Chapter VIII: Book II: I (4)

Never had Ingolf before reflected how short life really was. He had not measured it with love's measuring-rod.

X

Orn was peculiarly restless during the first days after Ingolf's departure. He became gradually alarmed, though he had considered it the wisest course to conceal his alarm from his son, lest Frode should perhaps make difficulties, now that the agreement with Haasten had deprived Ingolf of all his real property. It was quite clear to Orn that it was on this point the prestige of his family would be tested. If Frode did not refuse to give his daughter in marriage to a man who had been judicially deprived of all his landed property, it was because the man was Ingolf, Orn's son.

As the days passed, and it became evident that the brothers, at any rate, were not returning at once, Orn became quieter, and with every succeeding day his calm increased. The continued absence of the brothers could be only due to their having succeeded in their object.

Orn and Rodmar celebrated this by a justifiable drinking bout. Before the fumes of their intoxication had quite passed off, Ingolf and Leif returned home, having, as was apparent, quite succeeded in their object. Orn and Rodmar went on drinking to celebrate the good news. Then Orn went to bed and slept for a night and half the following day. When he had had his sleep out, he began to arrange everything for the double marriage which was imminent. He also wished to have a hand in the preparations for the feast. He let all and each know that since the gods had been so kind as to allow him to celebrate both his children's weddings, and that at the same time, there should be a feast which should be known far and wide and be long remembered. He had the temple, together with every house and every cottage on the estate, swept from roof to floor, and all the woodwork cleaned. He himself selected the cattle and the swine which should be fattened for the feast. He tasted the liquors brewed, measured out the meal and the corn, and was everywhere.

Rodmar was homeless in all this disquiet. He tried his old device of going to bed and keeping himself to himself in his darkness. He counted the days and was morose. About three weeks were to be occupied with preparations for the wedding, and then a week with the festivities themselves. Rodmar drained his drinking-horn deep. The future looked very empty to him.

Orn sent Leif and Ingolf out to invite people to the feast. They spent many days in travelling from house to house. Orn questioned them every evening as to where they had been, and made plans for the next day. He was indefatigable. A peculiar excitement, which he did not remember to have felt before a festival since his early youth, deprived him of his appetite for food, and partly also of his tendency to drink. He was about from early morning to late in the evening. All the same, it was difficult for him to sleep at night.

Helga sat in her room and sewed at her bridal dress. Every hour of leisure which Leif found he spent there with her. He was considerate towards Helga, and avoided disturbing her with talk or caresses. He could stand for hours together and watch her, as she sat and sewed, eager and absorbed, with busy hands and hot cheeks. Leif was very happy at that time. But as soon as he had not Helga before his eyes, he could not realize that in a few days they should be man and wife, and had to go in again and watch her sewing the bridal dress.

Orn had the banqueting hall draped with costly tapestry, and shields hung up.

At last the day dawned. And the same day spring made its entry with southern winds and genial temperature. Already from the early morning guests began to assemble at the house. Somewhat before noon came Frode with his daughter and son and a splendid retinue. Then the wedding could begin. With eight days' unbroken festivities the marriage bonds between Ingolf and Hallveig, Helga and Leif, were sealed.

Frode showed great gladness at the connection, and celebrated his daughter's marriage with all the customary sports and pageants. Orn only celebrated his son's with sacrificial feasts, with, as became a host, the usual meals and drinking bouts. The meals were many and luxurious, and the drinking bouts were long. Quantities of mead and wine were drunk, and many swine and oxen eaten, besides game and other food common at festivals.

Once more Orn was able to sit in stately fashion in the high-seat and preside over a feast. During the days of this festival Frode shared the high-seat with him. They knew each other well by the wounds received in their youth and manhood. Many cheerful memories were revived, and they shared in great friendliness their drink and the high-seat.

