Chapter III: Book I: I (3)

"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.