Leif's joy at seeing Holmsten fall was so great that he forgot to be on his guard. One of his men pushed a shield in front of him just in time. The shield was cloven by the blow of an ax, intended for Leif. But Leif was not to die that day. Now he was himself again, picked up his ax, and continued the attack. After Holmsten's fall the opposition was soon broken.
A couple of Olmod's ships had recovered the ship Atle's sons had won from Leif. Olmod secured for himself Holmsten's ship as a reward for his trouble, and in order to be able to provide offerings and gifts to Odin. The remainder of Atle's sons' ships escaped in disorder.
Olmod came across Leif where he was sitting and binding up his wounds.
"You are bleeding much, cousin, and can be glad that you still have blood to bleed."
"That I owe to you, Cousin Olmod. What lucky wind was that which blew you here, just when you were most needed?"
"Ask, rather, what freak was it of Odin's that he did not let me overtake you before. I came to Dalsfjord the day after you sailed, and have pursued you in vain all the summer."
Leif looked up hastily. A sudden fear shot through him.
"What did you want me for?"
"That you have seen."
Leif was quiet again. "Nothing more?" he asked.
"Don't you think I had cause enough? Did you expect me to follow your tedious tracks, the whole summer, merely to bring you a greeting from Helga?"
Leif rose and drew a bracelet off his arm. It was for Olmod. He brought forth his most valuable things, resolved to give Olmod all the best he had. Objections were useless. When Leif gave, he gave what he had, and kept nothing back till he had no more.
"Finally, don't think that by killing Holmsten and putting Haersten to flight you have finished with Atle's sons," Olmod said warningly. "I think, Cousin Leif, you had better come home and spend the winter with me."
Leif thanked him warmly for the invitation. "It is such a short way home to the fjords that I don't care about making a circuit. But What if you came home with me and remained with us for the winter, Cousin Olmod?"
But Olmod declined. A whole winter in one and the same place did not tempt him at all. "You brothers have enough friends round you, but be careful, cousin. I should be surprised if Haersten let the grass grow over the matter he has to settle with you. I am glad that this time I could be a little use to you, Leif. You have rewarded my help, as one might expect from you, spendthrift that you are! May good fortune follow you wherever you go."
Olmod and Leif parted with great friendliness, and each sailed to his own home.
VIII
It was really a surprise to Ingolf when he heard from his brother what had happened at Hisargavl. He had gradually come to fear a collision between Leif and Atle's sons. He did not trust Atle's sons any more since the feast of the previous winter. With a gloomy and slightly absent expression he heard Leif's account to the end. "I do not grieve for Holmsten," he said severely, when Leif finished. "I am glad that both brothers did not escape alive from the game. The Norns often strike accurately."
"It was by my ax that Holmsten fell," Leif answered curtly. "I will not share the honour of having slain him with any one, not even with the Norns!"
Ingolf smiled, but there was no laughter in his mind.
"The most important point, Leif, is that you returned home alive," he said cordially. "Thank yourself for it, but allow me to thank the gods and goddesses of fate."
Helga was very quiet when Leif told her about the battle. There rose in her soul a yet greater tenderness towards him. Every day, yes, every hour, with Leif became precious. A foreboding told her that Leif was scarcely destined to live long. Her happiness was like the flying birds.
Orn became quite enlivened by hearing of the fight at Hisargavl. Ingolf related it to him with much detail. As soon as he had finished, Orn demanded to have the whole told over again. It was entirely after his mind—a proof that the race was not extinct. He put many questions and asked for incidents. Time after time, when the talk concerned Leif, he nodded approvingly. When his curiosity was at last satisfied, he sat silent and thoughtful, and still kept nodding to himself.
Rodmar sat in his darkness and heard the account through at one sitting. When Ingolf began again, he sighed deeply, rose, and, supported on his two sticks, tottered to his chamber and crept into bed. He could not understand that there was still so much disturbance in the world.
When Ingolf came out again from his father he was silent and thoughtful. He sought Leif, and found him in Helga's room. Ingolf sat down silently by his side and remained for a while without speaking. "Now Haasten remains behind with one arm," he said at last, in a subdued tone, more as though speaking to himself than to the others.
Helga looked hastily at him. "One must feel a great longing after a brother one loves," she said quietly.
Leif laughed sarcastically. "It will scarcely be a one-armed Haasten who comes out to take vengeance for Holmsten."
Ingolf looked at him. There was a troubled, but firm and quiet, look in his eye. "I should be surprised if Haasten took vengeance," Leif laughed scornfully. Ingolf rose quietly and said: "But it would be best to be on our guard against Haersten."
Ingolf took home to the chief house as many of his own and Leif's men as could be spared from the rest oftheir property. Moreover, he collected his friends from the surrounding district. He always had many people round him in the winter. He set guards on all the roads to secure himself against an unexpected attack, and for the rest watched events quietly.
What had happened, had happened, and could not be altered. And whose fault was it? Neither his nor his sworn brother's, it seemed to him. He made offerings to Odin and Thor, and relied on them and on the good luck of the family.
Already, on the day after his arrival, Leif had to go to bed. For a considerable time he had to keep quiet. He suffered a good deal from his wounds. They were on various parts of his body, so that it was difficult for him to find rest.
Leif was not good at keeping quiet. He was tormented by an intolerable impatience. Time after time when his wounds were on the point of healing up they opened again, because of his want of care. The fever which accompanied the wounds had a wearing effect both on his flesh and his temper. He became even more bony and thin than he had been before. Long and wasted he lay there in bed, and vexed himself over the loss of the days, of which he was unjustly deprived.
Helga nursed him patiently, and always sat by him. That was the only thing which reconciled him with this kind of existence. He could not look away from her even for a moment. Leif discovered that there was a happiness and soothing effect in the touch of Helga's hands, which he had not hitherto known. All the time he had to have her hands busy about him. Leif was noteasy to manage. In vain did Helga beg and pray him to leave the bandages alone and not continually look at his wounds at the wrong time. At last she went in despair to Ingolf, and Ingolf found a means. On the same day that Helga had spoken to him, he said to Leif in his usual composed manner: "Your wounds are a long time healing, Cousin Leif. You will hardly be fit for fighting by the time Haersten attacks us." That was effectual. Ingolf knew his brother. From that day Leif lay rigidly still and did not touch the bandages. With a mighty effort he kept his mind in control and curbed his impatience. With a mysterious smile in her eyes, which Leif could not understand, Helga continued to nurse him. Leif could not make out why her eyes had suddenly become so bright. Here he lay, tortured both outwardly and inwardly. One would think that was nothing to be amused at. At last he asked her plainly, and in a rather morose tone, why she was so cheerful. Helga laughed, and promised to tell him as soon as his wounds were healed; for now that could hardly be long. Leif sighed. It seemed to him that already the time had been incomprehensively long.
