THE WINTER FEASTS
The custom of the winter, when no man could work, was to make merry with
what you had gained in the summer. Men killed pigs and sheep, and drank
their mead out of horns. This was the time for skalds and story-tellers.
But the village where Gunnar was now settled was a holy village, because
of Frey's house. It was proper that no feast should be held unless Frey
were present at it. He was carried from homestead to homestead; and
where he was there was Sigrid his wife, and there now was Gunnar also.
Those three always sat on the dais with the giver of the feast, and when
the tables were ready they had the chief seats. Sigrid was waited upon
as if she had been a man, and great respect was shown her, which she
sullenly received. Once she had told Gunnar that she disliked being
noticed. She had said that she had been happiest in her days when she
was keeping pigs in the forest; and he had said that he understood that
very well. Now he put that down as the reason why she had a hang-dog
look at these merry-makings, ate little, drank less, said little and
laughed not at all. When the drinking began she always left the hall and
sat with the women in the bower. Frey was left--and then it was that
Gunnar in his cups used to take liberties with Frey--to clap a clout
over one of his eyes, or stick an apple on a spike of his crown. He was
wary how he played these tricks, for in some company it would have been
taken very ill; but in some, and when men were far disguised in drink,
his japes went well enough, and gave him satisfaction.
He was by now entirely out of conceit with Frey. That a god should be
throned in the world he sincerely believed--and could swear to a hundred
or more; but that one should be caged in a painted block he did not
believe. As for his marriage, that made the hairs on his back bristle,
and his neck to swell. A good deal of talk went on when Sigrid was gone
with the women. He listened to it and raged, but outwardly he was still,
and found nothing to say. The people expected--or some of them--that
Sigrid would bring Frey a child. Some said that she had miscarried; none
thought it unlikely. Things were said and tales were told of Frey which
amazed him while they made him angry. "At this rate," he said to
himself, "I shall be an atheist or a Christian. Would that King Olaf
could hear me say so. He would countermand his rope and make me one of
his household."
Then he found out that it interested him more to hear tales of Sigrid
than it disgusted him; and he said to himself then, "Frey and I shall
be fighting for Sigrid one of these days. I learn that I am in love with
her." But he knew that it would be a shame to tell her so, and resolved
that she should learn nothing about it.
There was never a merrier winter in that village, and never a man more
beloved than Gunnar was. He was no skald, but his tales were without
end, and so were his jokes. He had had his share of travel, and now they
had their portion in it. He told them of Micklegarth and of the great
King of the Greeks. He said that there was a temple there dedicated to
divine wisdom, which was a paragon and wonder of the world. The King did
sacrifice there every day to his god--and there was nothing in the
temple less precious than gold. He spoke of that other Garth in the
North, a Russian city, which was envious of the Greek kingdom, and
wishful to rival it. Then of Frey's worship he had something to say. In
Iceland he said Frey was worshipped, and there had been a priest of his
there called Ravenkeld, who had not only built a house for him with five
or six images of Frey set round in a circle, but had had a famous
stallion which he shared with the god. No one but Ravenkeld or Frey
might ride this horse, which also had a stud of twelve mares for his own
use and pleasure. Ravenkeld had made a vow that he would have the life
of any man who should ride the horse; and he kept it though it cost him
all that he had. For once there came to him a certain man called
Thoreir, wishful to serve him. Ravenkeld made a shepherd of him, and set
him also to keep guard over Frey's horse and his mares, warning him of
the vow he had made. Then on a day thirty sheep were lost and Thoreir
must ride far to find them. Never a mare of the twelve could he come
near, but Frey's horse stood; so he saddled him and rode him all day.
Ravenkeld came to know about it and went out to find Thoreir, who was
lying on the stone wall, counting his sheep over. "How came you to ride
my horse," said Ravenkeld, "when I warned you to ride any other but
him?" Thoreir told him how it was. Then Ravenkeld said, "I am sorry, but
we make vows one day and find them heavy another." Then he drove his
spear through his back and slew him. He paid for doing that, for he was
outlawed by Thoreir's kindred at the Thing, and they came upon him
unawares, and pierced his legs at the tendons of the knees and hung him
up by them for a day. When they came to take him down the blood was in
his eyes and he was as near dead as might be. Then they banished him
with hardly any money or goods; but yet he prospered and got his own
back again. But when he was restored to his ease and wealth he said that
he had no opinion of Frey at all, and would have no more to do with him.
He broke up the images and turned the god's house into a byre for his
cows, and had no religion thereafter that ever Gunnar heard tell of.
"And that," he said, "is the way of men. They make a god first and
unmake him afterwards--and all that is foolishness."
But they said, "How can that be when we know very well what Frey here
does for us, sending the rain in proper time upon the earth?"
"Now tell me this," said Gunnar; "do you pray to Frey for rain when the
wind is in the east?"
"We do not," they said, "for that would be waste of breath."
"So it would," said Gunnar, "and so also if the wind blow from the
south. For then the rain will come of itself."
"That would be Frey's doing, we hold," said they. Then Gunnar smiled.
"You are lucky," he said, "and so is Frey."
They always took Frey back after the feasts, two or three men bearing
him up between them; and many a tumble they had in the snowdrifts, if
they were not very surefooted, through drink or otherwise. One night
when they had some way to go Gunnar picked up Sigrid and carried her
through the worst of the drifts.
"Oh, you should not, you should not," she said; but he laughed. "You are
so small a thing," he said, "it would be a shame."
But she hid her face in his shoulder and said again that he should not
carry her. He had a great mind to kiss her, but he did not do it just
then.
"Well," said he, "let your husband carry you." And he called out, "Hi
you, Frey, come and carry Sigrid through the snow."
But just then Frey and his bearers were all rolling in the snow
together. "You see how it is with poor Frey," Gunnar said. "He has had
too much to drink and can't carry himself, so what would he do if he
had you too?"
After that he got into the way of carrying her, and she grew accustomed
to it, looked for it, and held her arms out for him to lift her when
they came out of the feast.
Gunnar enjoyed himself, but did not tell her so, or speak of it at all.
He took it as a thing of course that he should serve her, and she
accepted it. But there was no love-making, even though the days were
dark, and there was nothing to be done out of doors. He said to himself,
"She is Frey's wife, or believes herself so. I don't care a flick of the
fingers for Frey, but for her I do care."
They were thrown very much together, and found nothing amiss with that.
Gunnar talked to her of his travels and told her stories as they sat by
the fire. He had a happy way with him which made all people like him and
give him their confidence. He neither took liberties nor allowed them;
but if you were simple and gave yourself no airs he was very gentle and
good-humoured. Sigrid had no suspicions of him, nor need for any. He
would be incapable of doing her any harm. It was because he was afraid
of making her unhappy that he left off teasing her about Frey. At first
he had been rather given to it, but he saw that she was troubled by it,
and did not know what to say. Then he stopped his gibes and mockery.