between them with her eyes. She was right. Things were growing continually worse. It was no use to shut their eyes to the danger. The next time they fell out, it might be under such circumstances as would not admit of their being reconciled again. They had not been far from that this last time.
Ingolf was the first who found firm ground in his thoughts. A secret purpose was suddenly quickened in him. Hurriedly he rose and reached out his handto Leif. "Leif, will you be my sworn brother?" he asked quietly, and there was in his voice and bearing that adult composure which made him at times seem older than he was.
Leif sprang up and took his hand. He could not bring out a word, but gripped hard. Helga remained sitting and looked from one to the other. Then she rose slowly, laid her hands over theirs, and gave each of them a kiss. "Now you are both my brothers," she said, and looked at the same time at Leif. Her look made Leif understand that he was more than a brother. He turned red, and smiled in an embarrassed way. He had the habit of blushing easily. His embarrassed smile was very charming.
They had forgotten the apples. Now they were produced, and helped them over the slight embarrassment which followed on their extreme seriousness. Gradually Leif and Helga talked fluently. Ingolf, on the other hand, did not say much. He sat and took a secret oath that henceforth he would be a man, and no overhastiness of temper should master him. Nothing should by any means divide him from Leif or Helga. Now he and Leif were actually brothers, and Leif and Helga would hold by each other, he knew. Seldom had he felt so happy as at this moment. Quite unconsciously he sat and enjoyed his sense of strength and quiet. He continued so to sit till Helga roused him with a question. Thus they talked easily and enjoyed being together. When they separated, they had agreed that the solemn ceremony of initiation into blood-brotherhood should take place in the spring at the great festival which was to be held at the chief temple at Gaulum.
VII
Orn and Rodmar were able to make the winter pass. They sat most days and every evening on the high-seat, drank beer, and enjoyed each other's society.
From the north came rumours of disturbance. There was still peace and no danger in Dalsfjord and its neighbourhood. But it was best to be prepared for everything.
Now that Halvdan the Black was dead, and his son, Harald, made King, though but ten years old, there were several kings and chiefs who suddenly conceived a desire for the kingdom which Halvdan the Black had established. It was rumoured that Harald and his uncle, Guttorm, who was to be regent during the two years remaining of Harald's minority, had already gone out to meet the disturbers of peace.
When Orn and Rodmar heard of it, they remembered the exploits of their youth. The latter had not lost anything by being related through many years. Listeners obtained the impression that Orn and Rodmar had been present at the most important events of the world, and decided their issue. And it was not only men whom they had encountered. They had met evil and hidden powers in manifold forms. And here they sat after all.
Orn and Rodmar were reasonable men, who spoke in moderation. When one had spoken, he gladly let the other have his turn. And while the one who was silent played the part of an attentive hearer, his look becameabsent, he thought of fresh exploits, brought them forth, and arranged them in his mind. Then when the other at last was silent he was fully prepared. But first he nodded courteously and said, "Yes! Yes!" very thoughtfully, and still kept silence for a moment to show that he had been following. Then all at once he became an active narrator. "But now here!"
The servants in the hall were amused, but not in any unbecoming way. They winked at each other when the old men did not see it. They did not grudge the old men their reminiscences, and partly believed them. But they were amused.
And Orn and Rodmar showed a startling faculty at their age in discovering how to outdo each other's tales.
When they had bragged their best, they went to the temple and offered their fattest animals to the gods, feasted in their honour, and gave them gifts. They did not feel quite sure whether the gods allowed so much pride. And one should not offend the gods, but keep on good terms with them.
Thus the days passed for Orn and Rodmar. They grew old, sitting in the high-seat and drinking beer. They drank much beer.
VIII
One morning, shortly after Ingolf had offered Leif blood-brotherhood, they went to their fathers to tell them, and ask their permission for the ceremony to take place at the feast at Gaulum the first day of summer.
Leif found his father in bed. When he had spoken, Rodmar praised his luck in strong language, added that he had always had better fortune than he deserved, further remarked that on the rare occasions that he caused his father joy it was always without any merit of his own, and bade him go his way and leave him, Rodmar, to his beer.
Orn was sitting in the high-seat, slaking his morning thirst, when Ingolf came before him and asked permission to speak. Orn granted it with a nod of his white-haired head. The slightly absent look did not disappear from his face; he listened without moving to what his son had to say. When Ingolf had spoken, Orn remained sitting silent. Ingolf was not sure whether he had heard what he had said or not. It was easy to see that he sat in deep reflection. Ingolf remained standing for a time, waiting for an answer. When he saw that it was in vain, and that his father had probably forgotten that he stood there, he silently departed.
Orn did not touch his drinking-horn again that day. He busied himself with his thoughts, and was taciturn. Long before his usual time he sought his couch. Early next morning he summoned Ingolf curtly and bade him follow him. He led him to an outhouse where the tools of the house were kept, and bolted the door carefully. Then he took his seat on a chopping-block in the middle of the floor and sat silent. Ingolf stood before him, awaiting what he had to say, and carefully restraining his impatience.