At last the day came when Leif could go about on his legs again. But it was plain that he had quite got out of the habit of going with his head high and his legs down. His head was not so high aloft, and his legs tottered. He had to laugh at them. They were really silly legs—to speak plainly—miserable legs of dough. He went about laughing and waddling, and was obliged every minute to sit down and rest his legs. He hadnever guessed that such a simple thing as walking could become so difficult.
But one day it was difficult no longer, and Leif rapidly forgot both his sickness and his weakness.
What was Haersten about? It seemed to Leif plain that he had a claim that Haersten should come now, and quickly. Now that he was in a condition to receive him in a suitable manner, he began to long for him deeply.
Leif went and exercised his arm-muscles by cutting logs for the fire. Ah! So he intended to split Haersten's head. But Haersten still kept them waiting. It was not according to Leif's mind to go and wait for an attack, which did not come. Had he had sufficient hope that Ingolf would go with him on a journey to Gaulum he would have proposed it. In his leisure time Leif imagined for himself an attack on Atle Jarl and his sons, picturing it down to the minutest details. He would himself strike down Haersten and Atle Jarl. But he would prefer to let Haasten escape with his life. It was a shame that such a splendid plan of attack should always be shipwrecked on Ingolf's obstinacy.
At last Haersten came. It was lucky that Ingolf had set guards upon the roads. Haersten did not come alone. He had planned his attack with care. He wished to wait till the brothers perhaps might not be so much on the alert. And he wished to come with a picked and numerous band, which it took time to assemble secretly, as the sworn brothers had friends also in those parts. Haersten had resolved thatonelifewas too little compensation for Holmsten. They should both die. Preferably he would strike them both to earth with his own hand.
Haersten had to do without Haasten's help in planning and carrying out his attack. On the other hand, Haasten did not put difficulties in his way. Haasten gave his mind to taking what vengeance he could, and to the extent he was able. "But my mind and my sense of justice tell me," he said, "not to go with you against the sworn brothers."
Haersten asked him whether his mind and his sense of justice did not also bid him to leave both his brothers unavenged in case he also should fall. Haasten answered him that time would show, but that it was conceivable.
"It might seem that you care more for Ingolf than for your own brothers," Haersten said coldly.
"I have a great regard for Ingolf," answered Haasten. "You brothers were not afraid to profit by your greater force when you attacked Leif."
So the conversation ended. When Haersten had quietly collected as many men as he thought would ensure a victory over the sworn brothers, even if he found them prepared, he started one night and took the way to Dalsfjord. He advanced by secret paths, and hid in the woods. He marched only by night, resting by day. But though he showed all possible caution, Ingolf's guards got news of his expedition. They were able to inform Ingolf in time that Haersten was approaching with a numerous following. In great haste the brothers collected a still larger number, and marched againsthim to meet him before he expected it. The encounter took place one winter morning on the heath. Haersten and his men had spent the night on the outskirts of the wood. It was a still morning, with mild air, and the ground was heavy. The weather was admirably adapted for a battle, save that the snow became slippery when it had been trodden hard. Haersten and the sworn brothers prepared themselves, each on his own side, for a trial of strength, in all quietness and at their leisure. The result of the battle was of great importance to both parties, and they urged their men to be cautious and keep together.
Haersten seemed to seek Leif. And Leif was not the man to avoid a willing opponent. It was not long before they stood opposite each other, both fierce and vigilantly watching. But the fight between them was of short duration. They had only exchanged a few blows, and neither of them had yet been wounded, when Haersten slipped on the smooth ground. In the same instant Leif's ax descended on his neck. Haersten fell and remained lying. Red blood streamed profusely out of a deep wound in his neck. Smoking, it oozed into the cold white snow and formed holes with reddish edges. Thus fell Haersten.
When he had fallen, Ingolf had the trumpet blown for a truce, and invited Haersten's followers to go in peace. As no one wished for more fighting, Haersten's men marched, carrying his body, from their unsuccessful attempt, back to Gaulum.
Leif was quite jubilant. He never remembered having been so glad. Now he had avenged the attack atHisargavl, and settled all the rest of the account which he had with Atle's sons. There was a high degree of intoxication in his mind. He composed and sang with a strong voice a victor's song.
But Ingolf did not show any joy at the victory. He was silent and thoughtful. As soon as he had returned home with his men, he went to his father and told him of Haersten's fall. "It will not be in the neck of Atle's sons alone that Leif's ax has struck wounds," screamed Orn, with his heavy cutting voice, when he had heard Ingolf to the end. "Trust me! It is all over with our peace in Dalsfjord. Even though we have many friends, Atle Jarl and Haasten will in the long run prove too strong for us. Make peace with Haasten, my son, before it is too late. For old friendship's sake he will be satisfied with taking your property and driving you away from this district. I am too old, I know, to leave Dalsfjord myself. But don't you trouble about that. I am full of days, and will die soon. I had a foreboding that Leif would cause misfortune. But he is a plucky fellow. And what has happened has happened. Let me see him."
It had never been the case before that Orn had wished to see Leif. Once the sight of Leif had been to him a plague and an unceasing source of annoyance. Now he wished to see him. Leif was called, and willingly let himself be inspected by Orn's red, inflamed, swollen eyes. His spirits were so cheerful that he felt impelled to show himself friendly even towards Orn.
"Your appearance does not answer to your exploits," Orn exclaimed. "You are rather slight inbody to be a warrior. But, at any rate, I will give you Helga since she wants you. Take her and marry her, but do it quickly. For I will gladly drink your health at your marriage before I die. And I shall die soon."
Leif smiled and thanked him and was very friendly. It amused him to think that the permission was really rather superfluous. But that day he did not wish for any trouble. Haersten's death made him feel so prosperous and benevolent.
Ingolf had all day long been meditating. In the evening he asked Leif to speak with him in private.
"What do you think of sending messengers to Haasten and offering him an agreement on terms to be fixed by himself?" he asked quietly.
"That seems to me to be unnecessary weakness to submit the matter to Haasten's decision alone," answered Leif arrogantly. "If he wishes to pay us a call we shall know how to receive him."
"You forget, brother," said Ingolf calmly, but in a troubled voice, "that only in the utmost extremity can I use weapons against Haasten. You have deprived him of both his brothers. Even apart from the manner in which it happened it is a great loss for him. I, for my own part, will gladly purchase peace with Haasten at the price which he agrees upon."
The tone of Ingolf's voice moved Leif to the heart. "If you, for your part, wish to submit to Haasten's decision, I dare say I can consent," he said, in a compliant tone. "Hitherto I have not lost by letting you decide matters."
Ingolf chose the men whom he considered best suited for such a mission, and bade them go to Gaulum and offer Haasten terms. Haasten received Ingolf's envoys silently, and without returning their salutations. They had, however, been his companions on a summer Viking expedition, and several of them had been his friends. They did not know Haasten again. He had aged, and all signs of youthfulness had been obliterated from his face. Though his skin was still soft and smooth it was deeply furrowed. His look was cold and solitary. When he had heard the object of their errand, he said in an icy tone: "I will answer some day. Meanwhile I offer you shelter and food."
