Front matter (continued 5)

Helga stood by her side. She compelled herself to smile and share Hallveig's gladness, but her heart was full of pain, for the beautiful land she saw here and which Hallveig already seemed to love, could never be hers. She saw the swans, the mountains, and the green dales. But in her heart there was no room for anything but a quiet, slightly strange emotion. The scent of the pines from the islands at home was too keen in her memory. Ingolf and Leif stood silent and in a solemn mood, side by side; they looked at the land and did not say a word. They had stood thus a long time when Ingolf turned to his brother and said quietly: "What do you think of the land, Leif?"

"It is a big land and seems a good one," answered Leif, in a low voice.

"If only most of it was not barren mountain," said Ingolf, but his voice lacked the reservation which his words expressed.

"I think we might soon feel at home among these mountains," said Leif.

"It does not look unfriendly," Ingolf admitted.

In his inmost heart he was deeply moved. The strength and sternness of the mountains filled his mind with a peculiar excitement. Among these mountains the green dales and fertile stretches of land, which he caught a glimpse of at the end of the fjord, assumed a doubly home-like aspect.

Suddenly Leif awoke from his long reflection and silent contemplation. Abruptly and unexpectedly, as always, a resolve had been born in his mind, and aroused him. "It is all the same to me what sort of a land it is—I shall settle here," he declared in an excited tone. "Since I have come, I think it would disappoint the land if I left it again. And I will not disappoint this land, which lies here so ready to receive me—so much is certain."

Ingolf was silent. Leif had given expression to his own thoughts. He felt so convinced at this moment that here it was his lot to settle and remain. But this feeling was followed in his mind by a peculiar anxiety which almost made him sorry. Was it a good land—a land where one could peacefully build and settle, and where his family could flourish in happiness and prosperity? Not himself alone, but his children and children's children should dwell here, if he determined to settle himself in the place.

The brothers chose a landing-place on the north side of the fjord, and steered thither. It was with strange feelings that they set foot on this new land, which from time immemorial had lain here behind the sea and the distance, alone with its birds. On sea and land, everywhere the birds swarmed. The questioning whistle of the golden plover and the rippling quaver of the curlew were the first sounds that greeted them as they trod the stones of the shore.

Ingolf and Leif immediately set the crew to work to bring the animals on land and to unload the vessel. They themselves proceeded to pitch their tents, after having selected a spot with thick green grass, well protected from wind and weather by a projection of rock, and close to the brink of a small, clear stream. The kitchen utensils were brought up, and a fire kindled. The shore was covered with driftwood, so that there was plenty of fuel. Pots containing salted flesh were hung up; at last they got hot meat again. They could not remember that any meat had tasted so good as this hot salt flesh after the dried fish, preserved flesh, and hard and finally mouldy bread they had had on the sea voyage. They baked bread, too, and ate it warm from the embers. It was splendid to have soft bread between their teeth again.

Round them the animals dispersed, grazing eagerly over the fertile pastures. It was a pleasure to see the satisfaction with which they swallowed the green grass. Towards evening the vessel was so far unloaded that it could be brought ashore and rolled on logs over the ground. They had chosen a little cleft in the rocks for it to lie in shelter during the winter.

By the evening, when the men had crept into their skin bags and had lain down to sleep, Ingolf and Leif, Hallveig and Helga, still sat round the remains of the fire, but did not think of sleep. They sat silent, close to one another, and did not talk. The night was bright and still, and dew was falling. The fire gleamed palely in the night. Red ember-snakes writhed at the bottom of it. The fjord spread a shining surface, dotted white with sleeping swans. There was a peace and stillness over the land which filled their minds with a peculiar awe and sense of expectation.

III

The summer they spent in South Svanefjord was, for the brothers and their wives, an unbroken succession of beautiful days. There was a peculiar atmosphere of peace and prosperity about the lonely settlement, where the fire burnt day and night under the cliff behind the tents, while on a rising ground close at hand their winter dwelling rose slowly from the ground. It was a house sixty feet in length, thirty in breadth, which the brothers were having built—a house with thick turf walls for a protection against the cold of winter, and adapted to be partitioned according to their needs when they had first roofed it in.

While their men worked at the dwelling and gathered in hay as winter fodder for the cattle, Ingolf and Leif let the days come and go. And whether they were sunny days or the fog hung in grey, soft, gliding belts down to the middle of the mountain-sides, all the days had a peculiar solemn solitariness and charm about them.

The land they had come to was after Leif's heart. It made quite a different impression on him to any other land he had visited. The sense of power that brooded over it, and the almost palpable solitude, swallowed up the unrest of his mind and gave him peace. The mountains' strongly marked and infinitely varied shapes, a little copse hidden among grey cliffs, close up to a glacier, the heavily pouring rivers in deep ravines, the fjords where the swans swam among other fowls like royal dragon-ships among peaceful freighters, a seal bathing in the sun on a rock by the fjord, not wise enough to be afraid of men, the countless birds' nests with the snugly hidden, different-coloured eggs one came across everywhere, and then the soft, downy young ones hopping about between little hillocks—all filled his soul with a sense of wonder and calm hitherto unknown.