"Sit down," said Orn at last thoughtfully.
Ingolf sat down on some lumber which had been piledup against the main wall. So they remained sitting a considerable time. Orn was long in commencing. "You have told me," he began at last, speaking very slowly and, with constant pauses, "that you intend to enter into blood-brotherhood with your cousin, Leif. I must presume that you are acquainted with duties of blood-brotherhood, and have carefully considered the matter, and also that you have not let yourself be surprised into talking rash vows, or have followed your feelings alone without consulting your understanding. I will not disguise from you that I could have wished a better brother for you in this. And I leave it to your discretion whether the circle of your brotherhood should not be extended so as also to include Atle Jarl's sons. On many grounds I have been led to understand that these young men, especially Haasten, would not be unwilling to exchange the bond of friendship for that of brotherhood. It needs but a word on your part, perhaps only a hint. My opinion is that you would stand stronger alone than with Leif as your sworn brother. You ought to be intelligent enough yourself to perceive that. But the three would balance Leif, and more than that. You would stand stronger afterwards, especially if another tie subsequently should unite us to Atle's sons, which I do not regard as impossible. For the rest, Leif is certainly our kinsman. We should therefore look after him, and perhaps he is best bound in that way. I do not wish to say more about the matter."
Orn was silent for a long time. Presently he resumed. "I feel I am growing old. The days depart and do not return to me. They seem, as it were, to go a very littleway, and there is nothing to hold fast to in them; they slip through my hands."
He coughed, reflected, and began again. "Therefore I have considered that perhaps it would be best if I were to make over to you our property to manage. It will be good for you to be early accustomed to command people and to bear responsibility. And you are certainly a child no longer. I will therefore gladly see, before I die, how you prosper when you manage by yourself. For the rest, I leave matters without anxiety to you, and I shall be at hand, and can be useful. I will also advise Rodmar to do the same for Leif. Your task will certainly be increased by that, for you will have to look after your kinsman, at any rate at first. But since you wish to enter into brotherhood with him, you must bear the consequences. There is no more to be said about it at present. We must have time to prepare the matter, and can return to it later. There was also another thing I wished to speak to you about today."
Orn was silent and reflected. Then he commenced again hesitatingly, not without a certain embarrassment. "I often heard in her time your mother speaking with you. It is now long since, and you were little at the time. Probably you have forgotten some of what she said. But I have noticed that you have remembered part of it—perhaps you remember every word. I have never spoken to you of your mother. You have never given occasion for it, and one should not talk too much. When one talks too much, words easily become mere wind. Therefore I have never hitherto spoken with you about something, of which, however, I wish to speak withyou—not because I believe it necessary—perhaps you are already as clear on the matter as myself—but because I want you to remember that I have spoken to you. The fact that I cannot well postpone it has also determined me to speak now.
"You know that Odin and Thor are especially my gods. They have been the gods of our family as far back as tradition goes, and I want you, like your forefathers, to hold them especially in honour. If you do that, it will go well with you. For wisdom and strength are the two things a man must have. If he has them, he has honour too, in Valhalla as well as here upon earth. Goods and gold, power over men, and great possessions are good things, which you should strive to acquire, and hold fast when you have them. But all those things can, in case of need, be dispensed with. Honour is the one indispensable thing, because, after all, it is the only thing that uplifts a man, and the only thing that survives him on earth, when he is dead and done with. And because honour can be lost during a man's lifetime, a dead man with honour preserved is happier than the man who is still alive, and whose honour is exposed to peril. It is not necessary to impress upon you anything else than that; when your honour is concerned, you must be prepared to stake your life. The memory of a man outlives him. And honour casts a glory over a man's memory, just as dishonour casts a shadow. No man in our family has a shadow on his memory. This is the most important thing which I wish to say to you. But if you have the patience to hear me, I have something more to say. And that is this. You shallrespect your land's law and justice, for as long as you have not renounced its law, you are bound by it, and dishonour yourself by breaking it. You shall not stir up unnecessary quarrels, but avoid disunion and strife, as long as your honour is not injured. Peace in the land produces fruitful fields. But if you have a lawful vengeance to inflict, do so with a heavy hand, as behoves one born to such a place as yours. But be always ready for reconciliation when it is offered sincerely. An honourable reconciliation is preferable to a victory which may carry in it the seed of future defeat.
"And never break a treaty, for only a wretch ignores his vows, only a traitor breaks his word. A brave man is prepared to support his least word with his life, thereby the high-born are recognized. The churl, on the other hand, regards his word as nothing more than the breath of his mouth. His tongue shall be eaten of snakes, and his evil memory will ride his soul like a nightmare for ever."
Orn had become excited. Then he was silent, composed himself again, meditated, and was still.
When he had finished meditating, he rose solemnly and drew from his arm a heavy gold bracelet graven with runes and signs. Ingolf sprang up when his father rose, and remained standing before him with bowed head, and his bright face slightly flushed.