Orn had become an old man. Age had bent his back, made his face puffy, and dulled his hearing. Nevertheless, he wore an air of dignity on such an occasion. The chieftain was uppermost in him, and his natural courage blazed up in one last victorious flame. Ingolf had rather feared that his father would not be equal to preserving his dignified bearing through such a trying festival, but his fear proved groundless. Orn rallied all his powers and held out. He took part in every meal. He emptied his drinking-horn at every health. He sat as host in the high-seat, and still on the last day of the feast his spirits were unequalled, his thinking power unaffected. He held out till the last guest had left the place. Then the spring had already done its work. The snow had gone. Everywhere one caught glimpses of the first signs of summer's approaching splendour.

The next day Orn lay dead in his bed. His right hand clasped the knife with which he had just succeeded in cutting the sign of the Hammer on his breast. He had secured his seat in Valhalla.

Thus died Orn. His death did not especially surprise Ingolf or any one else. Age and debility had during the last years handled him roughly. In spite of all, he had been a chieftain to the end.

XI

It was very still in the house after Orn's death. His harsh, irascible voice was suddenly lost in a great silence. And this silence was doubly impressive just after the concluded festivities. Ingolf at once set his people to brew drink, slaughter animals, and prepare for the funeral feast. Orn should begin his last journey with all suitable honour. But this time the work was done without the noise which usually attended preparations of that kind. In Ingolf's soul there remained a special sense of bereavement. He had always shown his father reverence; now he realized that he had also been very fond of him. Ingolf selected with care a spot down by the fjord where a funeral barrow would look well in the landscape. He caused a little natural hollow to be filled with potter's clay; then had one of his smaller dragon-ships rolled on logs thither and fixed on the bed of clay with its bow turned towards the south. Orn's journey should be towards the south and the sun. When the ship was settled in its place and shored up, Ingolf traced a wide circle round it. Orn perhaps was the last of the race who should rest in the soil of his fatherland, therefore his funeral barrow should be a notable landmark.

Ingolf collected a large number of workmen from his own and Leif's estate, and set them to work at erecting the barrow. It was to be done quickly. For nothing is quite sure for a dead man till he rests in earth under the sign of the Hammer.

Ingolf sent messengers round to invite all those in the district and many distant friends and relatives to the funeral feast at a few days' notice. He and Leif superintended the work at the barrow, and it went forward rapidly.

The voracious earth was not to be allowed to devour Orn's ship, therefore stones were fixed everywhere between the earth and the woodwork. Outside it were piled gravel, earth, and turf.

Amidships, round the mast, which was hoisted as though for sailing and so that the roof of the barrow might form an arch over it, was the burial chamber, as broad as the ship and two fathoms in length, timbered with thick oak-beams. It was to resist the pressure both of the stones and the earth: there should Orn lie, warm and comfortable, ready for his journey. All was arranged with a view to a journey by land and by water.

In the stern of the ship were stored up all possible articles which could be of use in cooking. There were iron cauldrons of various sizes, with the iron claws belonging to them and swivels for hanging them up on; a large barrel for the supply of the ship's drinking water, together with other larger and small oaken barrels with hoops of tough kinds of wood; different vessels with and without lids, together with wooden dishes, some in the shape of fishes; pails with handles of iron and bands of bronze or wood; scoops of iron and of wood; knives; a stone hand-mill and a stick to turn it with; a frying-pan; a three-legged kitchen-stool; axes; and many other articles. Some of the wooden ones were splendidly carved, and on others many-coloured designs were painted. In the stern was also the ship's anchor. The rudder was, of course, fixed in its place.

Ingolf further furnished the ship with all that was necessary: cordage, sails, oars, tent-cloths and poles, hooks, oar-forks, and other articles for a voyage. A landing-plank was not forgotten.

In the fore-part of the ship he placed a carved and fully equipped sledge, with the harness and bearskin bags belonging to it. Thither he had also brought a painted and carved carriage, with a driving-seat and harness. Orn's saddle was brought on board, together with bridle and reins, and all things needed for a horse. Orn should never be in difficulties regarding his land-journey.