Ingolf and Leif made little excursions on their horses in the neighbourhood. They soon ascertained that the fjords north of the Svanefjords were very poor in pasture-land; the mountains descended for the most part steeply to the sea, while the land, on the other hand, seemed to become better the farther southward they went. When they had made that discovery they equipped themselves for a journey of some days in order to examine the land south of the Svanefjords more closely. Over a low, stony stretch of tableland they came to another inlocked fjord which was much broader than even the broad South Svanefjord. The greater part of the upland of this fjord was, however, covered with gravel and clay. Quite outside by the sea was a stretch of luxuriant meadow, and here and there stood rock-islets amid the sand, round which there were large green pastures. Farther up, right under the mountains, there was also pasture-land, and there they found the largest and most luxuriant wood they had yet seen. They came to a river with many rapidly flowing courses which streamed with clay-coloured, turbid water over a sandy and unsafe bottom. But they had caught sight of some sharp mountain-peaks far to the south-west, and since it could scarcely be difficult to cross the ravines between them, they resolved to proceed thither and see what was to be found on the other side. It was generally the case with this land, that one was not satisfied till one had seen what there was on the other side of all the mountains which came in view. They passed with some difficulty the dangerous river-current, and rode farther along high, steep mountain declivities striped with many-coloured gravel.

They found a ravine between the mountain-peaks, and when they had reached the other side of the mountains, there opened on them, while they rode along the edge of the steep descents which led down to the lowland, a view, the like of which they had never seen. A fjord dotted with small green islands, wide-stretching meadows and pastures intersected by gleaming watercourses, a wide bluish ring of mountains which locked in the luxuriant region with a mighty curve, and behind all this in the south and west, glaciers—an immense, slightly arched stretch of sparkling snow with white offshoots to all ravines.

It was on a clear, sunny day at noon that they stood there and surveyed this region, which arrested their minds with a sense of solemn wonder and irresistible fascination such as no view had ever done before. In his rapture, Leif laid his hand upon Ingolf's shoulder and pressed it; he had tears in his eyes, and his large mouth quivered. They had dismounted from their horses and stood silent for a long time. And when they mounted again to examine the district further, they rode on in silence. From that hour they were Icelanders; the land was theirs, and they belonged to it. In silence the compact was finally and irrevocably solemnized.

When they came back from their trip, Hallveig and Helga had an important and, as they themselves thought, serious piece of news to tell them. They had one day climbed up the green ascent above the encampment, quite up to the base of the cliffs, in order to get a wider view over the fjord and the district. And just as they sat and contemplated the low group of islands and a little island beyond it, they saw smoke rising from the island. It had been a perfectly calm and clear day; there could be no doubt that they had seen correctly. They had not said anything to the men, and they now only wished to ask Ingolf and Leif to be careful, and not to go about any more alone. Ingolf and Leif immediately put the larger of the two boats in the water, called some of their men, and bade them take their weapons with them. They wished to find out what kind of people they had for neighbours. It was in vain that Hallveig and Helga begged and prayed them not to insist on going out, and least of all in a little rowing-boat. The brothers were too resolved on finding out more about the smoke from the island. In answer to their wives they objected that the ship was too unwieldy, and was, moreover, not a ship of war. There was scarcely any chance of fighting; if there were people on the island, they were probably some peaceful, starving, shipwrecked men, whose vessel had been driven to sea and lost. For the rest, they promised to be careful, but they were resolved to go out to the island that day.

So they rowed out thither. Even when they had got quite close to it, they could see no sign that it was inhabited. They rowed round it, and still saw no inhabitants or buildings. They determined to land, and chose a creek on the south side of the island. As soon as they had landed, they saw a wretched little boat, in which they would hardly have trusted themselves to cross a fjord, hidden among the rocks. They went farther up on the island, and found a hut well concealed in a hollow.

As they approached, a man came forth in a splendid cloak and head-dress, with a staff in his hands, and followed by some lean shapes black with dirt, and meanly clad. They came out from the hut, but remained standing before the door, without going towards them. They had seen this kind of people before, and immediately perceived that they had what were called Irish monks before them.

Both Leif and Ingolf, as well as several of their men, knew some Irish, and therefore went nearer in order to hear a little why these people dwelt here on a desert island.

The monks, one of whom carried a cup of water, evidently did not wish them to come too near them or their dwelling. The sworn brothers remained standing at some distance and questioned them. The monks answered their questions reluctantly, but they gathered from them that they had lived here for several years, that they had long since heard reports of this land, and that other monks before them had journeyed to seek it out. They had not seen any of them, but the land was wide, and they had remained here on the island where they had first landed. This information Ingolf at last extracted from the monks, with many questions answered, for the most part, in monosyllables.

When the brothers could not think of anything more to ask them, and were going down to their boat again, the man with the head-dress, cloak, and staff stopped them with a question. "Why had they come hither?"

Ingolf told them that they had come here to look at the land, and intended to settle here.

His words aroused a movement and disturbance among the monks, and their leader gave him to understand plainly that the land was sanctified and reserved by God for Christian men; no heathen had ever settled here, nor ever could. Every kind of misfortune would strike them if they migrated hither, unless they first let themselves be baptized and went over to the Christian faith. Ingolf answered them quietly that they must grant him that it would ill become him to be less faithful to his gods than they were to theirs. The monk answered that heathen did not trust in gods but in idols. Ingolf answered that the Ases had hitherto protected him and his family. Then bidding them farewell, he went off, followed by Leif and his men. They saw the monks sprinkling with water the places where they had trod. Then Ingolf smiled and Leif laughed aloud. The monks sprinkled even the waves which had licked the heathen's boat.