Orn spoke: "This bracelet has for a long time belonged to our race, and has always been an heirloom in the head branch of the family. Some of those who bore it have worn it till their death. Others have transferred it to the future wearer when they found that theirtime was near. My son, I am growing old, and it is no use to deny it or to hide it. Forgetfulness is getting more and more the mastery over me. Reach me your hand."
Ingolf stretched out his right hand, and raised his head. There was a moist glimmer in his eyes. Deeply moved, Orn drew the bracelet on his arm. "Now you wear the ring."
Ingolf fell on his knees before the old man, and Orn made the sign of the Hammer over his head, and said quietly: "Odin give you wisdom, and Thor strength. Frey make your land fruitful, and Njord guide your seafaring! All the bright Ases help thee! Rise, my son."
Ingolf rose silently. Orn laid his hands on his shoulders, looked for a moment closely at him, and let him go. They went out into the courtyard of the house. For a while they stood there silent, side by side, and looked out over the landscape where the snow-covered mountains rose and the valleys sank. Ingolf saw everything, as it were, with new eyes. The fjord was such a crystal blue, and seemed to have something to say to him. The dark edge of the wood, which he caught a glimpse of here and there, held today a secret and certain promise of the spring and the snow-free earth. The sky was high and clear, and the day had a solemn stillness about it. The frost in the air seemed to be relaxing. In Ingolf's eyes the whole scene wore a solemn aspect, and seemed in a way newborn. Even the low houses with snow-covered roofs seemed to have altered their appearance, and looked twice as home-like.When Orn went in, Ingolf remained standing there, and enjoyed the freshness of the day.
Orn went straight in to the high-seat and his drinking-horn. His throat had become dry from much talk. He emptied the horn in a moment and had it filled afresh. He emptied the horn many times that day.
IX
Ingolf informed Leif in carefully-chosen words that his father would be glad if they extended the proposed brotherhood so as to include the sons of Atle. Leif stood looking down while Ingolf talked. As soon as Ingolf had spoken the first word, he felt sorry that he had brought the question up at all. Leif's attitude had an effect on him. He stood and fumbled with words which would not arrange themselves properly.
When he finished, Leif looked up askance at him. He did not say much at first.
Ingolf felt a profound and unusual depression. He felt as if he had in some degree deceived Leif. "I only wished to tell you that," he tried to add, but was quite sure that his voice did not sound convincing.
"What do you think yourself?" asked Leif at last quietly, and looked up again, still with a rather unsteady glance.
"I have never thought about brotherhood with Atle's sons," answered Ingolf quietly, suddenly recovering his equilibrium. "I have offered you brotherhood with myself alone, and am therefore prevented from formingbrotherhood with another. But I understand from what my father said that there perhaps was a possibility that Atle's sons would like to enter into brotherhood with us. And in such a case I would like to know your opinion beforehand."
"I have never contemplated forming brotherhood with Holmsten," answered Leif in a quiet, firm voice, quite different from his usual one. "In fact, I do not choose to be everybody's brother."
"Well, let us say no more about it." Ingolf tried to speak lightly.
But Leif continued. There was a tremor of swelling wrath and distress in his quiet voice. "I understand well that for you a brotherhood with Atle's sons is quite a different thing from brotherhood with me. By entering into the blood-tie with them you gain power and consideration. Do you enteraloneinto brotherhood with Atle Jarl's sons; I will not stand in the way. I release you from your word. I am able to stand alone."
Ingolf paused a little and then said: "You misunderstand me, Leif. I only want to bring the matter before you. It is possible that I should not have done that. But I took for granted that we might already talk together like brothers. I will gladly confess that, for my part, I might think it good to enter into brotherhood with Atle's sons—yes, I should even like to have Haasten for a brother. But I could not think of entering into any brotherhood without you. There is no one else whom I would rather be brother to, and that you know well, or ought to know. No power could induce me to releaseyoufrom your word, Leif."
Leif stood thoughtful awhile. Then he raised his head and looked in Ingolf's eyes with a firm and trustful look. "I know well," he said in the same quiet tone, "that I am not the best brother you could have. But you shall never have reason to find fault with my faithfulness. I imagine, Ingolf, that you are afraid that I shall some day be the cause of enmity between you and Atle's sons. With my good will that shall not happen. My temper shall never again get the mastery of me before Holmsten. That I swear to you. I know that you like Holmsten, and that you wish to preserve that friendship. You shall see that you can trust me."
The two cousins pressed each other's hands in silence. They referred no more to the matter.
X
There came a beggar to the house: an old bent man, clothed in dirty rags and torn leather, entered the hall one evening and took a place by the fire on the outer-most bench. There he sat and warmed his crooked fingers, that were blue with cold, and meanwhile squinted about him with pale, cunning eyes. As he sat there, his yellow beard, in which a quantity of nondescript rubbish had been caught, hung down between his legs. His grey hair lay in tatters over his back. But his powerful eyebrows were the most marked feature in his face. Grey and bushy, they almost concealed his eyes when they were lowered, and he had a habit sometimes of drawing them both up together and slightly liftingone at a time, which gave his face a strangely mobile, almost animal, expression.