Haasten let them wait a whole week for an answer. He had a hard battle to fight first with his father and then with himself. Atle Jarl would at first hear nothing about an agreement. He demanded unconditionally, although coldly and without passion, the lives of the sworn brothers. He blamed Haasten for what had happened, because he had at the time refused to follow his advice and offer Ingolf and Leif blood-brotherhood. Haasten did not answer at length. But he did not give up till Atle Jarl agreed to lay the matter in his hand. When Haasten had thus become solely responsible, he had a hard battle to fight with himself. His family instinct demanded blood and not compensation. Even multipliedweregeldcould not compensate him for the loss of his brothers. But could Leif's and Ingolf's lives do it either? The fact was that nothing could compensate for the loss of his brothers. But large fines might sustain the outward honour of the family. Tobear weapons against Ingolf, who had not committed any crime, was in itself unthinkable. Besides, Haasten remembered his vow to decide impartially if at any time a decision should be demanded from him.
When he had at last arrived at unity with himself he bade Ingolf's messengers be called, and spoke as follows: "The sworn brothers have desired me to judge between them and myself. My judgment is this. No compensation shall be asked for Holmsten because of his unjustified attack on Leif. But as compensation for Haersten, who went to take righteous vengeance for his brother, and by doing so lost his life at Leif's hand, I adjudge to myself all the sworn brothers' real property. Before three winters have passed they shall have left all their land and territory and fjords and hills. Otherwise they will be treated as outlaws wherever they may be found in the district."
The messengers went home and informed the brothers of Haasten's sentence. When Ingolf had heard it, he said quietly: "That was to be expected."
Leif, on the other hand, was furious. He never remembered to have heard of such an unreasonable sentence. Ingolf bade him take the matter quietly. "The sentence is certainly hard," he said, "but Haasten's loss is harder. I would not willingly change my circumstances with his."
All bitterness against Haasten vanished comparatively quickly from Leif's mind. The question, where they should now go and settle, absorbed him, all at once, so completely that he had no thoughts to spare for anything else. Leif was glad enough to go and settlein a new country. One day he wished to go to England. Another day Ireland had suddenly assumed a great attraction for him. The Faroe Islands, Hjaltland, the Southern Islands—at least once a day in his thoughts he settled in all these. All at once the idea of Iceland occurred to him; strange to think that he had not come upon it at once.
Making a leap in the air, he went there in his own thoughts and settled in a strange land, and so sought Ingolf in hot haste. "We will go to Iceland!" he shouted in his delight, and was already absorbed, body and soul, in his idea. "There we shall have a whole country to ourselves."
"Is it not somewhat lonely?" asked Ingolf, smiling.
Leif thought over that, and conceded that in the long run it might be rather lonely. "But you will see many will follow after us. Many in Norway are discontented with Harald, who will not tolerate any will by the side of his own. The best people will follow us thither—people who can no more find complete freedom in this country. Harald is already seeking to kill many of the best men. There his arm cannot reach them. Sooner or later the land will be colonized; it is said to be fertile. Let us be the first. Ingolf, do you hear, let us be the first."
There was something in Leif's plan which attracted Ingolf. If he had to depart and find himself a new dwelling, why not seek it in a new country? Ingolf the Imperturbable felt his heart beat.
Leif was all fire and flame, and consequently not to be resisted. At last Ingolf yielded. "We can journeythere in the summer and survey the country," he said.
When Leif had got Ingolf so far, he became wild with joy and dangerous to approach. Ingolf had to wrestle with him; there was no getting out of it. A little after they were both lying in the soft snow. When the wrestle was thus over, they began to pile snow on each other, till they had to stop for laughing. The boy was uppermost in each of them. They were happy, and forgot to be troubled and anxious at the loss of their property. Blood and life surged through them. They could still fight as in the old days.
IX
Ingolf kept deeply secreted in his heart the image of a young girl. Her name was Hallveig, and hers was the only woman's look which had ever stirred his soul. Her grey eyes lived so vividly in his memory, he could see them before him when he wished. The thought of them made his usually quiet heart quiver. Her name was Hallveig, and her image was painfully and distinctly impressed on his mind.
He had seen her for the first time in the preceding winter when, on one of his trading journeys, he had spent the night at the house of her father, Frode. And that first time had hitherto been the only one.
He had made the acquaintance of her father, Frode, and her brother, Lopt, before, at various sacrificial feasts. Lopt and himself had much in common. Lopt was a quiet and rather reserved man. His whole appearance bore the stamp of the well-to-do yeoman farmer's firmness and self-possession. Lopt and Ingolf had always felt attracted by each other. They were both strong, high-born men without deceit or flaw in their minds. A mutual consciousness of their inner affinity had from the beginning brought them near each other.
Thus Ingolf came to the house one winter evening and saw Lopt's sister. Her name was Hallveig, and she was only eighteen. She was very serious. Ingolf never saw her smile like other young women. Already her inner seriousness roused great disquiet in his mind. Hallveig did not go about lavishing her smiles. Her look was watchful and critical. She looked at people, and had a scale to weigh them by. One became clear about one's value under her look. And her look did not flinch nor change like that of other women when one encountered it. It met one like a man's. It was in some degree a boy's look, thought Ingolf. He sat there that evening and could take neither his eyes nor his thoughts from Hallveig. Lopt and Frode often had to repeat their questions to him. The whole of Ingolf's listening faculty was turned inward and not outward. He sat by her side and forgot both them and himself. All that he knew was that now and then he cast a furtive glance at Hallveig. And yet he sat the whole time and looked at her. It was the first time that Ingolf had been in love, and it was of benefit to him. The next day was fixed for his departure, but he did not go. He was travelling with important objects, and it would be very extraordinary if he delayed hisjourney without special reason. But he remained all the same, and forgot to give himself or others a reason for it. He simply remained because it was impossible for him to go that day.
He had a long talk with Hallveig, sitting by her side in the morning. A little after (so it seemed) he was surprised to find it already evening. How the day had gone was a puzzle to him. He was lost.
Ingolf did not find it at all surprising that he found such a good opportunity to talk with Hallveig undisturbed. He had neither time to notice nor to reflect upon the fact that Lopt and Frode had left them alone the whole day. He had no idea that any one could look at him and observe from his behaviour what impression Hallveig had made upon him.
The whole of that day, which he afterwards did not know what had become of, he sat and talked with Hallveig. Not once did she smile at him. But there was in her look a charm which surpassed every smile. There was a warmth in her look and a secret confidence which put him at his ease. Her nearness filled him with a peculiar quivering consciousness of security. He felt that there was already a deep intimacy between him and this woman whom he did not know and yet knew.