When Ingolf and Leif returned, they were able to quiet Hallveig and Helga with the news that they were peaceful and harmless people who inhabited the little island. Their only weapon was a little water in a cup! After that they called the island "Monks' Island." When the autumn came with cold and sleet the sworn brothers already sat warm in their turf-house. Before the dwelling Ingolf had caused to be built a smaller edifice, where he set up small, roughly carved wooden images of Odin and Thor. And when the time for the autumn sacrificial feast was come, he offered them an ox (they must share the offering as best they could), and had a little feast.

Leif held aloof from all things of that sort. During the twenty-four hours of the feast, he went out catching birds by day and slept quietly in his bed by night. In his lonely wanderings the brown leaves of the autumn rustled round his feet and spoke to him. Leif did not think much about catching birds. He enjoyed being alone with the mountains and the blue sky. Wherever he met a family of grouse who held faithfully together he let them go. He only aimed at solitary birds, caught them round the neck with a practised fling of his light line, and drew them to himself with one sweep through the air.

Ingolf's sacrificial feast and all his devotion to the gods was a continually recurring trial to Leif's brotherly feeling. He could not reconcile himself to Ingolf's constant and devoted adherence to the worship of these ugly wooden idols. Time after time he was obliged, in order to control his rising displeasure, to remind himself that Ingolf never interfered in his beliefs and thoughts concerning the gods, and therefore had a right to expect the same from him. But in his heart Leif scorned and despised Ingolf's gods, and it was inevitable that some of this violent antipathy should sometimes glance on his brother.

Singularly enough, on the other hand, Leif did not take it at all ill that Helga held fast to her own and her fathers' faith, without its being clear to him that he possessed in that, as it were, a proof of her steadfastness. He did not at all wish that Helga should forsake her gods to follow him in his want of faith and contempt for them. The day that she did so would have given a severe blow to Leif's happiness. So and no otherwise was his nature.

The winter came with hard frost but without much snow. The weather for ski-ing, which Ingolf and Leif were waiting for in order to show Hallveig and Helga a little of the country south of the Svanefjords, did not come. Their disappointment was, however, mitigated by the fact that their sheep and goats could, contrary to expectation, go out and get their food the whole of the winter, with the exception of a few stormy days. The brothers came to the conclusion that it was a land where relatively few people might possess many sheep. They also noticed that sheep and goats both in winter and summer went up to the mountains and did not remain below in the luxuriant pastures. It was evident that the grass they grazed among the stones upon the apparently barren mountains must be of peculiar strength, for the sheep's bodies remained stout and their wool white.

The goats had found some holes in the mountain near the house. There they remained at night, took refuge there in bad weather, and were comfortable.

In spite of the short days and long nights and the great solitude the winter proved by no means long. Neither the brothers nor Hallveig nor Helga felt the solitude oppressive; it brought them into closer intimacy with each other in a way that no summer days could have done. They sat round the fire, busy with their little occupations, and talked cheerfully and confidentially together. Ingolf and Leif carved wood, Hallveig and Helga spun yarn and dyed it in different shades of heather-colour, made mittens and handkerchiefs, or artistically woven bands of it.

In the middle of the winter Hallveig gave birth to a boy, whom Ingolf sprinkled with his own hand with water and named Thorsten after Thor, and in remembrance of his former friend, Haasten, from whom fate had so painfully severed him. When Hallveig had given birth to her boy, Helga became extremely solitary in soul. She never could find any sign that she was with child. When no one could see her, she wept bitter tears about it, but gave no outward sign. Outwardly she was uniformly cheerful and bright, and showed to each and all an untroubled demeanour. It was something she kept to herself, like the scent of the pines from the islands. Spring came, with mildness in the air and vernal winds. As soon as it could be managed, the ship was launched, loaded, and made fit for sea. The sworn brothers needed as much as possible of the summer to make preparations for their migration here the next spring, to exchange those of their movable goods and the live-stock which they could not take with them for useful wares, and in general to arrange their affairs in Norway before they left the country for good. All of them, except Helga, left the new land, though they had only been there a year, with regret. The land had been a good friend to them, and they were loth to bid it farewell even for a short time. When they sailed away from it, it lay there so quiet and silent, gazing after them, as it were. Before they departed, the migratory birds had all come back. The land lay bathed in sunshine, with cheerful bird-life on the fjord and on the shore.

Leif, the restless, was no more eager for journeys. He would rather have remained where he was, and not have travelled to Norway at all. But even Leif had to grant that the plan was impracticable. The provisions for the journey, which they had brought with them, were rapidly decreasing, and, moreover, it would be difficult for Ingolf when he came back to find just the same spot in the land, dependent as he was on weather and sea. Besides, Leif saw clearly that Helga, though she had unhesitatingly acquiesced in his wild proposal, preferred that they should travel with the others. Helga was willing to sacrifice everything for Leif, even the scent of the pines from the islands at home. But when she gave her brave assent to remain, her self-command failed her a little, and her lips quivered slightly. The whole winter she had looked forward with joy to the moment when she should sail between the islands to Dalsfjord. Like a secret treasure, she had concealed the consciousness that that was in store for her, in her steadfast heart. That remained there till Leif started with the others. But when he sailed away from the land, the old unrest was again awake in his soul.

IV

The brothers were favoured by a good wind as they crossed the sea to Norway. Only ten days after they had sailed out between the skerries outside the Svanefjords, the vessel lay before Ingolf's house in Dalsfjord.

When they disembarked, it was only Helga who felt as though she had come home. Ingolf and Leif had already separated themselves in their hearts from their birthplace, and Hallveig, whose home was wherever Ingolf was, had never been intimately acquainted with this district.