He was questioned regarding news from the north, but had little information to give. As soon as it was evident that he had nothing important to communicate, he was allowed to sit in peace and warm himself. It seemed as if he valued being left to himself. When he had sat for a while and warmed his hands, he loosed the rags from off his legs and stretched his feet to the fire. They were a marvel of knotted bones and dirt. He looked exhausted. Some remains of the evening meal were brought him. He received the food with a grunt, set it upon his knee, and began eating. With eager hands he first sought the best bits, and, groping about in the food, turned the contents of the dish round, chewing with his whole head. He certainly could eat.
Ingolf and Leif had sought a place near him, and sat looking attentively at him.
"I think he can hold as much in his maw as a cow," whispered Leif, absorbed in looking at him. "And he mumbles just like a cow chewing the cud. Ha! Ha! What an old swine he is!"
The beggar emptied the dish so that only bare bones remained. Then he gulped comfortably and relieved himself of air. Subsequently he fell into a cosy nap while he digested. Thus he sat for some time, apparently sound asleep. But suddenly he raised his eyebrows both together and peered round him with wide-open pale eyes.
Ingolf and Leif had come near to him, and were contemplating him closely—one his legs, and the otherhis face. They had seldom seen anything like him. He was certainly a remarkable object both above and below. He sat for a time and looked at them without saying anything, looked from one to the other, contemplated them closely, and gave himself plenty of time.
"Point and sword," he said at last in a deep bass tone. "When the point breaks, exploits are over.... But you sit where you should." He turned suddenly to Ingolf and thrust his face with his wide-opened eyes close to his. Then he drew his head back, murmuring in a deep tone, as though at his own thoughts. The boys believed at first that he talked in delirium. They sat still and only stared at him—Leif with his mouth half open. "A curious creature!" he thought, and felt internally much amused.
The old man remained still for some time, looking closely and a little cunningly from one to the other. Their staring did not seem to affect him. "Shall I tell you something?" he asked at last, growling, and winking meaningly with his pale eyes. "Shall I tell you about the new land?"
He turned his face with his eyebrows elevated, questioning, and turning abruptly from one to the other.
In the face of such a direct application from this queer figure, the boys became at first a little embarrassed. They looked at each other, and remained sitting with bowed heads and fumbling fingers.
"Well, if you don't choose to hear it, I don't choose to tell you," growled the old grumbler, shook himself, let his eyebrows sink, and withdrew into himself. The boys lifted their heads, looked at him and at each other, andsuddenly became curious. Ingolf nodded to Leif to commence, and Leif blurted out: "Let us hear, old man!"
The beggar slowly lifted his eyebrows, but not in order to look at them. It seemed as if he had forgotten them, and did not hear what Leif said. He sat staring in front of him into the fire with an absent look in his old, strangely bleached eyes.
"Yes, yes," he said at last, as if half unwillingly. "Anyhow, it is all the same to me. Why should I tell you about it? No one escapes his destiny."
With a loud and luxurious yawn he showed them an enormous throat behind his yellow teeth. Then he closed his chaps and remained sitting silent for a time. It seemed as though he were considering whether he wanted to open his mouth at all again that evening.
Leif found this tedious, and summoned up his courage. "It was about the new land you were going to tell us," he said persuasively. And when the old man did not hear him he added inquiringly, in order, if possible, to rouse him out of his silent reverie: "Has a new land been discovered?"
"Don't you know that?" asked the old man hastily. "Don't you even know that?" he repeated incredulously. The boys shook their heads negatively. "Then it is not too early you come to know that, if one told you. So you do not even know that. Ah, old Norns! How you can spin. You look after the loom without wavering even when the motley yarn is blood-coloured. Perhaps the one who sees should be silent.No, some time you willhaveto know it. Have you never heard of the new land?"