Ingolf had many things brought into the burial chamber. He filled several boxes with useful articles belonging to a chieftain's equipment and placed them in it. A bed and bedding were brought in, and he gave his father costly coverlets for the journey. He did not forget to supply a comb, so that his father might arrange his hair and beard when he presented himself before the Ases. He gave him also rings, ornaments, and other valuables, so that all should at once know whom they had before them. Moreover, he provided him with thunder-stones, small Thor-hammers, and other sacred articles for his protection on the journey, together with a money-box to defray the possible expenses. Orn should certainly not want coin. Ingolf also had several barrels of wine and meat brought to the burial chamber, together with costly drinking-horns to drink from and to proffer. An ox and a swine and many other animals had already been selected for slaughter. Orn should suffer neither hunger nor thirst on his long journey.

When all these things had been arranged, and the barrow was already partially erected so that there was only a wide passage to the burial chamber, and all that remained was to pile stones and earth over the ship, the day came which was fixed for the funeral feast and committal to the barrow.

A swarm of people had collected to do the last honours to Orn. Ingolf himself conducted the ceremonies, both at the temple and at the barrow. He had inherited the office of priest of the district from his father, and now himself discharged the priestly functions. With the sign of the Hammer he consecrated his father for the last journey.

Stretched on a bier, clad in his splendid garments, Orn left his house for the last time. A golden-winged helmet crowned his white hair. A sword gleamed by his side. A shield painted in many colours covered his breast. Equipped for a chieftain's journey, Orn was carried to his burial chamber.

The serf who was selected and already consecrated to follow him, for it was not fitting that Orn should journey quite alone, stood ready, and only waited for the knife, with which he was to stab himself, to be given him.

Then came Rodmar, who in these busy and restless days had been forgotten by all, tottering on two sticks hither from the house, led by two of his men and followed by another man carrying a chair. He was not dressed as a chieftain. Looking untidy, as he had just got out of bed, in clothes which he had not changed for a long time, and with his grey locks floating freely in the wind, came Rodmar, staring stiffly and blankly with his blind eyes.

Rodmar had had a bad time in his darkness and loneliness since Orn's death. He had hoped that death would come and fetch him before the barrow over Orn had been finished. He would so gladly share the barrow with him, and follow him on his journey.

It was impossible to remain behind now that his only friend had departed. The solitude became intense and oppressive around him, and the pain of his darkness was doubled. At last he took the resolve to follow his elder kinsman in death, as he had always followed him in life.

Rodmar crawled over the gunwale on his crooked legs and groped his way forward to the opening of the burial chamber. Then he turned and spoke to the air. "Is there wine on board?" he asked in an impatient and peremptory tone.

Leif sprang on board and led his father from barrel to barrel so that he could feel them with his own hands. Rodmar shook the barrels to see whether they were full, and sniffed them distrustfully. He chose one of them, and demanded to have one hoop knocked off. This was done. Afterwards he asked that the tool for opening it should remain with him and be close to his hand. He was also allowed to retain the tool.

His seat was fixed in its place, and Rodmar sat down with a long sigh of relief, as it were. On one side of him he had an open barrel of red wine, on the other a horn filled to the brim, standing on a little table, which had been quickly brought to the place.

Rodmar borrowed Leif's sword, and, baring his breast with fumbling fingers, cut on it with his own hand the sign of the Hammer. Then he said farewell to Ingolf and the others standing round, and in a slightly morose and curt tone gave Leif his last blessing. Then the opening to the burial chamber was closed up. Rodmar sat, as long as they could see him, motionless on his chair. He had secured Orn's society for ever. He was prepared for anything that might come. A man should be able both to live and die with a light heart. He had drink for the journey, and there is also wine in Valhalla.

