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, he _had_ been 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 not cease 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 had more 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 outhouse where 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 hand to 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 became

absent, 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 piled up 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 little way, 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

with you--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 shall respect 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 their time

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

forming brotherhood 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 enter _alone_ into 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 release _you_ from 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 lifting

one 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 other his 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, and suddenly 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 will _have_ to 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 boat was 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 named Faxe. 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."

"You _will_ see 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 suddenly upset, 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

various accounts. 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

once for 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

into each 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 involuntarily

straightened 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 the cud 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 of the 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, a coal-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 other animals 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 finished their 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.

Odin was drawn to his place on the right hand of Thor. Atle Jarl took

the sacrificial bracelet off his arm and laid it on the mound by the

side of the bowl. This concluded the first part of the sacrificial

feast--the slaughter night. The people went to their tents and crept

under their skins, to get a little sleep. The early spring day was

already dawning in the east.

XII

Ingolf and Leif went silently towards the tent. Ingolf was pleasantly

fatigued, and felt cheerful. He enjoyed the mental relaxation and

dreamy sleepiness which follows when an inner excitement has found

its natural relief. He went from the ceremony confirmed in his faith

with strengthened will. He felt himself in covenant relation with his

ferocious gods.

With Leif the case was opposite. He had been sickened by the sight

and smell of the blood of the sacrificed animals. All the rest, and

especially Ingolf's behaviour, had had a repelling effect upon _him_

who did not believe in the gods, nay, who had a profound contempt for

these ugly, bedizened images of wood. Ingolf's thorough absorption in

the ceremonies had made him sick at heart. Here was something he did

not understand. How _could_ Ingolf quietly watch helpless men being

ill-treated and murdered in honour of the gods? How _could_ he worship

gods whom he believed he could appease by hanging serfs and criminals

in their honour? Leif did not understand it. He felt himself suddenly

alone, and an eager longing for Helga took possession of him. There was

something about Ingolf which was beyond his comprehension. In relation

to the gods there would always be something to divide them. Hitherto

this had possessed such a slight significance for Leif that he had not

given the matter a thought. Now it grew suddenly, assumed a shape, and

was not to be got away from. Ingolf must certainly not become aware how

great a difference there was between them in this respect. For if he

did, how could he think of entering into brotherhood with him?

Leif's emotion seethed and fermented. With every step his inward

excitement rose higher. To speak out to Ingolf would never do; if once

he began to speak, wild and uncontrolled words would stream from his

tongue. And he had vowed to himself never to let his fiery temperament

discharge itself in evil words over Ingolf.

But, on the other hand, the excitement in his mind gradually became

uncontrollable. And now they were so near the tents, that only a few

steps more would rob him of the opportunity of relieving himself. He

stopped, perplexed, without knowing what he should say or do.

"Ingolf!" he broke out suddenly, as if in bewilderment; his voice

was hoarse and unrecognizable. Ingolf stopped, surprised, and turned

towards him. In an instant they were confronting each other, Ingolf

with an astonished, questioning expression in his eyes and face, Leif

quivering in every limb with an excitement which bid fair to derange

his mind. He rushed at his cousin, flung his arms round him tightly,

and hissed from between his clenched teeth: "Look out!"

Ingolf did not understand what he was about, and had no time to

consider. He needed all his presence of mind to keep on his legs,

for Leif attacked him with all his might, and his strength seemed to

increase with his exertions. Ingolf was not long in discovering that

this was serious; he had to defend himself or fall. Leif hissed and

groaned and bellowed like a maniac. Ingolf thought it was best to make

an end of it, and passed gradually over to the offensive. But it took

him time, and he needed to exert all his strength to overcome Leif. At

last he succeeded. He took advantage of a slip on Leif's part, slowly

deprived him of his foothold--then came the decisive moment--Leif

overbalanced and fell.

Ingolf remained lying on the top of him. He had a good grip, and

held him fast. Leif's face was purple and swollen, and he foamed at

the mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, and were so furious that Ingolf

suddenly felt pity for him.