After a repeated shake of the head on the part of the two boys, he continued: "One late summer, some years back, Naddod the Viking intended to sail from Norway to the Faroe Islands. But the gods granted him no good wind, either because he had neglected to sacrifice, or in some other way incurred the displeasure of Odin and Njord. They sent him a storm, and drove him so far westward that at last he believed he was near Ginnungagab, where the seas pour down into Helheim, but instead of this he came to a great land. He ascended a high mountain to see if he could find a sign that the land was inhabited. But no smoke was to be seen anywhere, nor any other sign of folk did he find. When he sailed from the country again, much snow had fallen on the mountains. Therefore he called the country Snowland. He and his people said that it was a good land. So some years passed without anything more being heard of the new country. There was a Swede, named Gardar Svavarsson, who had possessions in Denmark, who sailed from Sealand to fetch his wife's inheritance in the south. When he had sailed through Pettlandsfjord, he encountered a storm and went adrift. So he drifted to the west and came to the new land. He sailed farther along its coasts, and discovered that it was an island. He built a house by a bay which he called Husevig, and wintered there. When he sailed from the land the next spring the wind tore a boat, which he had in tow, loose. In the boatwas a serf named Natfare and a serf-woman. Perhaps they managed to effect a landing and settled in the place. Gardar praised the country much. He reported that it was wooded from the heath to the sea, and had luxuriant pastures. He gave it the name Gardarsholme. It retained the name between man and man until Floke Vilgerdsson had been there. Floke, who was a powerful Viking, equipped a ship in Rogaland to seek Gardarsholme. He loaded his ship in Smorsund. Before he sailed, he arranged a sacrificial feast, at which he sacrificed and conjured magic powers into three ravens. Therefore he has since been called 'Raven-Floke.' A sea-mark was raised where the feast had taken place, and was called 'Floke's Sea-mark.' It stood on the border between Hordaland and Rogaland. First Raven-Floke sailed to Hjaltland and cast anchor in a bay which was named Floke's Bay. At Hjaltland his daughter, Geirhild, was drowned in a lake, since called Geirhild's Lake. From Hjaltland he sailed to the Faroe Islands, where he gave one of his daughters in marriage. Thence he put out to sea, taking the three ravens with him. When he had sailed for a day and a night, he let the first raven loose. It flew astern and disappeared in the direction from which they had come. Then he sailed for a day and a night more, and let the second raven loose. It flew aloft and returned to the ship. Again he sailed a day and a night, and let the third raven go. It flew forward and did not return. When they sailed farther in the direction in which it had disappeared, they found the land they sought. Floke had on board a man namedFaxe. When they came to a broad fjord, Faxe spoke and said: 'This is certainly a great land we have found—here are mighty rivers.' Therefore the fjord was named 'Faxe-mouth.' Raven-Floke did not sail into the fjord. He sailed past a headland with a mighty snow-covered mountain on it, and across a broad bay with many islands and skerries. He landed at a fjord on the north side of the bay, which he called Vandfjord, and the coast-line he called Bardestrand. The fjord was full of fish. They were so absorbed in catching the quantities of fish that they forgot to procure hay; therefore the sheep and cattle they had brought with them died in the winter from want of fodder. The spring was fairly cold. Floke ascended a high mountain one day in spring and saw north of it a fjord packed full with sea-ice. Therefore he christened the land and named it Iceland. He meant to have sailed away that summer, but before they were ready to sail it was autumn, and the weather became stormy. Floke had on his ship two peasants, Thorolf and Haerjolf. When they were at the last ready to sail, the storm tore away a boat from them, and in the boat sat Haerjolf. Haerjolf landed at a place, to which he gave his name and called it Haerjolf's Haven. Raven-Floke, who did not wish to sail without Haerjolf, put back to land and brought his ship uninjured into a fjord which he called Havnefjord. At a river's mouth in the fjord they found a whale driven on shore. Haerjolf had also scented the whale, and there they met. They called the river's mouth Hvalore. They sailed thence and wintered in a fjord, on which Raven-Floke,who had had enough of the land, did not choose to lavish a name. When, on their arrival home, they were asked about the new land, Floke had only evil to report. Haerjolf, on the other hand, praised it moderately, mentioned its advantages, and did not conceal its defects. But Thorolf declared that butter dripped from every straw in the land, therefore he was afterwards called 'Butter-Thorolf.'
"And I have no more to tell you about the new land," concluded the beggar rather suddenly, and shook himself uncomfortably—"you can yourselves go and see it."
When he stopped speaking, Ingolf and Leif sat for a time and stared at him. "Why should we do that?" asked Ingolf at last. "We have no mind to change our abode."
The old man returned no answer. Leif sat thoughtful. When he spoke at last his voice was muffled and seemed far away. "It would be amusing to see that land for once."
"Youwillsee it," growled the old man, and there was a peculiar malicious exultation in his harsh voice—"you will have time enough to see it, I think." Suddenly life came into him afresh, and his voice became sharp and obtrusive. "Get me a jug of beer, and I will tell you much more; I will show you a piece of the Norns' web, hoho! A charming piece. They have twisted threads that you can never guess. Bring me beer, and you shall hear something."
Ingolf felt overcome by a strange and unusual bodily depression, and rose hastily. His spirits were suddenlyupset, and he felt almost ill. "Beer you shall have," he answered curtly and coldly. "But now I think we have heard enough for the evening. Come, Leif."
Leif rose a little unwillingly. It was possible that the old man had more information to give about the new land. Why not hear him to the end, even if he did talk some nonsense between whiles? But as Ingolf did not wish it, it was all the same to him. He could himself speculate further about the island out there in the garden, and go into the whole matter more closely with Ingolf.
The beggar had a jug of beer brought, which he emptied in small draughts in order to relish it better. Then he lay down by the fire, curled himself into a bundle, and slept. He remained lying there for the night; the next morning he wandered farther. When Leif sought him, in order to question him more closely, he had gone. Leif tried to talk with Ingolf about the new land. But Ingolf was always occupied with something else when Leif began to talk about Iceland. Leif did not observe that Ingolf with deliberate intention avoided the subject.