The next day Ingolf went on his journey. When he gave Hallveig his hand at parting their eyes met. The look of both was firm and serious. Suddenly Hallveig smiled. Her eyes became bright with a beaming smile. All at once Ingolf perceived that there was something he had forgotten or neglected—something which couldnot be omitted. He stood there with her hand in his, uneasy and irresolute, quite otherwise than he was accustomed.
But he now already held her hand at departure and must go. Confused and dissatisfied with himself, and yet at the same time filled with a tremulous happiness, he went away. Ingolf did not forget Hallveig's solitary smile. He reflected much whether she had ever given any other man her smile, in the same way as she had to him. He did not believe it. But if she had, the man must die.
How Ingolf passed the year, before he returned to Hallveig, he did not know. It was quite unconsciously that he gave the memory of her time to grow and blossom in his soul. All that he knew about it was that every time he had resolved with himself that now he would go to Frode's house and visit her, his mind was filled with anxiety and unrest. He found no solid reason for waiting. His longing urged him almost irresistibly to make the journey. He was also quite certain that he ran a risk by postponing it. All the same he waited.
At a feast at Gaulum the previous autumn he had met Lopt. During the three days of the feast they had been inseparable. Quite involuntarily they had kept together. Once, when the talk had turned on Lopt's and Frode's affairs, Lopt said, smiling: "We cannot get my sister, Hallveig, married. She rejects all suitors." As Lopt spoke, Ingolf's heart began to beat violently and joyfully. The day seemed to expand around him and become beautiful. The coloursof the heavens and earth crowded at once upon his sight. The air itself became fresh and reviving. He found no answer to make to Lopt's remark, and therefore pretended not to have heard him. Soon afterwards he began to talk of something else. But he did not succeed in deceiving Lopt, who, when alone, smiled to himself. Soon after Ingolf's meeting with Lopt, Leif returned from his Viking expedition. Ingolf had enough to do, and was for a time cut off from all possibility of travelling.
But when the agreement with Haasten was settled, and the journey to Iceland to look for a residence determined on, it became at once as impossible for Ingolf to postpone the decisive interview with Hallveig as it had been for him before to resolve on a visit. Ingolf, according to his custom, first spoke with his father on the subject. Orn was highly pleased, and declared himself in every way satisfied with his choice. "Frode," he said, "is rich and well-born. It is time that you settled in life. Leif and you can celebrate your marriage in the autumn. You should not put off the journey for a day. You can go, my son."
Ingolf went to Leif and asked for his companionship on a journey without disclosing further the object or the direction of it. Leif needed no pressing. He was always ready for a journey, he did not care where. If Ingolf did not reveal to him his object and the place whither he was bound, it was because he had good reasons for concealing it.
The brothers left home with a select but not very numerous retinue. Leif received a strong impressionthat this mysterious journey was of great importance. Could it possibly be a wooing expedition? Leif studied Ingolf closely, and came to the conclusion that it was. It amused him to guess whom Ingolf had pitched upon. He could not make out. In that respect he knew nothing of Ingolf. Had Ingolf really fallen in love dumbly and silently? Leif could not picture Ingolf to himself as an enamoured suitor. In secret he was immensely amused at his brother's seriousness and taciturnity. But he showed great caution in his behaviour towards him. He observed that a great deal was at stake for Ingolf. He surmised that his quiet demeanour was not so genuine as it usually was.
When one evening they reached Frode's house, Leif did not guess that they had already arrived at their journey's end. But as soon as he saw Hallveig, he knew; and he was immediately filled with a warm and brotherly affection for her.
When Hallveig heard that Ingolf had come, she at once knew the reason. She put on her finest dress, and displayed her most valuable ornaments. Any one might think what they would; for her it was a festal day.
In this attire she went to meet Ingolf. Quietly and seriously she returned his greeting. Her whole manner told Ingolf that he was expected.
One evening she led Ingolf to her room. The next day Ingolf spoke with Lopt and Frode, and asked Hallveig in marriage. Frode gave him his daughter gladly. Lopt said that there was no one he would prefer as a brother-in-law. They quickly settled all the conditions.The sworn brothers' loss of their property was not mentioned at the time. Hallveig was summoned and questioned. Willingly and with deep earnestness she gave her mind to the matter. When, later on, she was alone with Ingolf, she wept and kissed him fervently. Ingolf was a constant surprise to her. Afterwards she smiled at him through her tears. There was a peculiar power and a complete abandonment in all her caresses. Ingolf felt beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was completely his, and for the whole of life. And her demeanour showed just as certainly that she was happy.
Frode and Lopt celebrated the betrothal by a great feast. Ingolf and Leif remained a whole week in the house. When they left, the wedding was fixed for about three weeks later. In accordance with Ingolf's wish it was to take place in Orn's house, since his father felt too old to travel.
Ingolf and Hallveig were agreed on having the shortest possible interval before their marriage. They did not wish to wait a day longer than necessary, now that they at last had each other. They found it almost impossible to separate, though it was only for three weeks. They could not comprehend how they had hitherto been able to live without each other. Ingolf felt now that the two years which had passed since he saw Hallveig for the first time were as though lost for him. Yes, his whole youth seemed as though lost for him since he had not met Hallveig before.
Never had Ingolf before reflected how short life really was. He had not measured it with love's measuring-rod.
X
Orn was peculiarly restless during the first days after Ingolf's departure. He became gradually alarmed, though he had considered it the wisest course to conceal his alarm from his son, lest Frode should perhaps make difficulties, now that the agreement with Haasten had deprived Ingolf of all his real property. It was quite clear to Orn that it was on this point the prestige of his family would be tested. If Frode did not refuse to give his daughter in marriage to a man who had been judicially deprived of all his landed property, it was because the man was Ingolf, Orn's son.
As the days passed, and it became evident that the brothers, at any rate, were not returning at once, Orn became quieter, and with every succeeding day his calm increased. The continued absence of the brothers could be only due to their having succeeded in their object.
Orn and Rodmar celebrated this by a justifiable drinking bout. Before the fumes of their intoxication had quite passed off, Ingolf and Leif returned home, having, as was apparent, quite succeeded in their object. Orn and Rodmar went on drinking to celebrate the good news. Then Orn went to bed and slept for a night and half the following day. When he had had his sleep out, he began to arrange everything for the double marriage which was imminent. He also wished to have a hand in the preparations for the feast. He let all and each know that since the gods had been so kind as to allowhim to celebrate both his children's weddings, and that at the same time, there should be a feast which should be known far and wide and be long remembered. He had the temple, together with every house and every cottage on the estate, swept from roof to floor, and all the woodwork cleaned. He himself selected the cattle and the swine which should be fattened for the feast. He tasted the liquors brewed, measured out the meal and the corn, and was everywhere.
Rodmar was homeless in all this disquiet. He tried his old device of going to bed and keeping himself to himself in his darkness. He counted the days and was morose. About three weeks were to be occupied with preparations for the wedding, and then a week with the festivities themselves. Rodmar drained his drinking-horn deep. The future looked very empty to him.