Ingolf killed with his own hand an ox that was laid on an oak-plank by the side of the kitchen utensils. Its mouth was held open with a wooden gag and turned towards the south. He also slew with his own hand four horses, two dogs, and a swine. The swine was laid by the side of the box; the other animals were taken to the fore-part of the ship. The serf who was to have accompanied Orn was now spared, as Orn had better company.

Stones were heaped over the ship and all its contents, and then the barrow was hastily filled up. This closed the funeral ceremonies. Orn and Rodmar had departed to Odin.

XII

It soon became evident to Ingolf that on that spring day he had not buried Orn only. He had also interred with his father his home-feeling, his peace and confidence in this region of his childhood and youth. Already, when on the first morning after the burial he stepped out of the house and saw his father's mighty barrow lift its dome in the landscape, it struck him all at once that the district had assumed an alien aspect. The confidence in the contours and colours, which has its root in the child's free look and strong, unconscious sense of belonging to the spot where he has grown up, was gone. The landscape had suddenly lost its light in his eyes. He felt thrust out and lonely. It was not here that he should live his life.

Hitherto it had not been really clear to him what a profound change his life would undergo because of Haasten's sentence. The fact that he was now homeless had, as it were, not yet broken on him in its full extent. Now he saw suddenly what Haasten's sentence really implied--a complete alteration of his whole life. First, years perhaps must be spent in search and insecurity. And then a battle for life and death with inner and outer powers, in order to gain home-feeling and home-rights in a foreign land.

Ingolf felt from his own experience that the race which has not its own soil to grow in is doomed to misfortune and ruin. The possession of land stamps the race. The man who could be sentenced to lose his possessions was exiled from the earth--this was what Ingolf felt now. Such a man must gain earth's favour anew by his honest will to live in peace on earth's fruits.

Ingolf's hitherto unconscious instinct of opposition to force of all kinds was now suddenly revealed to him. That which had now happened to him was not undeserved, even if the blame for the outer cause of the misfortune could not be imputed either to him or to Leif.

He had continued to ravage foreign lands and to pillage people with whom he had not the least quarrel. From a kind of secret cowardice he had suppressed the unwillingness he had felt in doing so, as unworthy of a man and a Viking. But now he saw that law and right extend beyond the borders of one's own country. They are valid wherever there is land and sea. The man who aims at living by force and pillage, not only sins against the law which he carries within him, but also against the earth--the sacred earth, which by the grace of the gods is so luxuriant and fruitful that every year it is ready to fill the peaceful barns. As long as the Ases had still reigned undisputed there was peace in their dwellings. The Ases had been driven to conflict and war by the dark powers who were responsible for all disturbance. Thus all disturbance and violence came from the evil power. Ingolf vowed to himself that from that day he would never lift a weapon against any man except to protect his own and his family's life and property. That resolve somewhat soothed the disquiet and restlessness which had seized him when he became conscious of his homelessness, and suddenly felt himself exiled from the kindness of the earth. The bright Ases would still grant his family a home and prosperity when they saw his honest purpose and clean struggle. The earth would yet take him into favour again when he no longer defiled it with blood and violence, would fulfill his most sacred, yes, his only wish, that his family-tree might be leafy and strong-stemmed. Since fate had granted him Hallveig as a wife, it could scarcely intend to exclude him from the earth.

Ingolf thought much of the far and foreign land away in the west which he was to travel to. Was it there that his family's cradle for the future should be? Was it there that the pillars of his high-seat should consecrate the earth for him?

He dared not believe it yet. Neither did he dare to go to the gods and ask them. He himself had to seek his future home. He must win again what had been lost here by his own fault. He wished to commit himself to the power of the sky and sea without first seeking instruction from the gods. He would match his own strength and will against storm and sea as a pledge and sign. He would not beg; he would gain by fighting the favour of fate and of the gods.

Now that his father was dead, he was himself the eldest and chief of the family. The responsibility for the honour of the dead, and the honour and prosperity of the unborn, rested principally on him. For now he alone wore the family bracelet, and now the high-seat was also his.