Ingolf could not free himself from a certain anxiety that Leif might become too interested in the new discovery which the beggar had reported to them. It would be like Leif suddenly to begin to make plans to go there, perhaps migrate and settle there. That must not happen, for Leif became unstable when he had conceived an idea, especially if it were rather an unusual one. No, Ingolf wished to remain in Dalsfjord, in his father's house. He was strongly averse from everything which smacked of wandering and adventure. By his prudent methods he soon brought Leif to forget the new land.
XI
The winter was nearing its end. After Goi came Enemaaned, and then, in the midst of spring, a fine Thursday ushered in Harpe, the first month of summer.
On the first summer day there was held in this part of the land a great sacrificial feast at Gaulum, which lasted three days and nights. On that occasion there assembled, at the residence of the Jarl, chiefs and yeomen from distant parts, each bringing for himself some food and a large quantity of beer. Especially was it obligatory on those who were preparing Viking expeditions for the summer not to remain away, if they wished for honour and victory in their undertaking.
From the early morning the place began to be alive. Great crowds were seen gathering from all sides. The sun was reflected from new-polished weapons, and shone on parti-coloured shields. The house-servants were for the most part dressed in suits of grey home-spun frieze, but the peasants and their sons appeared in splendid foreign-made clothes. Red, blue, green, and parti-coloured chequered cloaks were seen in each company.
All day people continued to assemble at the house. The days passed in putting up tents, preparing for the festival, seeking out friends and acquaintances, making appointments for the summer, and settling variousaccounts. Atle Jarl was invisible that day. Only his closest friends, and people who sought him on important business, were taken to the room where he had hid himself, busily absorbed as he was in arranging or preparing arrangements for his own and others' affairs.
Among those who sought him that day and had audience of him was Orn Bjornulfsson. Their conversation was quite short, and resulted in Atle Jarl sending for his eldest son, Haasten. Haasten was only for a moment in the room with his father. His brothers, Haersten and Holmsten, waited meanwhile outside. Haasten told them nothing about his conversation with his father. And when Haasten did not speak of his own accord, his brothers did not question him. Haasten, Haersten, and Holmsten went about and bade every newly arrived chief welcome. They wore splendid clothes, and carried valuable weapons and ornaments. Over his shoulders each of the brothers wore a long cloak of heavy silk—Haasten a red one, Haersten a blue one, and Holmsten a green one.
They were all three fine-looking youths, tall and well-built, fair-haired, with noble features and quiet demeanour. As they went about bidding the guests welcome, side by side, Haasten on the right and Holmsten on the left, few remembered having seen three such fine-looking fellows together. They were very popular; very many sought their friendship, but few won their confidence.
Among these few were Ingolf and Leif. Haasten made no attempt to conceal his gladness when he greeted the two cousins. Ingolf was the special object of his warm friendship. He included Leif because he was oncefor all inseparable from his cousin, and because in spite of everything he liked him, and silently admired him for his courage.
Walking slowly, the three brothers turned back to the place where Ingolf and Leif were superintending the erection of tents, but their fathers had already disappeared. They had found a place of honour in the hall, where individual guests were received. There they sat, tasted the brewing of the house, and compared notes on the latest news with like-minded friends.
Ingolf observed at last that Haasten especially wanted something with him that day, and accordingly arranged that they should be alone for a while. Haasten went straight to the point. "I hear, Ingolf, that you and Leif will tomorrow enter brotherhood. I have expected that some time it would come to that, but it is happening somewhat sooner than I had expected."
Ingolf interrupted him, though he well understood that he had not finished what he had to say. He told Haasten briefly, but without concealing anything, about their journey home after their last visit to Gaulum. He hinted that Leif and he certainly were both anxious to enter into an unbreakable bond.
"You know Leif," he concluded. "You know how imprudent he is, and how he needs protection. The shield that shall protect him will receive dints. But a shield he must have, and that shield I will be."
"Do you think that it would be of use if Leif at the same time obtained other shields?" Haasten asked quietly. Ingolf grew a little pale, a fact which did not escape Haasten. For awhile they stood and looked intoeach other's eyes. There was a strange silence between them. Both felt that now their destinies were being settled. At last Ingolf reached Haasten his hand. "Haasten, my friend," he said in a low voice, "I hope that we will always stand side by side where the word of friendship sounds as well as where weapons speak. But I think Leif would feel a defence of shields as a prison."
Haasten remained standing quite still with his friend's hand in his, and looked into his eyes. Both had a troubled look. Then Haasten said quietly: "You have spoken, and it cannot well be otherwise. Let us each for himself keep a good watch on our brothers. I have a sure foreboding that it will be needed." He gave Ingolf's hand a final pressure and released it. Silently they returned to the tents where Leif stood engaged in friendly and cheerful conversation with Haasten's brothers. Leif had produced the knife which Holmsten gave him, and was showing with gestures and much hilarity how he had succeeded in killing the horse.
"The belt is paid for, Holmsten," he concluded cheerfully. "Your knife, which once should have taken my life, has saved it. If you have an ax, hew at me and make me a present of it afterwards. I need an ax; my father will not give me one. He fears I might test its usefulness a little too much. I have tried to steal one from him. But he has locked the weapons up in a chest which I cannot open."