Orn sent Leif and Ingolf out to invite people to the feast. They spent many days in travelling from house to house. Orn questioned them every evening as to where they had been, and made plans for the next day. He was indefatigable. A peculiar excitement, which he did not remember to have felt before a festival since his early youth, deprived him of his appetite for food, and partly also of his tendency to drink. He was about from early morning to late in the evening. All the same, it was difficult for him to sleep at night.
Helga sat in her room and sewed at her bridal dress. Every hour of leisure which Leif found he spent there with her. He was considerate towards Helga, and avoided disturbing her with talk or caresses. He could stand for hours together and watch her, as she sat andsewed, eager and absorbed, with busy hands and hot cheeks. Leif was very happy at that time. But as soon as he had not Helga before his eyes, he could not realize that in a few days they should be man and wife, and had to go in again and watch her sewing the bridal dress.
Orn had the banqueting hall draped with costly tapestry, and shields hung up.
At last the day dawned. And the same day spring made its entry with southern winds and genial temperature. Already from the early morning guests began to assemble at the house. Somewhat before noon came Frode with his daughter and son and a splendid retinue. Then the wedding could begin. With eight days' unbroken festivities the marriage bonds between Ingolf and Hallveig, Helga and Leif, were sealed.
Frode showed great gladness at the connection, and celebrated his daughter's marriage with all the customary sports and pageants. Orn only celebrated his son's with sacrificial feasts, with, as became a host, the usual meals and drinking bouts. The meals were many and luxurious, and the drinking bouts were long. Quantities of mead and wine were drunk, and many swine and oxen eaten, besides game and other food common at festivals.
Once more Orn was able to sit in stately fashion in the high-seat and preside over a feast. During the days of this festival Frode shared the high-seat with him. They knew each other well by the wounds received in their youth and manhood. Many cheerful memories wererevived, and they shared in great friendliness their drink and the high-seat.
Orn had become an old man. Age had bent his back, made his face puffy, and dulled his hearing. Nevertheless, he wore an air of dignity on such an occasion. The chieftain was uppermost in him, and his natural courage blazed up in one last victorious flame. Ingolf had rather feared that his father would not be equal to preserving his dignified bearing through such a trying festival, but his fear proved groundless. Orn rallied all his powers and held out. He took part in every meal. He emptied his drinking-horn at every health. He sat as host in the high-seat, and still on the last day of the feast his spirits were unequalled, his thinking power unaffected. He held out till the last guest had left the place. Then the spring had already done its work. The snow had gone. Everywhere one caught glimpses of the first signs of summer's approaching splendour.
The next day Orn lay dead in his bed. His right hand clasped the knife with which he had just succeeded in cutting the sign of the Hammer on his breast. He had secured his seat in Valhalla.
Thus died Orn. His death did not especially surprise Ingolf or any one else. Age and debility had during the last years handled him roughly. In spite of all, he had been a chieftain to the end.
XI
It was very still in the house after Orn's death. His harsh, irascible voice was suddenly lost in a great silence. And this silence was doubly impressive just after the concluded festivities. Ingolf at once set his people to brew drink, slaughter animals, and prepare for the funeral feast. Orn should begin his last journey with all suitable honour. But this time the work was done without the noise which usually attended preparations of that kind. In Ingolf's soul there remained a special sense of bereavement. He had always shown his father reverence; now he realized that he had also been very fond of him. Ingolf selected with care a spot down by the fjord where a funeral barrow would look well in the landscape. He caused a little natural hollow to be filled with potter's clay; then had one of his smaller dragon-ships rolled on logs thither and fixed on the bed of clay with its bow turned towards the south. Orn's journey should be towards the south and the sun. When the ship was settled in its place and shored up, Ingolf traced a wide circle round it. Orn perhaps was the last of the race who should rest in the soil of his fatherland, therefore his funeral barrow should be a notable landmark.
Ingolf collected a large number of workmen from his own and Leif's estate, and set them to work at erecting the barrow. It was to be done quickly. For nothing is quite sure for a dead man till he rests in earth under the sign of the Hammer.
Ingolf sent messengers round to invite all those in the district and many distant friends and relatives to the funeral feast at a few days' notice. He and Leif superintended the work at the barrow, and it went forward rapidly.
The voracious earth was not to be allowed to devour Orn's ship, therefore stones were fixed everywhere between the earth and the woodwork. Outside it were piled gravel, earth, and turf.
Amidships, round the mast, which was hoisted as though for sailing and so that the roof of the barrow might form an arch over it, was the burial chamber, as broad as the ship and two fathoms in length, timbered with thick oak-beams. It was to resist the pressure both of the stones and the earth: there should Orn lie, warm and comfortable, ready for his journey. All was arranged with a view to a journey by land and by water.
In the stern of the ship were stored up all possible articles which could be of use in cooking. There were iron cauldrons of various sizes, with the iron claws belonging to them and swivels for hanging them up on; a large barrel for the supply of the ship's drinking water, together with other larger and small oaken barrels with hoops of tough kinds of wood; different vessels with and without lids, together with wooden dishes, some in the shape of fishes; pails with handles of iron and bands of bronze or wood; scoops of iron and of wood; knives; a stone hand-mill and a stick to turn it with; a frying-pan; a three-legged kitchen-stool; axes; and many other articles. Some of the woodenones were splendidly carved, and on others many-coloured designs were painted. In the stern was also the ship's anchor. The rudder was, of course, fixed in its place.
Ingolf further furnished the ship with all that was necessary: cordage, sails, oars, tent-cloths and poles, hooks, oar-forks, and other articles for a voyage. A landing-plank was not forgotten.
In the fore-part of the ship he placed a carved and fully equipped sledge, with the harness and bearskin bags belonging to it. Thither he had also brought a painted and carved carriage, with a driving-seat and harness. Orn's saddle was brought on board, together with bridle and reins, and all things needed for a horse. Orn should never be in difficulties regarding his land-journey.
Ingolf had many things brought into the burial chamber. He filled several boxes with useful articles belonging to a chieftain's equipment and placed them in it. A bed and bedding were brought in, and he gave his father costly coverlets for the journey. He did not forget to supply a comb, so that his father might arrange his hair and beard when he presented himself before the Ases. He gave him also rings, ornaments, and other valuables, so that all should at once know whom they had before them. Moreover, he provided him with thunder-stones, small Thor-hammers, and other sacred articles for his protection on the journey, together with a money-box to defray the possible expenses. Orn should certainly not want coin. Ingolf also had several barrels of wine and meat brought to the burial chamber,together with costly drinking-horns to drink from and to proffer. An ox and a swine and many other animals had already been selected for slaughter. Orn should suffer neither hunger nor thirst on his long journey.
When all these things had been arranged, and the barrow was already partially erected so that there was only a wide passage to the burial chamber, and all that remained was to pile stones and earth over the ship, the day came which was fixed for the funeral feast and committal to the barrow.