"Cousin, be reasonable now," he begged persuasively. But to be overcome

in such a purely physical way had been too much for Leif. He struggled

hopelessly to get one arm loose, and when he did not succeed he hissed

with suppressed rage: "I could kill you!" Ingolf let him go at once and

sprang up. But Leif did not do the same, as he had expected. He had

discharged his emotions now and had given up. He remained lying with

his eyes closed, while the shame scorched and burnt in his soul.

Ingolf stood for a little while looking at him. He felt the wrath

lurking in ambush within himself, and bravely fought with it. "What

have I done?" he asked at last quietly.

Leif did not answer, but remained lying there, quiet and motionless,

with closed eyes. Within himself he was silently and hopelessly

wondering how he should set about opening his eyes and rising. Ingolf

stood looking at him. He began gradually to understand him, and to

enter into his feelings. Leif had madly set himself against the gods.

But what was the use of so attacking him, he would like to know? Well,

Leif had his peculiarities in everything. Now he lay there and was

ashamed, and could not bring himself to open his eyes. The best thing

was to give him a little time to collect himself. Ingolf remained

standing awhile and waited. "Come now, Leif!" he urged, in a friendly

tone, and Leif rose. Slowly he collected himself and got on his legs.

Ingolf stood and looked at him with curiosity. His features were

relaxed, and his eyes were dull and troubled.

"What was the matter with you?" asked Ingolf earnestly, and could not

suppress a little laugh.

Leif stood a short while without answering, as though searching his

memory for something he had forgotten. "You needn't trouble yourself

about it," he answered in a weary and rather shy tone, but not without

a certain defiance. "It was not you I hated, but your gods."

"So it was not very strange you could not win, cousin," answered Ingolf

cheerfully. "You are still too slight of build to fight with the gods."

"I shall not go with you to a feast any more," answered Leif,

unaffected by Ingolf's cheerfulness. "This once I may be allowed to say

it, and I beg you not to forget it. Your gods and your worship of them

are an abomination to me, and will always be so. Even if it should lose

me my brother, I must say it."

There was a smothered warmth in Leif's words which made Ingolf serious.

"It is just with you, as you are, that I wish to enter into

brotherhood, Leif," he answered quietly. "Your relation to the gods is

a matter between you and them. What you think of my worship of them

is your own affair. But I am anxious that you should understand that

I belong with all my soul and will to the gods. They were my fathers'

gods; if I were false to them, I should be false to my fathers. Rather

would I this very moment sacrifice myself to Odin than that that should

happen."

"But then it is a sacrifice on your part," answered Leif quietly, "when

you enter into brotherhood with me who despise the gods, and so have

been false to my fathers."

Ingolf was silent for a while. "It is another matter with you than with

me," he answered. "I cannot explain it, but I feel that it is quite

another matter with you. I should become weaker by not believing in the

gods; you would become so by believing in them. We are so different,

Leif. And I wish to be your brother as you are."

"I will do my best that you may never regret that," answered Leif

quietly.

They went to their tents. It was already nearly daylight. In the east

the sky was faintly red; there was only a short time to the sunrise.

Ingolf and Leif did not talk any more. They crept silently into their

sleeping-bags. But neither of them could close an eye. They remained

lying quiet till nearly midday. When the sun was at its zenith that

day, their brotherhood was to be sealed.

Leif was the first who rose. When he had met Ingolf's open eyes, he

said in a low, cheerful tone: "Let us run to the stream."

Ingolf sprang up. "Yes, we will." They ran to a place outside the

encampment, where they were in the shelter of a cliff, and where they

had been accustomed to wash themselves when, as small boys, they

visited their friends at Gaulum. Ingolf dipped his head in the water,

rubbed hard with both hands, and snorted cheerfully. But Leif flung

away every stitch of clothing and lay down in the running water. When

Ingolf saw it, he immediately followed his example. And so they lay

side by side in the stream, and let the cold running water stream over

their bodies, as when they were little boys.