Leif had already on the return journey expressed his wish to go on a Viking expedition in the summer. He gave many reasons—among others, that he needed serfs. Further, he alleged that it was the simplest way of obtaining goods for their journey to Iceland the next spring. Ingolf could arrange their affairs in Dalsfjord while he was out trading for them both. Leif spoke much about this important trading and about his very inconvenient want of serfs. They were dear to buy, and it was easiest to take them where one could find them. All these and more reasons were adduced by Leif. But he concealed his real reason for the journey, which was that it was impossible for him to conceive how he should spend a summer at home at Dalsfjord. His blood had suddenly become restless. His mind was like a bow which had been long on the strain.

Helga, who, as was her way, always left matters to Leif, made no objection to his plan. On the contrary, she gave it her warmest assent. But now it appeared that there would be no more sunshine in the summer which would be the last she spent at home.

Ingolf, for his part, knew Leif. And he was forced to admit that the arrangement was not a bad one. They certainly needed goods, and would obtain them most cheaply by fetching them themselves. For the rest, whatever private plans Leif had in his expedition were his own affair. It was thus already decided on the way that Leif should go on a Viking expedition.

As soon as they landed at Dalsfjord, Leif set to work equipping himself for his expedition. He was somewhat late in that, and had therefore to hurry his preparations as much as possible. He allowed himself leisure neither for sleep nor meals. In great haste he collected all the goods which he and Ingolf had in stock, and loaded his dragon-ship with them, together with the other ship which he still had in reserve. This time he had to be content with two ships; he could not well man more, and, moreover, they had not goods for more than two.

Only a few days after his homecoming Leif sailed out again from Dalsfjord and left Helga alone with the pine-tree scent from the islands. Leif did not guess that the pain of separation which left in his mind only a fleeting pang, filled Helga with burning anxiety and unrest, which should not vanish till she had him again.

Leif sailed out over the sea and let the sea-breezes, the sense of solitary independence, together with the expectation of dangers and adventures, absorb his mind.

He sailed to Ireland, and traded and ravaged wherever he came. This time Ingolf had forgotten to exact any promises of caution from him. Leif had latterly appeared to him so altered that he simply had not considered it necessary. Leif was therefore completely free, unfettered by promises or considerations of any kind. And in the consciousness that this was now the last time he was on a Viking expedition, be displayed a daring and exuberance in his conduct which filled his men with joy and sent several of them to Odin.

During the summer Leif acquired, more by pillaging than by commercial genius, a very large supply of all kinds of goods, mostly valuable cloths and metals. In the course of the summer he succeeded in catching ten serfs—ten wiry, grimy men—who bore names like Duftak, Gerrod, Skjoldbjarn, Haldor, Drafdrit, and the like, sour-looking men with evil eyes, but good enough as serfs, tough at rowing as they sat chained to the oars, and enduring in all kinds of work. Luck, which only unwillingly forsakes the bold, followed Leif wherever he went. On one occasion, towards the close of the summer, it nearly went ill with him.

He had landed with his men on an apparently deserted coast, which was protected by skerries and rocky islands with strong currents between them—a place which only Leif could think suitable for landing. He caused his ships, loaded with the costly booty of the summer, to be rowed in between these skerries, in order to hide them in a rocky creek, which he had selected during a solitary excursion, while he with his men went for a foray in the neighbourhood. For this expedition he needed as many of his men as possible, the object being a very large and presumably rich town. Leif left the ships in the creek with only a few men to look over the chained serfs, whom he dared not allow to go free as long as he was so near their native place.

With the rest of his men Leif went on shore and he be-took himself to the wood. They were all full of great excitement and expectation. This was to be the last great adventure of the summer, and Leif expected a booty which might perhaps make it necessary to conquer a vessel to carry it in. Time would show!

The wood they intended to cross covered a steep mountain-side, from the summit down to the coast, and it was traversed by deep, rocky ravines covered with bushes. Leif and his men had not penetrated far into this very impassable wood when they were attacked by an armed force far superior to their own. The people of the town must have had spies out along the coast. They were not only outwardly but really prepared for their coming. Leif had just shouted to his men to fight each for himself, first and foremost to get away and save the ships, when the enemy was on them with strident war-cries and loud clashing of weapons. Leif had no time to see how his men fared. The people of the town had at once seen who was the leader, and since it was the leader whom it was the most important to strike, they flocked round him with lifted axes and upraised swords. Leif had to sacrifice his spear to one of the two nearest attackers; the other's head he split with his ax, but next moment a swarm of howling Irish were pressing on him. They did not, however, surround him, a fact which Leif, who was striking doughtily about him with ax in one hand and sword in the other—his shield he had thrown away—had no time to think about. They pressed him back in between the trees.

Leif, who at the moment only thought that six was the smallest number he could reasonably take with him to Valhalla, and was still short of two, suddenly lost his foothold. It happened so unexpectedly that his sword dropped from his hand, but with his ax he hooked himself fast to a tree-root in falling, and there he hung, swinging in the air, over the edge of a ravine. His attackers had raised a great shout of victory when he fell. They now gathered on the edge of the ravine, stood there and laughed at him, and made themselves merry at his plight. They pricked at him for amusement with their spears, while in loud tones they debated which would be the most amusing way to see him die. A proposal that they should slowly prick the life out of him gained the day. So they began to prick him in turn, each of them wishing to have his share of the pleasure.