A swarm of people had collected to do the last honours to Orn. Ingolf himself conducted the ceremonies, both at the temple and at the barrow. He had inherited the office of priest of the district from his father, and now himself discharged the priestly functions. With the sign of the Hammer he consecrated his father for the last journey.
Stretched on a bier, clad in his splendid garments, Orn left his house for the last time. A golden-winged helmet crowned his white hair. A sword gleamed by his side. A shield painted in many colours covered his breast. Equipped for a chieftain's journey, Orn was carried to his burial chamber.
The serf who was selected and already consecrated to follow him, for it was not fitting that Orn should journey quite alone, stood ready, and only waited for the knife, with which he was to stab himself, to be given him.
Then came Rodmar, who in these busy and restless days had been forgotten by all, tottering on two sticks hither from the house, led by two of his men and followedby another man carrying a chair. He was not dressed as a chieftain. Looking untidy, as he had just got out of bed, in clothes which he had not changed for a long time, and with his grey locks floating freely in the wind, came Rodmar, staring stiffly and blankly with his blind eyes.
Rodmar had had a bad time in his darkness and loneliness since Orn's death. He had hoped that death would come and fetch him before the barrow over Orn had been finished. He would so gladly share the barrow with him, and follow him on his journey.
It was impossible to remain behind now that his only friend had departed. The solitude became intense and oppressive around him, and the pain of his darkness was doubled. At last he took the resolve to follow his elder kinsman in death, as he had always followed him in life.
Rodmar crawled over the gunwale on his crooked legs and groped his way forward to the opening of the burial chamber. Then he turned and spoke to the air. "Is there wine on board?" he asked in an impatient and peremptory tone.
Leif sprang on board and led his father from barrel to barrel so that he could feel them with his own hands. Rodmar shook the barrels to see whether they were full, and sniffed them distrustfully. He chose one of them, and demanded to have one hoop knocked off. This was done. Afterwards he asked that the tool for opening it should remain with him and be close to his hand. He was also allowed to retain the tool.
His seat was fixed in its place, and Rodmar sat down with a long sigh of relief, as it were. On one side of himhe had an open barrel of red wine, on the other a horn filled to the brim, standing on a little table, which had been quickly brought to the place.
Rodmar borrowed Leif's sword, and, baring his breast with fumbling fingers, cut on it with his own hand the sign of the Hammer. Then he said farewell to Ingolf and the others standing round, and in a slightly morose and curt tone gave Leif his last blessing. Then the opening to the burial chamber was closed up. Rodmar sat, as long as they could see him, motionless on his chair. He had secured Orn's society for ever. He was prepared for anything that might come. A man should be able both to live and die with a light heart. He had drink for the journey, and there is also wine in Valhalla.
Ingolf killed with his own hand an ox that was laid on an oak-plank by the side of the kitchen utensils. Its mouth was held open with a wooden gag and turned towards the south. He also slew with his own hand four horses, two dogs, and a swine. The swine was laid by the side of the box; the other animals were taken to the fore-part of the ship. The serf who was to have accompanied Orn was now spared, as Orn had better company.
Stones were heaped over the ship and all its contents, and then the barrow was hastily filled up. This closed the funeral ceremonies. Orn and Rodmar had departed to Odin.
XII
It soon became evident to Ingolf that on that spring day he had not buried Orn only. He had also interredwith his father his home-feeling, his peace and confidence in this region of his childhood and youth. Already, when on the first morning after the burial he stepped out of the house and saw his father's mighty barrow lift its dome in the landscape, it struck him all at once that the district had assumed an alien aspect. The confidence in the contours and colours, which has its root in the child's free look and strong, unconscious sense of belonging to the spot where he has grown up, was gone. The landscape had suddenly lost its light in his eyes. He felt thrust out and lonely. It was not here that he should live his life.
Hitherto it had not been really clear to him what a profound change his life would undergo because of Haasten's sentence. The fact that he was now homeless had, as it were, not yet broken on him in its full extent. Now he saw suddenly what Haasten's sentence really implied—a complete alteration of his whole life. First, years perhaps must be spent in search and insecurity. And then a battle for life and death with inner and outer powers, in order to gain home-feeling and home-rights in a foreign land.
Ingolf felt from his own experience that the race which has not its own soil to grow in is doomed to misfortune and ruin. The possession of land stamps the race. The man who could be sentenced to lose his possessions was exiled from the earth—this was what Ingolf felt now. Such a man must gain earth's favour anew by his honest will to live in peace on earth's fruits.
Ingolf's hitherto unconscious instinct of opposition to force of all kinds was now suddenly revealed to him.That which had now happened to him was not undeserved, even if the blame for the outer cause of the misfortune could not be imputed either to him or to Leif.
He had continued to ravage foreign lands and to pillage people with whom he had not the least quarrel. From a kind of secret cowardice he had suppressed the unwillingness he had felt in doing so, as unworthy of a man and a Viking. But now he saw that law and right extend beyond the borders of one's own country. They are valid wherever there is land and sea. The man who aims at living by force and pillage, not only sins against the law which he carries within him, but also against the earth—the sacred earth, which by the grace of the gods is so luxuriant and fruitful that every year it is ready to fill the peaceful barns. As long as the Ases had still reigned undisputed there was peace in their dwellings. The Ases had been driven to conflict and war by the dark powers who were responsible for all disturbance. Thus all disturbance and violence came from the evil power. Ingolf vowed to himself that from that day he would never lift a weapon against any man except to protect his own and his family's life and property. That resolve somewhat soothed the disquiet and restlessness which had seized him when he became conscious of his homelessness, and suddenly felt himself exiled from the kindness of the earth. The bright Ases would still grant his family a home and prosperity when they saw his honest purpose and clean struggle. The earth would yet take him into favour again when he no longer defiled it with blood and violence, would fulfill his most sacred, yes, his only wish,that his family-tree might be leafy and strong-stemmed. Since fate had granted him Hallveig as a wife, it could scarcely intend to exclude him from the earth.
Ingolf thought much of the far and foreign land away in the west which he was to travel to. Was it there that his family's cradle for the future should be? Was it there that the pillars of his high-seat should consecrate the earth for him?
He dared not believe it yet. Neither did he dare to go to the gods and ask them. He himself had to seek his future home. He must win again what had been lost here by his own fault. He wished to commit himself to the power of the sky and sea without first seeking instruction from the gods. He would match his own strength and will against storm and sea as a pledge and sign. He would not beg; he would gain by fighting the favour of fate and of the gods.
Now that his father was dead, he was himself the eldest and chief of the family. The responsibility for the honour of the dead, and the honour and prosperity of the unborn, rested principally on him. For now he alone wore the family bracelet, and now the high-seat was also his.