Leif stopped when Ingolf and Haasten came up. A hasty glance convinced him that something had taken place between the two. They were very quiet. He thrust the knife noisily into its sheath, and involuntarilystraightened his body from its careless attitude. Soon after, Haasten and his brothers withdrew. Haasten went straight to his father. "Is the matter arranged?" asked Atle Jarl. "No, I have been considering it," answered Haasten, who did not wish to give his father full information. "I fear that brotherhood with Leif Rodmarsson will cause us too many difficulties."
"Very possibly," answered Atle. "But Ingolf is a good fellow, and will inherit much property. His family has many friends, and will be a good support in disturbed times."
"My friendship with the cousins is independent of their entering brotherhood."
"Perhaps," answered the Jarl dryly. "You are in any case master over your proceedings. My advice was only advice. May you never regret not having followed it."
Haasten, who saw that his father was angry, did not answer, but saluted him respectfully and retired. He was depressed and filled with heavy forebodings, but tried to conceal it as much as possible.
The day began to decline. Atle Jarl had taken measures, and all the arrangements for the feast were ready. The animals destined for sacrifice were not allowed out at all that day. The fine, powerful horses which were to be offered to Odin stood stamping their hoofs impatiently in the stables. A flock of sheep, likewise meant to appease the All-Father, pressed against one another, patiently resigned to their fate, in a pen, rested their heads on each other's backs, and chewed thecud over the last remains of the contents of their stomachs, now and then shaking their ears a little discontentedly. Plump oxen and bulls which, with one exception, should soon bleed in honour of Odin, bellowed in all kinds of tones and butted against the beams of the stalls. In an outhouse lay nine serfs and criminals with their hands tied behind them. They were to be hung in order to join the storm-god's wild hunt. That day it was chiefly Odin who received offerings. But there was also a little diversion destined for Thor. Away in a corner of the outhouse, where the serfs waited for the rope, lay a ragged bundle. It was the serf-woman, Trude, who had been guilty of stealing, and who, as she must somehow say good-bye to life, might as well be utilized as an offering to Thor the Thunderer. When the pale twilight of the evening had drawn its light veil over the landscape, softened its sharp outlines and changed them to vague, shadowy contours, people began to gather round the temple. All their weapons they had left under guard in their tents.
The temple at Gaulum was an old chief temple built long before the house became a Jarl's seat. The dignity of high priest had from time immemorial descended from father to son, and Atle Jarl the Slender had thus inherited it. The temple was a large and spacious edifice, built of heavy beams, with its entrance by a main-wall furnished with gables. Burning and smoking pitch-torches hung fixed in heavy iron rings on the walls, each watched by a serf. On entering, one perceived in this flickering light only indistinct images of gods who sat on their platforms behind a low partition-wall away at the opposite end of the temple. Within the wall no ordinary person ventured to tread; only the priest and his consecrated assistants, helpers in the sacrifice, might go there. The gods sat arranged in a spacious semicircle. There were several of them, both male and female. Most were splendidly dressed, some even adorned with gold rings and precious stones. But the three chief gods, Odin, Thor, and Frey, who sat in the midst of the semicircle, drew the spectator's chief attention. In the centre was enthroned Thor—here, as in many other places in Norway, the chief object of worship. Thor sat in his thunder-chariot, to which were yoked painted goats with gilded horns. The goats were on wheels, as though on the point of drawing the chariot from its place in the chief procession at Thor's festivals. In his right hand Thor held his short-handled hammer high uplifted. He had an awe-inspiring aspect. Straight in front of him was a thin slab of rock with a sharp upper edge, placed edgewise.
On the right of Thor sat Odin in a wagon, both larger and more magnificent than Thor's, but without animals to draw it. Odin sat on a chair adorned with runes and sacred signs. He held a long spear in his hand, and stared threateningly with his one eye.
On the left of Thor sat Frey. His platform was a great stone, covered with a parti-coloured carpet. In contrast to the other gods he sat naked, holding a stag's horn, his only weapon, high in his right hand.
In the midst of the semicircular space, on a special elevation, stood a great stone basin in which the blood ofthe offerings was collected. In the bowl lay a rod, used to stir the blood and then to sprinkle it around. On the mound lay, besides, the Sacred Bracelet, a heavy, open circlet of gold, inscribed with sacred signs, on which all oaths were taken.
When the people had assembled in the temple, Atle Jarl the Slender entered, followed by his assistants. He wore white clothes with red borders. His assistants were also dressed in white.
When Atle Jarl entered, carrying a broad-bladed, long-handled ax over his shoulder, taller by head and shoulders than most of those present, thin and erect like the branch-lopped stem of a fir, he caused a gasp in many a young breast, and even old, hardened Vikings felt a slight shudder in their backs. This man stood at that moment in covenant with the gods. They were brought into touch with the Unknowable. There was a death-like silence in the temple.