Leif looked at the sun. "We shall have to hurry." They sat for a little

while, squeezed the water out of their hair, and let the sun and the

wind dry their skins. But the water remained in drops on their skins

and would not be dried. Then they took their shirts and rubbed each

other, and then dressed in a trice. "Let us go slowly back," said Leif,

when they had their clothes on, and Ingolf had to look closer at him,

for such a proposal was very unlike him. Leif answered his questioning

look. "Otherwise we shall be so breathless, and we are getting too big

now to run like children."

When they came up from the little valley in which the stream ran, they

saw that the people were already gathered, and hastened their steps.

Leif looked up hastily at the sun. "It is not yet quite midday," he

said, relieved, but went on.

They arrived at the place at the same time as Atle Jarl, who as

high priest was to conduct the proceedings. Atle Jarl, generally a

mild and amiable man, wore his severest expression that day. He had

the sacrificial bracelet on his arm and a spear in his hand. A serf

followed him bearing two turf-cutters and two bright, sharp-pointed

knives. The people had gathered round a circular space, marked out with

wooden pegs. They readily made way for the two cousins and Atle Jarl.

When they reached the place marked out, Atle Jarl curtly bade the two

future brothers take off their shoes and stockings and step into the

ring. While they were doing so, he himself stepped into the ring, and

with his spear marked off a semicircle within it. Then Ingolf and Leif

each received his turf-cutter with orders to begin, each on his own

side of the semicircle, and cut a turf loose, taking care, however,

that both its ends remained firm. The turf that was to be cut loose was

to remain a living part of the ground. Ingolf was set to cut on the

outside of the semicircle, Leif on the inside. They each dropped on

one knee, stuck their turf-cutters into the ground, and began to cut.

Their task was to cut a solid piece of turf which would hold fast when

it was raised. Ingolf cut with an even, straight stroke; he was quiet

and undisturbed by the people standing and looking at him. Leif, on

the other hand, was nervous. He began cutting with all his might; his

edge became bent and uneven, and sweat was pouring from him before he

had got half through. When the spectators saw their different ways of

working, they smiled and winked at each other.

Orn and Rodmar stood just outside the ring. Orn did not look happy,

but he concealed his displeasure under a mask of indifference. Rodmar

stood and looked angrily at Leif. He could hardly restrain himself from

shouting to him and correcting him. He saw, however, clearly that it

would only make bad worse, and controlled himself. But he leant towards

Orn and whispered as though making an excuse. "Ingolf will need all his

quiet and strength before he can get Leif tamed."

"He cannot be tamed," answered Orn in a low tone, but with emphasis

in his voice. "A horse with the staggers cannot be broken in; it is a

useless animal, and brings ill-luck."

"He is my son," answered Rodmar, who always found fault with Leif but

could not bear others doing so. "You judge him too severely."

"He is your son and my kinsman," Orn whispered back sombrely,

"otherwise this ratification of brotherhood would not have taken

place--at least as long as I had a breath left in my body."

Ingolf and Leif had now cut loose the piece of turf, and went together

to lift it. They raised it carefully till it stood straight up and

formed an arch. Then Atle Jarl stepped in and placed his spear in

the middle of the arch to hold the turf up. He himself stood and

supported the spear while Ingolf and Leif cut loose an oblong turf

under the arch. Their blood was not to run on the greensward, but

was to mingle on the bare earth. When they had finished they gave up

their turf-cutters, and at Atle Jarl's command stepped in under the

turf arch, each on his own side of the spear-shaft. Atle Jarl now

dictated the oath, and they vowed mutual brotherhood, each with his

right hand on the sacred bracelet. When the oath had been taken, serfs

came with knives. Atle Jarl received the knives and handed them to the

newly-sworn brothers, with the command to confirm the brotherhood they

had just inaugurated by letting their blood flow jointly on the sacred

earth. Atle Jarl showed them briefly where they should pierce their

calves with the knives.