BOOK III
I
Ingolfand Leif equipped themselves in great haste for their journey to seek the land which Raven-Floke had last visited, and which he had given the name of Iceland. They wished to be there as early in the year as possible, in order to be the better able to explore the distant and unknown island. Therefore there was no time to be lost. The first thing they did was to acquire a trading vessel, a strong sea-ship, in exchange for two of their smallest ships, which, in all probability, they would not want to use again. A trading vessel was just what they now needed. In the conflict they were proceeding to, there was no use for small, light battleships. Their new vessel was certainly neither little nor light. It was a regular ox to look at. High and broad, clumsy and solid, it lay, and the movements of the water only made it rock sluggishly. By the side of the long, slim, low-decked dragon-ships, it was seen to great disadvantage. Leif laughed at it, called it his rock and his old woman's boat, said that it had a stomach like an old cow, and expressed his fixed opinion that it certainly cherished secret designs of going to the bottom at the first opportunity. But Leif did it great injustice. The vessel was good enough for itspurpose, even if it was a little slow in turning and no beauty to look at.
It had a half-deck at prow and stern and a small side-deck along the gunwales. The rest of it was one large hold, in the midst of which towered a great, solid, strongly supported mast. It was exclusively built for the purpose of long trade-journeys, and therefore quite excellently suited for such an expedition in which the chief object was to convey as much as possible. There were but a few banks of oars fore and aft; one might as well try to row a rock over the sea. It was not adapted to be propelled by slender oars. The oars were only there to turn it and to facilitate going on shore. It was to sail, not to be rowed. Therefore it was entirely dependent on wind and weather. But, on the other hand, it took the wind and weather with a composure and immovability which came near to justifying its nickname of a "rock." It only had one enemy—lack of wind.
It certainly did not dance on the billows like a dragon-ship. It was too contemptuous of the unstable element around it, whose humours it only yielded to when compelled, and then as little as possible. It entered into no brotherly alliance with the wind.Thatit took into its service and allowed to further its object.
Such was the new ship, inspiring confidence in a high degree and independent, both in form and behaviour—free from all kinds of levity. Storm and sea were its—certainly often somewhat wayward—servants, but not its masters.
Hallveig took an eager part in the loading of the vessel and in all preparations for the journey, and showed Ingolf in numberless little ways that she had no intention of remaining at home. When Ingolf was aware of it, it seemed to him that he had all along known that Hallveig was like that. And yet it gave his happiness an increased fullness and weight. Without inquiries of any kind, with a silent agreement, as though it were a matter of course, Hallveig prepared to follow him always and everywhere, to belong to him and to be near him.
For Helga, who already went about with a hidden foreboding of coming separation in her mind, the spring suddenly became really spring when she saw Hallveig's preparations. If Hallveig could travel with them, so could she. Of herself, Helga would never have hit upon so bold an idea, though not from want of courage. Her courage and readiness to sacrifice herself where Leif was concerned were boundless. Her backwardness was from an inherited fear of causing trouble and being inconvenient, and a deep anxiety not to displease Leif in any thing great or small.
Helga wept for gladness when it was decided that she should also go with them. She did not often weep in the sight of others. Her weeping made Leif quiet and thoughtful. He guessed that he often, for the most part through thoughtlessness, caused Helga grief which she did not show. For some time his tenderness towards her knew no bounds, and Helga was happier than she had been for a long time.
Hallveig and Helga had been at first somewhat shy ofeach other. Helga was in her own way independent enough. She certainly had a will, and knew in every case what she wanted. But Hallveig's whole resolute way of behaving and acting alarmed her a little. It took her some time to understand that Hallveig was far from being inconsiderate and selfish, that, on the contrary, she had a recklessness and warmth in her devotion which was apparent in each of her words and deeds in such a decisive way that to superficial observation it might look like want of consideration and self-will. Yes, in her devotion Hallveig was certainly reckless. Every one could easily see that she loved Ingolf and belonged to him with body and soul. The quiet and apparently cold Hallveig displayed a peculiar latent warmth and energy in all that she undertook. She did not lavish smiles and caresses; that was not her nature. No one had heard her speak tenderly or lovingly to Ingolf. But out of all her actions shone love and tender solicitude. An invisible fire burned around the apparently cold-natured woman.
When Helga first became convinced that she had at the beginning mistaken her sister-in-law and done her injustice in her heart, a specially warm devotion for Hallveig broke forth in her soul. And from the moment that Hallveig saw that the reserve Helga had hitherto displayed towards her had been a veil she had covered herself with in the presence of a stranger, she embraced her also with the latent warmth of her nature.
Hallveig showed Helga that outside the house also a woman may be a benefit and do good service. Even when it was a question of loading a ship for a longjourney there were many things a woman could help and participate in. Hallveig, who was never at ease when Ingolf was occupied with the ship, from this time always took Helga with her when she went down to it. She had an amusing way of walking, Helga thought. She took long, resolute, manly strides, and her legs were obviously legs under her skirts. Helga found it difficult to follow her when she was in a hurry, as she almost always unconsciously was.
Hallveig examined even the smallest details that concerned the loading of the ship, with her husband and Leif, and did so in a matter-of-course tone which aroused Helga's astonishment and admiration. In everything she said, Hallveig showed her practical sense. She did not hesitate either to give help where it was needed. Her help and advice were gladly welcomed. Her advice was advice and not child's prattle. It was nearly always followed.
Hallveig had a peculiar rapid way of surveying matters. This was the best place for this, and for that. She demanded that everything which might be needed on the voyage should be as easily accessible as possible. Ingolf and Leif had never given a thought to that. They only thought of packing things so that they fitted in, took the least possible room, and were so distributed according to weight and size that the ship might lie on the water as level as possible. Now Hallveig showed them that with a little reflection all these objects might be excellently combined.
Hallveig's and Helga's presence and hearty participation in the work—for Helga also quickly began touse both eyes and hands—put Ingolf and Leif in high spirits, which helped them over many difficulties and trifling annoyances.
The vessel was loaded amid much merriment. Corn in chests, dried fish in great bundles, butter in small barrels, and boxes of dried flesh and salt meat, beer and wine in barrels—a whole year's provision of food and drink—were brought on board and packed carefully in the great hold. But the vessel's stomach had to find space for much more. Small compartments had to be made for the animals which were to be taken with them. A cow and a pair of goats; they could not be entirely without milk. There was also an ox to be slaughtered, and a bull-calf to be company for the cow through the winter and grow large and fat and ready to be slaughtered in the spring. A sow with small pigs was also useful to have with them, together with some sheep, and a couple of horses were simply indispensable.
And, at any rate, there was room for a hut for Hallveig and Helga. The hut was Hallveig's idea. She did not wish only to be with them; she wished to live on board and to be comfortable. Leif jumped like a boy with delight when Hallveig put forward her proposal about the hut. From that day not even the smallest thing seemed to him quite right till Hallveig had expressed her satisfaction with it. He would rather have Hallveig's help in counsel and action than that of most men, he declared decisively. And he was absolutely resolved to teach her to swing an ax and to hurl a spear. Hallveig did not often laugh, but she had to laugh sometimes at Leif. There was the same completeness and power in Hallveig's laughter as in all the rest of her character and behaviour. When Hallveig laughed, there was something to laugh at. She could never be imagined laughing at any one or anything she did not like.