Atle Jarl walked with dignity between the thick-packed masses of men on both sides. At the partition-wall his assistants remained standing for a while; only the priest could go within. He placed the ax on the mound where the basin stood. He saluted the three chief gods with a slow and solemn bending of the knee before each, and then included the other gods in one. Then he went back muttering secret words, took the sacrificial bracelet from its place, and drew it on his right arm, seized the ax with his left hand, and raised his right arm in command. That was a signal to the door-guard.
The most splendid of all the sacrificial animals, acoal-black ox with shining head and large, crooked horns, was brought in by serfs, and led to the partition-wall by other serfs, chosen as sacrificial helpers, and consecrated to the service. At the same time two of the priest's assistants came forward, lifted the bowl from the mound, and placed it a little way off. The ox resisted violently when led in, and uttered angry bellowings. It foamed with frenzy, and showed the whites of its eyes.
Atle Jarl stood with his left foot advanced and his ax lifted in both hands. At the instant the ox was placed in the proper spot the ax fell with a powerful and practised aim on its neck. The beast gave a bellow and sank on its knees. Immediately the serfs stood over it with long knives. A stab in the neck and a cut between the neck arteries, and then down with it to the basin, so that the precious sacrificial blood should not be spilt. Meanwhile, one of the assistants kept stirring the blood in the bowl with a rod so that it should not coagulate.
When the last drop of blood had been drawn off in the bowl, the assistants raised the dead body by a rope and carried it beyond the partition-wall. There it was received by other serfs, who carried it outside and immediately set to work to skin it.
Other animals were now brought forward. One by one they were killed, and their blood emptied into the bowl. But their bodies were not carried out afterwards, like the ox's. They were thrown on one side, and left to wait till the sacrifices were over.
A speckled bull was offered to Frey. All the otheranimals were offerings to Odin, the god of battle, so that he should give success and victory to the Viking expeditions which would take place in the summer.
Last came Thor's only offering—the serf-woman, Trude, was brought forward. A pair of serfs dragged her to the wall, where two assistants received her and stripped her rags from her body. The crowd waited breathlessly. But not a groan or a gasp came from the serf-woman, Trude. She was dragged by her hair before the Hammer-wielder, lifted up, and laid with the small of her back crosswise over the sharp edge of the stone altar. Then Atle Jarl made the sign of the hammer over the offering, and the serfs pressed her down. A scream of unspeakable terror tore through the air, and died away in a blood-curdling low, quivering wail. With broken back the serf-woman, Trude, lay across Thor's sacrificial stone.
The bowl filled to the brim was now lifted by the assistants and set on its mound again. Atle Jarl drew the sacrificial bracelet off his arm, rubbed it in the blood, and drew it on his arm again. Then he took the rod and began sprinkling the steaming blood around. First he sprinkled Odin, then Thor, then Frey, and afterwards each of the gods. Also the walls, ceiling, and floor he sprinkled with the protective sacrificial blood. When Atle Jarl had finished the ceremonies within the partition-wall, the assistants lifted the bowl, and, sprinkling the blood on the right and the left, he went out of the temple, followed by the assistants bearing the bowl. When it had been emptied of the last drop, the bowl was carried back and set in its place.
But the sacrifices were not yet over. Odin's chariot was now drawn out of the temple, and two splendid white horses were yoked to it. Then a serf came forward, chosen for his stature for the part, and was dressed in the ox's skin, with the horns and hoofs hanging down and the tinkling bells attached to it.
The procession to Odin's grove was arranged, with Atle Jarl at the head bearing the bloody ax over his shoulder. After him came the serf with the ox-skin and bells. Then came Odin in his car drawn by white horses and surrounded by white-robed assistants. The rear of the procession was brought up by the crowd. Silently, the creaking of the car and the tinkling bells being the only sounds audible in the bright night, the procession went forward to Odin's grove. There were waiting already the nine serfs and the criminals, who, by being strung up as sport for the winds, should appease the storm-god, each tied to his death tree.
Odin's car was driven forward to an open space, surrounded by sharp stones. Only the priest and his consecrated helpers ventured to enter the ring of stones. When Odin's car was brought to the place, and the crowd had arranged themselves, the assistants went, two by two, to the waiting victims. One fixed the cord and made sure that both it and the branch were strong, the other loosed the victim's bonds. One of the serfs wailed and begged for his life. He met only contemptuous glances, and was kicked and thumped by the assistants. As he would not be quiet, they forced a stone in between his jaws.
When Atle Jarl saw that his assistants had finishedtheir preparations he gave a sign. At the same instant the victims were strung up all together. Just before they had ceased their struggles a whistling sound came through the wood. A gust of wind imparted a swinging motion to the dangling bodies. A thrill of satisfaction mingled with awe went through the hearts of those assembled. Odin had accepted the offering. Slowly the procession wound its way back from Odin's grove. When they reached the temple, the dead bodies of the sacrificed animals had already been carried away by serfs, to be flayed and divided. The body of the serf-woman, Trude, had also been removed. It had been sunk in the holy well by the gable-end of the temple. This was not the first victim it had swallowed.