THE SNOWSTORM
After many weeks journeying in dense woodland country, Frey's wagon was
now to cross a range of high mountains. The forest grew lighter, the way
was steadily uphill, the wind blew cooler, the trees were more backward.
At last they were fairly in the uplands among boulders of rock with here
and there a few pines, or a grove of birch. It became like winter again,
except for the length of daylight.
There was a rough road by which the mountains were to be passed. They
reached it at sunset, and it seemed likely they would have to spend the
night upon the top where the snow was still deep. It began to blow
fitfully from the east and north, and Gunnar did not like the look of
things at all.
"Sweetheart," he said, "we had best shelter hereabouts, for I doubt it
is coming on to blow, and we might have snowstorms up above."
"No," said Sigrid, "I feel sure we had best get on. They await us on the
further side of the mountain, but a little way down."
"As you will," said Gunnar; "only keep yourself warm inside, and make
your curtains as snug as you can."
He had spoken truly. The wind increased, and the powdery snow began
flitting in wreaths over the frozen ground. Gunnar put a blanket round
Sigrid and drew his coat closer about him. The oxen plodded on without
taking notice. But both wind and snow were in their faces, and it was a
slow business.
Gunnar kept his eye on the look of the sky. He saw masses of dark cloud
behind the mountain range, inky towards the middle, brown at the edges.
"There's a mort of snow to come," he said.
It grew dark quickly, and he sent Sigrid into the wagon. "Get to bed,"
he told her, "and wrap yourself up warmly. The first good rock I come to
I shall shelter the cattle."
"And what will you do yourself?" she wanted to know.
"I shall turn the wagon back to the wind," he said, "and cover the oxen.
Then I will do the best for myself I can."
She wasn't satisfied and seemed unwilling to leave him, but he told her
again to go to bed. "Well," she said, "I will go, but you shall kiss me
first." It was the first time she had ever asked that of him, and he
gave her what she wanted, though he had other things to think about
then, and plenty of them.
She went away after that, and he trudged along. The snow was coming
thick now; he felt it like gnats against his face, and that his beard
was stiff with it. The front of his clothes was like a board, and his
knees ached with the strain. The oxen stopped several times; but he hued
them on, and often gave a hand to the wheel. But he had to stop as often
to let them breathe themselves, and every time he did so they were the
harder to move. The fury of the wind drove the snow in wreaths; banks of
it formed, through which the cattle stumbled, or failed to stumble. When
they failed he had to kick a passage for them.
The point came beyond which he could not get them to move. It was at a
bend of the road between high rocks. The wind came down the channel in
fury, the snow was blinding. He felt, for he could not see, the
trembling beasts, and understood that there was no moving them. Sigrid
within the curtains made no sign. Gunnar considered that here they must
remain until the storm ceased.
He found stones for the hind wheels of the wain, unyoked the oxen and
led them into the lew, out of the fury of the weather. He sought in the
choked underpart for their coverings, but could not find them there.
They would be in the wagon, and he must have them by all means. He gave
them fodder, however, and then wondered what he should do to get their
clothing, and to help himself. He was not cold, for his exertions had
been too severe, but he would soon become so. Should he make himself a
rampart of snow and crouch under that? He knew there was danger of
swooning, and rejected the thought. Should he then stamp up and down,
flapping his arms until daybreak? He knew that he could not.
"It seems I am to perish for the sake of a wooden god!" His heart grew
hot within him. "Accursed idol," he said, "if I had you here I would
fight it out with you! And I vow that if I come through this pass with
safety, and see again my own land, I will take King Olaf's religion,
which does not send fair women to sleep with painted stocks."
"Sigrid has little love to spare for the like of me," he thought. "What
knows she whether I live or die? There she snuggles asleep, with Frey in
her arms." He heard the voice of Sigrid then, with tears in it. "No, no,
I do not. Come in and you shall see."
He stared before him. "Sigrid, are you awake?"
She answered, "I am awake, and wait for you."
"Then," said he, "I come, but first give me covering for the cattle or
they will perish, for they are now running sweat."
"Stay," she said; "you shall have them; but then you must come."
He was now on fire, and trembling, but he waited while she struck tinder
and blew a flame from which she lit a candle. After a time which was
enough to cool any one, but did not cool him, she handed him out the
wrappings. He made the beasts as snug as he could, and when he had done
the candle was still burning fitfully.