Ingolf and Leif both did so at the same moment. Ingolf thrust his

knife-point well in and cut a deep gash. Leif put his knife right

through so that the point projected a couple of inches on the other

side of his calf. He had difficulty in drawing it out again. The blood

ran down in red streams. The spectators felt a strange shuddering

thrill at seeing how it oozed out from under the naked soles of their

feet. Leif watched the course of his blood attentively as it approached

Ingolf's on the brown scar of earth between them. As it seemed to him

to go too slowly, he stooped down, directed the streams of blood with

the point of his knife, and stirred the blood and earth round between

him and Ingolf. A laugh then rang out in the air from hundreds of

throats. Even Orn smiled, though against his will, and Atle Jarl's eyes

assumed a milder expression.

Leif looked hastily up and straightened himself with a jerk. He looked

round, a little astonished, and his eyes rested on Ingolf. A very

pleasant smile lay on Ingolf's face, and there was a moist glimmer in

his eyes.

Atle Jarl now proclaimed that Ingolf Arnarson and Leif Rodmarsson had

entered into legal brotherhood, and named the witnesses. With that the

solemn ceremony was at an end. The grass-turfs were carefully laid down

again in order that they might grow firm and be incorporated with the

earth's life.

Ingolf and Leif were now joined together by the strongest bonds that

exist--the blood-tie between brothers, the most sacred and inviolable

of all blood and family ties. The earth by which they had been formed

in different mothers' wombs had now drunk their blood mingled, and had

at the same time given them new birth, since they had passed together

under the turf arch, a part of earth's living frame. The earth knew

now, and had recognized their covenant--a covenant no power could

break. The sons of Atle were the first who approached to tender their

good wishes on the occasion.

Haasten pressed Ingolf's hand and whispered confidentially: "You have

in Leif made a brother who at any time and without hesitation will

give his blood for you to the last drop. Keep always a watchful eye on

him, for his mind is as easily moved as a willow, but it has also the

willow's toughness."

Holmsten handed over to Leif a broad-bladed, long-shafted battle-ax

with a handle inlaid with gold, a splendid weapon, which made

Leif colour with joy. "Here is an ax for you, friend Leif," he

said cheerfully. "Swing it bravely, but take care that you do not

absent-mindedly come to cleave your friends' heads with it!"

Leif was moved to tears. He kissed Holmsten for the ax. Leif and

Holmsten's friendship lasted for whole days, to the great joy and

relief of Ingolf and Haasten. They had never before been able to keep

the peace for even a few hours at a time. Ingolf began to believe that

the costly gifts which had been exchanged between Holmsten and Leif

must have some special significance. He felt unusually cheerful in

spirits that day. Leif also felt a peace and sense of security which

was strange to him. It was as though the responsibility which he had

assumed in entering into brotherhood evoked his manhood. He seemed to

have suddenly grown adult. His mind had found an equilibrium, which

acted beneficially, and was plainly traceable in his bearing.

Evening came, and the second night of the sacrificial feast was about

to commence. As people began to go to the temple, Leif said to Ingolf:

"I shall not go. I shall remain at home in the tent."

"Very well, I won't go either," said Ingolf, and tried to appear as

though it were a matter of indifference to him.

But Leif would not hear of that. "Those who know me will not be

surprised that I remain away," he said. "It is another matter with you.

If you won't go alone, you will oblige me to go with you, and I don't

much like going there."

At last Ingolf went alone. When he entered the temple the people were

already assembled with great jubilation and much noise. On the floor

there was burning a fire from one end of the temple to the other

outside the partition-wall. This fire, named Langildene ("the long

fires"), could be crossed at various points, though only by going

through the lambent flames. Over it hung great cauldrons, whence the

fumes of the meat of the sacrifices filled the air with vapour and

smoke tempting to hungry stomachs.