Leif was in a desperate situation. He looked down at the bottom of the ravine, where there grew heather and bushes. He had no other resource than to let himself fall and see if he escaped with life. He wasted no time in reviewing the situation; he simply let go and let himself fall. At the moment he fell he perceived that men spread themselves on both sides of him, to find a way down to the ravine and to surround him there if he escaped from the fall with his life and whole limbs. The fall absorbed both his body and his thoughts. He turned two somersaults in the air and struck against something hard; there was a singing in his ears, and he fainted for a time.

When he came to himself again, he was lying on his back in some high heather and staring up at the light green leaves on some scattered stunted trees. He had a distinct consciousness of danger without at once remembering where it threatened him, and grasped involuntarily after his ax and spear. He grasped in vacancy, and when he discovered that he was weaponless, the whole situation was suddenly clear to him. In an instant he was on his legs, satisfied himself that no bones were broken, picked up his helmet, and, involuntarily stooping to half his height, set off, running as hastily as his somewhat stiff limbs allowed, into the thickest part of the wood, and took the way down to the coast.

He had already run a good way when he heard men approaching, talking loudly, farther down the ravine. He halted and stood stiff and motionless. Only his eyes roamed round to seek a hiding-place, but he saw nothing resembling one anywhere. A little hollow in the ground close to his feet might perhaps afford room for his body, but by no means could it conceal him. With every moment that passed, while he stood there without any chance of escape, he could more distinctly hear his heart beating. He already imagined to himself how it would be to have his entrails drawn out and to be led round a tree. But at the same instant, when he was on the point of giving up and of flying up the ravine where he was quite sure to meet other foes, his eye fell on a large flat stone. There was salvation! Trembling over his whole body with excitement, he raised the stone on its edge and rolled it towards the hollow. Then he lay down, wrapped his cloak round him, shrunk himself up as well as he could, and pushed the stone right over him. There he lay and heard his pursuers come tramping. From their talk he understood that they were quite sure that he still lay where he had fallen, and feared that he had broken his neck, so that all further amusement for them was over. All the same, they urged each other to have a good look for him. If they found the red-haired devil, he should be flayed alive. Leif lay there under his flat stone with a corner of his cloak between his teeth. An irresistible convulsive fit of laughter seized him and shook his whole body. Every moment he might be prepared for them to raise the stone; he did not know whether it covered him completely. But here he lay, and there they went, rejoicing at the idea of flaying him alive. Less than that was needed to make Leif merry.

The men passed. Their voices died away gradually farther up the ravine. Leif let some moments pass, then cautiously raised the stone. After taking a good look round he set out, crouching as he ran, to the harbour. He reached the shore without seeing more enemies. He stood for a little, recovering himself in the cool air from the sea. He was tolerably sure that they would remain so keenly on the watch that he could hardly in full daylight get to his ship, if indeed he still had a ship at all! It was impossible for him to know if things had gone better with his men than with himself, or if the ships had already fallen into the enemies' hands. It was really a nice mess that he had got into! When would he see Helga again?

Leif let his gaze wander over the fjord, and caught sight of an island with some stunted fir trees a little distance out. This island was surrounded by smaller ones, and appeared to him, at that moment, very attractive. His enemies would scarcely think of looking for him outside the borders of the land.

Leif did not reflect very long. He hid his cloak, helmet, and whatever might be in his way when swimming thither, piled stones up on them, and let them lie. Then he flung himself into the waves. He swam on his back the first part of the way in order to be able to keep an eye on the land and to see if he was noticed. He could not see the least sign of life on shore. He reached the island safe and sound, and crawled, wet and weary, up its smooth, rocky side. He dragged himself under the shelter of a stone where he could lie and let the sun bathe him; luckily it shone brightly and warmly, in spite of the lateness of the season. He settled himself comfortably and closed his eyes. Shortly afterwards he fell asleep. He awoke from uneasy dreams; the light of the setting sun fell dazzling on his face. He had, then, slept the whole day. And what sort of a coverlet was that which he had over him? Closer inspection showed it to be a grey cloak of coarse material. Leif looked round him with wide-open eyes, and caught sight of a man squatting a little distance off, and regarding him with mild, attentive eyes.

Leif did not place much confidence in the mildness of his glance. Involuntarily he felt around for his weapons. There were no weapons there—now he remembered the whole affair—but the man there seemed likewise unarmed. Also, he smiled, and for the rest was so thin and wasted that he could hardly be dangerous. What sort of a man was he? He looked ragged and starving. His hair and beard were tangled like a bird's nest. There was an atmosphere of death about him. Only in his eyes and smile was there life—a gentle and, at the same time, intense life.

The man rose and disappeared behind a projecting rock. Leif thought this very strange conduct, and remembered, when he was out of sight, that he had not heard his step at all. Was he still asleep and dreaming? Was it a living man he had seen or a ghost? No, there he came again, whoever he was. He had bare legs, which explained why he walked noiselessly, and, for the rest, appeared altogether wretched and harmless. This time he came up close to Leif with some shellfish, which he opened with a practised hand, merely with the help of a sharp-edged stone. Leif ate a couple of the shellfish, being ravenously hungry, and would have gladly thanked this friendly and strange man, but his disgust was too strong for him, and he declared himself satisfied.

Then the strange man smiled anew, an indulgent smile, and ate the rest of the shellfish himself. When he had finished, he asked Leif how he was, if he could rise, and how he came to be lying here on his island. Leif trumped up a long story about having fallen overboard from a ship. "The current had seized him," he said, "and carried him hither." He found it best at the same time to show the man quite clearly, in order that he might make no mistake, that he not only could rise, but that he was altogether quite sound.