So these spring days passed. Liveliness and activity reigned everywhere. This journey to a foreign land, which at the beginning seemed so difficult to carry into effect, so improbable and unrealizable, became through all these preparations imminent and a matter of course for all those who took part in it. Here Ingolf now stood in the smithy and forged scythes to cut grass in a land which he had never seen and really only heard a tale about. Who was Naddod the Viking? Who was Gardar Svavarsson? Who was Raven-Floke? Or Thorolf Smor? Could one be sure they had not imagined that land over there? Or that others had imaginedthemand the whole affair? One might be foolish to believe it, but he was going to get a sight of it. And while Ingolf forged scythes to cut grass in that legendary land of the west, and made spades to dig in its soil, that fact became firmly fixed in his mind. In spite of all doubt, the land lay and actually existed over there in the sea. And, in fact, it became more than real to him. It lay there and spoke secretly to his soul; it waited for him almost like a friend. And thus it seemed at last to have a claim on him, which he could not disregard. For the land lay there and expected to be taken in possession, as is the right of every land. Such and similar thoughts filled Ingolf. And yet he did not guess that while he stood there inhis smithy and forged scythes and prepared implements with which to till the new land's soil, the land tookhimin possession by help of the secret power a land possesses—never again to let him go.
Ingolf and Leif had to prepare themselves to build winter dwellings and to store hay for their animals, therefore they took implements with them, without considering what power the earth and implements together have over a man's soul. They did not guess that only homeless men wander their free ways, which are no ways, or rather that secret earth-powers guide all other steps.
Ingolf and Leif provided themselves with fishing-gear and nets for catching birds. They also took a pair of boats.
When the boat was loaded and everything else was in order for the journey, Ingolf concluded his preparations with a great sacrificial feast, at which he made abundant offerings to the gods, in order that they should grant him and his fellow-travellers good fortune and happiness on the voyage. Nevertheless, the days went by without the commencement of the hoped-for sailing weather.
These days of waiting were hard for Leif to bear. He became morose. Any kind of waiting was the worst thing Leif knew. It made his hasty and adventurous spirit full of discontent. He cursed the vessel, called it a wretched old woman's bath, and invented even worse names for it.
Ingolf took the matter quietly. Certainly he had already made his offerings to the gods, and copiously. But it was a special voyage they were to make—thegods were to protect them, and on wide and strange ways. He therefore brought fresh offerings, and also secretly gave Odin and Njord private gifts, besides vowing yet greater ones if they would prosper his journey there and back and on the way. This expedient helped. There came a day with splendid sailing weather—a sunshiny day full of light and warm wind. Before midday all was ready—the animals brought on board, the crew in their places (Ingolf and Leif took only the smallest possible crew with them), and the vessel cleared for sailing. Under a heavily bellying sail it glided out between the skerries. Hallveig and Helga stood on the poop by their husbands and watched the shores glide past on either side. Hallveig was quiet in mind, and felt only glad at the fine day and the journey. Sea and land were all the same to her, if only she had Ingolf. Here they were sailing out to find a new land, to seek a new home. She was ready with all her soul to remain fixed in the spot on the earth which Ingolf might choose for them, no matter where it might be.
But with Helga it was otherwise. She was calm and quiet enough, but her calm was, as so often on other occasions, only outward. The strong scent of the pines from the spruce- and fir-clad islands they were sailing by, roused a profound longing in her soul. This was the place where she was at home. There in the house down there by the shore, which seen from the fjord here looked so strange. There seemed to be a sob in Helga's soul. She, the faithful, had only one home. She did not at all wish to turn or to remain behind, for shestood here by Leif's side. But she felt as though her heart were being split asunder and her soul divided. For this place which she now left, to return to it next spring only for a time, had shared with her happiness and solitude. There was hardly a stone in the house which she had not patted with her hand and made her confidant in joy or sorrow. She was bound to the house and the surroundings of her childhood with ties which could not be loosed or cut asunder. She knew with certainty that she would always feel strange and homeless outside Dalsfjord. She reproached herself for this feeling—for she had Leif—but she could not overcome it. All she could do was to vow to herself never to betray it. Thus Helga took a secret with the scent of the pine trees from the islands.
II
Ingolf and Leif sailed by the guidance of the sun and the stars, and steered directly westward. For the first two days and nights a steady east wind filled the square sail and carried them steadily forwards. There were high spirits and much excited expectation on board. Indeed, it seemed as though the wind had been sent by Odin with the sole purpose of furthering their journey. But just as they had settled down in confidence that they were under the god's special protection the weather began to shift and change. Now it seemed, for the most part, as if one or another of the divinities had set himself fiercely against them, or as if Odin had suddenly become busy elsewhere.
The wind took the wrong direction, and seemed uninterruptedly occupied in settling private accounts with the towering waves of the sea. In the course of two days and nights it had gone several times round the horizon and varied through all degrees of strength from a moderate calm to what Vikings would mildly call a storm. And then all of a sudden it disappeared. They looked longingly for it—east, west, south, and north—for though they had cursed its vagaries heartily enough, it was still preferable to a dead calm. But it was absent, and remained absent. Unreliable as it had always been, it had gone off to other regions, and left them alone here in the midst of the sea. There lay the vessel, pitching lazily, and making no way at all. Where they were no one knew, and there was nothing to show them. Whither the wind had carried them, while it was still with them and blew alternately from all points of the compass, they could not find out. The sun and stars had only rarely been visible. The spirits of all on board were rapidly sinking. Matters were not improved when, after several days and nights of calm, there came gliding a cunning, silent bank of fog and swallowed them up, blotted them out from the eyes of heaven, swept all sight of sea and sky out of the world, and left the vessel lying, rocking lonelily, forgotten by all good powers on a strange sea.
There they lay while the days came and went—grey days which could only make marks on Ingolf's time-stick. For even though Ingolf was displeased enough with these days he kept a steady count of them, marked each of them off on his stick with the little notch thatwas their due, and, for the rest, execrated them in silence.
Leif had given up all hope now; morose and aggrieved, he surrendered himself to the power of chance. He sat most of the days on the gunwale with his legs dangling outside, singing from sheer despair. Only now and then he interrupted his song to hurl a violent succession of sanguinary curses in a penetrating, angry voice into the damp, foggy air.
With every day that passed, Ingolf became more silent and introspective. What was the obstacle in their way? Were the gods so much opposed to this journey that they were absolutely determined to prevent it?
He did not like being questioned regarding the number of days he had marked off. The days were quite bad enough without making them more by talking about them. And at last he flatly refused to answer questions regarding the number of the days. For long periods he would sit silent looking at his stick, forgetting to mark the days, with his mind full of inward longing and powerful exorcisms.