Tables and benches were arranged on both sides of the fire. It was some

time before each man had his horn. Then Atle Jarl rose, consecrated the

drinking, and proposed the toast in honour of Odin. It was a toast for

Victory and Might, and everyone had to empty his horn to the bottom.

Some made the sign of the hammer over the horn of mead. They were

those who trusted in their own power and might. They consecrated their

drinking to Thor. Now other serfs entered, bearing great dishes. They

fished the meat out of the cauldrons with hooks, filled the dishes, and

bore them round. Then began a festive battle for the best morsels, with

shouting and laughter which shook the temple.

Women now entered, lifted the gods down from their platforms, took off

their dresses, and began to rub them with the fat of the sacrificial

animals. This was a very solemn ceremony.

When the guests had appeased their first hunger, full horns stood again

before them. Atle Jarl blessed the drinking, and they all emptied their

horns in honour of Thor. Then they ate again, but now quietly and

deliberately. The dishes were emptied and filled anew. There was no

scarcity of food or of beer.

They drank horns to Njord and to Frey for peace and fertility. They

drank a horn to Brage, with which they pledged solemn vows. Last of

all, Atle Jarl rose, always steady on his legs and firm in his voice

(he had tasted mead before), blessed the drinking, and proposed a toast

in memory of their deceased kinsmen. That toast used not to be very

widely observed--by that time many lay under the table. Others had gone

outside, and the rows of the feasters grew thinner.

When Ingolf had gone to the temple, Leif's newly found mental

equilibrium suddenly forsook him. He was overcome by a feeling of

disquiet, strong and not to be shaken off--a fit of impatience which

rankled in his breast, and made him perspire and feel unwell.

Something must be done, he knew not what, until it suddenly became

clear to him that he could not do without Helga any longer. He ran

home to the house and got hold of a serf, whom he sent with a message

to Ingolf. Then he took a bridle in his hands and a saddle over

his shoulders and went off to find his horse. There was a strange

feverishness in all his proceedings, but he was cheerful and light of

heart, as was always the case when he had overcome uncertainty and

betaken himself to action. He found his horse, caught and saddled it,

and went straight homewards at full gallop. He dared not think at all,

for it was plain to him that it would be too long before he could see

Helga, and the thought made his heart sick. A feeling of longing was on

him, a longing of the strong kind, which grows in force if one gives

way to it. His rapid riding gave him relief, and released him from

thinking. He entered into a strange relation with the paths he rode by,

and every stone and bush which he passed on the way. A pasture which

he went by reminded him of the horse, and he dismounted, took off the

saddle and bridle, and lay down. The horse rolled on its back awhile,

then rose and began grazing eagerly. This haste seemed to quiet Leif's

longing, and he lay comfortably there. He allowed the horse to still

its sharpest pangs of hunger, but soon his patience was over, exhausted

and vanished. He saddled the horse again and went off at full gallop.

Daylight came, and he was forced to stop and let the horse breathe

and graze a little. This time Leif could not lie still, while it was

grazing. He sat a little, walked a little, and was restless. Long

before the proper time he saddled the horse again, but before mounting

this time he patted its neck and head, scratched it behind the ear, and

spoke kindly to it: "If you hold out, I will remember you as long as we

both live!"

So it carried him forward again, over hill and dale, over smooth,

grassy plains and stony tracts, over clear streams and roaring rivers.

The horse's clattering hoofs awoke in the air alternately falling and

rising echoes. So the incredible was accomplished, and the length of

the way slowly overcome. One morning at sunrise Leif arrived home.

Helga stood outside the house as though she had expected him, and the

world seemed new.

"It is you, Leif," said Helga, and did not conceal her gladness. Leif

had already sprung from his horse. He ran to her and flung his arms

around her. "Helga," he said, and kissed her. "I _had_ to come home all

at once." Helga laughed.

"I dreamt of you last night," she said, and kissed him. "_That_ was

what I dreamt."

"What?" asked Leif.

"That I kissed you."

And she kissed him again. That was a happy day.