The man smiled again, whether on account of his story or his slightly threatening gestures, Leif was not sure, and asked him no more, but rose quietly and bade Leif follow him. He led him over to the other side of the island to the mouth of a little cave. "I live here," he said in his gentle voice. "You are the first guest who has paid me a visit, and the only man I have seen for many years. Assuredly God had His special purpose in sending you hither, my brother, however that may have happened. If you will share my cave with me for the night, you are welcome. In the morning you can swim to the shore, if you will, and are a strong swimmer. You can also perhaps remain here, if you prefer it."

"What are you doing here?" asked Leif, who, to his astonishment, could discover neither the roving eye nor mistrustful behaviour of an outlaw in this mild, quiet man. "Why do you live alone on this desert island?"

"I serve my God," answered the man gently and seriously, making the sign of the Cross. Then Leif suddenly became aware that it was one of the mad Irish monks whom he had before him.

From that moment he did not fear the man any more. The monks were peaceful people, mad though they were. But there was something mysterious about the man which caused Leif to feel by no means comfortable in his society.

"How do you live?" Leif asked, after a long pause. The man smiled his gentle smile, and pointed to a pot-shaped hollow in the rock, which stood filled to the brim with sea-water. "At high tide God sends me sometimes a little food," he said contentedly, "or I dive for shellfish when I am hungry. There is also plenty of seaweed here. I do not need much. Shall not God who feeds the birds also feed me?"

"How do you serve your God?" asked Leif, growing curious.

"I pray, fast, and lead a pure life," answered the monk quietly.

"Who is your God?" Leif questioned further.

"The one true God, the Trinity—God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost," answered the monk in his gentle voice, and again made the sign of the Cross.

"What is His name?" Leif continued.

He had sat down on a stone step outside the mouth of the cave and fixed his wondering eyes on the monk.

"He is called Jehovah; His Son, whose sacred name is Jesus Christ, let Himself be born as man, and shed His blood for men, to wash away their sins."

Leif was silent. He remembered carved and painted images he had seen of a God they called Jesus Christ. He hung nailed to a cross, with blood dripping from His hands and feet, from His thorn-crowned head, and from a wound in His side. Leif had always despised this God, who, according to the narrative, had willingly let Himself be killed and hung up upon a cross of wood. He did not comprehend the love of such a wretched divinity which could make a man like this monk live his life on this desert island, merely to pray to Him and thank Him. A powerless God He must be—much more wretched than even Odin and Thor. And yet He could obtain such power over men.

The monk had seated himself on a stone directly opposite Leif. The last rays of the sun fell on his back, and made his grey hair glow like a golden glory round his head. Leif remembered having seen this gold ring round the head, and he sat and began to feel quite strange and uneasy in his mind.

"Shall I tell you about Jesus Christ?" asked the monk at last, in a voice that was soft and ingratiating like a woman's.

"No," answered Leif, not without a certain fear in his soul, which distinctly betrayed itself in his voice. "Tell me rather of something else."

The monk sighed sorrowfully. "As you will, my brother. The Lord is mighty, and I am but the least of His instruments. Perhaps He has reserved the grace of delivering your soul for another and worthier than myself. What shall I tell you, brother?"

"Tell me something about foreign lands," said Leif, who had a dim consciousness that there could hardly be anything which this man did not know.

"I cannot tell you about foreign lands," answered the monk gently. "I have not seen any other country except Ireland. And I do not feel the want of it. The wickedness of the world is great in the lands. The Devil rules most lands where people dwell. The Lord has of His mercy granted me this lonely island, and my only wish is to live here in peace till He takes me to Himself in His glory."

He was silent for a while, and reflected. "But I can read to you of a place called Paradise," he said, breaking off his meditations. Then he rose and crept into the low mouth of the cave.

A little while after he came back with a roll in his hand. When he opened it, Leif saw that it consisted of some pieces of skin covered over with strange signs.

The monk sat down and began to read in a monotonous and devout voice:

"There is a place that is called Paradise. It is not in heaven nor upon earth, but between heaven and earth, at an equal distance from both, as it was fixed there by God. Paradise is forty miles higher than the Flood rose at its highest. Paradise is of the same length and breadth on all sides. There is no hill nor valley there. There comes never frost, there falls never snow. The earth is luxuriant and fruitful there, but there are no evil beasts nor dangers nor defects of any kind. There is a pure well, which is called the well of life. There is a splendid and beautiful wood called 'Radion saltus,' the leaves of which never fade. Each of its trees is straight and round like a spar, and so high that the top is invisible. There are all kinds of trees which stand in complete beauty and bear all manner of blossoms and beautifully coloured apples and fruits of all kinds. There no leaves fall from the branches. The wood stands in the midst of Paradise. One of the fruit trees was forbidden to Adam; in its fruit was hidden the knowledge of good and evil. There is neither hate nor hunger, and never is there night nor darkness, but always perpetual day. The sun shines there seven times more strongly than in this world, for its light is increased with the light of all the stars. There walk Angels, keeping all things in order in joy and pleasure. Thither have the souls of good men gone (and shall go and dwell there till Doomsday) since God opened the place when He took thither the soul of the Thief who died upon the cross.

"In Paradise there is a bird which is called the Phœnix. It is very large, and wonderful is the fashion of its creation, and it is the King of all birds. It bathes in the well of life, and then flies up on that tree which is the highest in Paradise, and sits in the sun. Then it shines with a light like that of the sun's rays. Its whole body gleams like gold, its feathers are like God's angels, its breast is beautiful, and its beak resembles its feathers. Its eyes are like crystal, and its feet like blood. But when this beautiful bird, the Phœnix, flies from Paradise to the land of Egypt and dwells there five weeks, all kinds of birds gather there and sing round it in all manner of ways. Then the men who dwell there hear that and gather round it from everywhere, and speak as follows: 'Welcome, Phœnix, to our land! Thou shinest like red gold; thou art the King of all the birds!' Then the people of the land make another phœnix of wax and copper which resembles the old one as much as possible. All the birds fall at its feet and honour it with a glad voice. Along its back there runs a red stripe, beautiful as burnt gold. When its fifth week is passed, the beautiful Phœnix flies again to Paradise. All the birds fly with it, some below it, some above it, on both sides. But when they cannot follow it any longer they return home."

The monk paused and looked at Leif, who sat bowed opposite him with open mouth and eyes. When the monk saw how absorbed his hearer was, he smiled and continued:

"It happened four thousand years before the birth of Christ (one millennium had passed) that the Phœnix had become old, and gathered round it a great number of birds, in order to bring together a great pile of fuel. But by God's will it happened so that the sun shone on the pile of fuel and the sun's warmth kindled a fire in it. But the Phœnix fell in the midst of the fire and was burned to ashes. But the third day afterwards it rose from the dead and was young again, and went to the Well of Life and bathed. Then its feathers grew again, as beautiful as they had ever been. It becomes old in the course of a thousand winters, then it burns itself again to ashes, and rises each time young once more. But no one knows, except God alone, whether it is a male or a female bird."

The monk stopped. The sun had gone down, and the dusk of twilight filled the air. He could no longer see to distinguish the characters. He rolled up his skin-scroll carefully together and tied a band round it.

Leif had swallowed his words to the end with eager ears. At the same time the monk's droning way of reading had had a soporific effect upon him. When the monk was silent for a moment, Leif gave a deep yawn and felt a strange weariness in all his limbs. The next moment he fell asleep where he sat, with his head propped on his hands.

The monk let him sit and sleep while he uttered a long and humble prayer to God, that it might be granted him to save this heathen's soul from destruction and the outer darkness.

Then he awoke Leif gently, and bade him follow him into the cave and share his straw bed and his cloak with him, for it was now cold outside.

Leif awoke and saw that it was already night, with a pale glimmer of the moon behind black clouds. Now the time had really come. But he was not a little curious to learn more about the monk's cave, and, besides, it was perhaps best to let him fall asleep before he left the island.

The monk struck a light and kindled a shaving. Then he crept into the low mouth of the cave. Leif crept after him, and the first thing he set eyes upon was a magnificent sword with a golden hilt and gold inlaid blade. It stood set up against the wall in the inner-most part of the cave. It was the most beautiful sight which at the moment could meet Leif's eyes, and it was impossible for him to avert his gaze from the shining sword. When he noticed the monk's look fixed on him, he compelled himself to ask, in an indifferent tone, how it was he possessed such a valuable sword, as he was so poor and peaceful.

"That sword I inherited from my father," answered the monk gently and as it were apologetically. "I brought it with me here so that it should not do more harm than it has already done among men. I first intended to throw it into the sea, but it is so splendid. I have never been able to bring myself to do that, and it does no harm here in my cave."

He took it in his hand with obvious tenderness, and showed it to Leif. Leif dared not touch it for fear of betraying his covetousness.

The monk stood and contemplated the sword, and said, as though reflecting: "They who slay with the sword shall perish with the sword."

Leif believed that he was pronouncing a spell which belonged to the sword, and smiled incredulously. Immediately afterwards he threw himself down on the pallet of straw, as though he were weary and sleepy, and only thought of rest.

The monk replaced the sword, put out the light, laid himself down at Leif's side, and arranged his cloak over them both, so that his guest had a brother's share. Leif lay wide awake, wondering whether he should succeed in finding his men, and whether he should see his ships again. Soon afterwards Leif heard the monk snoring, and began to twist and turn himself, to see if that would wake him. No, the monk slept deeply and soundly; his snoring filled the cave with the peace of sleep and night.

Then Leif rose stealthily from the pallet, groped his way to the sword, took hold of it, although with a little prick in his conscience, and crept on all fours noiselessly out of the cave, followed by the unconscious snoring of the monk. When he stood outside in the dark night, he raised himself erect and breathed freely. He was not at all sure whether he still had his ships and men, or whether all his men were killed, and the ships taken possession of by the enemy. But he again held a sword in his hand. Leif only stopped for a moment outside the mouth of the cave. Then with long, noiseless strides he crossed over the island and plunged into the water. He held the sword between his teeth and swam as best he could.

Leif found his cloak and other articles of clothing where he had left them. He had much feared lest they should be gone, and the discovery of them have served as a guide to the enemy. He put his clothes on and then began to listen intently in all directions. When he could not hear any movement or noise anywhere, he set off running along the shore in the direction of the creek where he had left his ships. The last part of the way he crept through the wood. He reached the creek without having come across hindrances of any kind. And out there lay his ships. They were lying farther out than when he had left them, and to Leif it seemed a good sign. This time he tied his cloak in a bundle on his back, took the sword between his teeth, and, thus equipped, swam out to the ships. He swam as noiselessly and cautiously as possible, so that he might be able to turn quickly if it should prove that it was not his men who were in possession of the ships.

When he got within a bowshot of the ships, his old headman gave the alarm, and asked in a grim voice: "Who goes there?"

Leif answered with a low whistle, which they all knew, and there was great excitement and gladness on board. He had a rope thrown to him. Immediately afterwards he swung himself over the gunwale and stood wet and dripping among his men, with a strange sword between his teeth.

"Leif! Leif!" they shouted, and all wanted to touch him. Leif asked hastily how many men they had lost. It appeared that they had only three killed and two wounded. The rest had got on board safe and sound. Questions hailed down upon him. His men had really not expected to see him again, and were frenzied with delight and impatient to hear what had happened to him.

Before Leif would tell them anything, he questioned them thoroughly, and learnt that they had intended to remain lying here for some days, if the weather allowed, in case he should return, or hoping at least that they might learn something of his fate in some other way.

All the men on board the dragon-ship were gathered in a cluster round Leif, their eyes fixed on his splendid sword. Leif took off his wet clothes and put on dry ones. Then he crept into his bearskin bag and shook himself with a sense of satisfaction. The men took their places round him and waited patiently to hear his story. Lying stretched on his back among his sitting men, with the pale moonlight flickering over his face, Leif began his narrative.

He began with his fall down the ravine. He told them how he had first hooked himself firm with his ax, and then had been obliged to let go of it and to drop when the men had begun to prick him. He told of his awaking without a weapon, and of his flight. He only related briefly the adventure with the flat stone under which he had concealed himself. His men listened, breathless with excitement.

When Leif was about to tell of his visit to the cave he suddenly paused. He noticed, to his surprise, that he really did not like to tell how he had got possession of his sword. But it was precisely about the sword that his men were most curious to hear.

"The sword?" asked the old headman in a husky voice, when he had been silent for a while.

"Yes, now comes the most wonderful thing of all," answered Leif reflectively. And, staring at the pale sickle of the moon, he rallied all his inventive powers and continued: "I had at last come up out of the ravine and was wandering in the wood. I do not know how long I ran about without an idea where I was. But suddenly I stood at the entrance of a great cave in the earth. I slipped into it in order to let the darkness hide me. When I had gone a good way in, I heard a strange sound farther on in the cave. I stole forward and caught sight, in the dark, of a man who sat and sang. His head waggled forward and backward and to the sides, and his song penetrated my bones and marrow. His eyes rolled about in his head as though he were possessed. His face was yellow and blue, and there issued a strong odour from him, for he was not a living man, but a dead one. A little behind him hung this sword, and it shone on the wall of the cave. As I was weaponless, my life depended on my getting hold of the sword. I stole, therefore, farther on, and succeeded in slipping past him without his noticing me. But, just as I was going to seize the sword, I stumbled over a stone on the floor of the cave, and at the same instant I had the dead man on me."

Leif was so absorbed in his story that a cold sweat burst out on his forehead at the narrative of this imaginary fight. His men listened in death-like silence, staring at him with wide-open eyes, and pressing involuntarily closer to each other.

"So near to the dead I have never been," Leif continued, and took a deep breath. "You have no idea what power there is in a dead man's bones. He crushed me as though with claws of iron. The most uncomfortable part was, that wherever I seized hold of him the flesh slipped away under my grip, and I held the bare bone-pipes with my hands. And there was a most intolerable smell which nearly suffocated me. Moreover, the whole time he kept wheezing foam into my face." Leif stopped with a groan, and with the back of his hand wiped the sweat from his brow. He lay there white as a corpse, with burning eyes, in the pale moonlight.

"At last I succeeded in getting him under me," he said in a lowered voice, "and putting out my utmost strength I pushed him against the stone he had sat upon, and at last I broke his back. While he lay there, and before I had seized the sword to cut off his wretched head, his rotten tongue continued to spit out curses. I will not repeat them, for they were terrible. Only so much I will tell you, that he said that there was a spell on this sword, that whosoever should kill with it should die with it."

Leif's old headman, who during the last part of this narrative had panted like a sick man, suddenly sprang up in great excitement. "Throw the cursed sword overboard," he shouted in a shaky voice, with his whole body trembling. Leif reached after the sword, and clutched its golden hilt firmly. "No!" he answered decidedly. "I have risked too much to gain it."

The old man broke down with a hiccoughing sob, which sent an ice-cold shudder through the bones and marrow of Leif and all the rest.

"What did you do then with the dead man?" asked one at length, with his teeth chattering.

"I cut his head off and laid it by his feet," Leif answered curtly, and gave a sigh of relief. Since there was no more to tell, Leif remained lying silent. His men continued sitting silent and motionless round him.

Leif found himself wondering that his meeting with the monk had suddenly become so distant and unreal. Was it not something which he had dreamt? How was it, really? Had he not been fighting with a dead man? His body was so strangely stiff. And if not, why should he have this smell in his nostrils? Leif no longer knew himself what to believe. The drowsiness of sleep slurred the clearness of his thought and confused the real with the unreal.

The old man had gradually become silent. For a while he sat motionless, with his head wrapped in a corner of his cloak. Then he let the corner fall and continued to sit and look at Leif. When at last he spoke, his voice had resumed its deep, quiet tone. "In memory of your wonderful experience and great adventure, you shall hereafter be called 'Hjor-Leif,'" he said solemnly to Leif.

Leif smiled with half-closed eyes; then they closed quite. He slept peacefully and calmly as though he had never been engaged in fighting a dead man.

His men remained sitting quite silent around him. They did not talk together. They had conceived a great fear in their souls which the moon's unearthly light considerably increased. They were simply afraid to lie down and close their eyes and fall asleep. They could not understand how Leif could lie there and sleep so comfortably after such an adventure. Their admiration for him had never been greater than now. They would like to know whether he would be afraid to encounter the gods themselves. They had never seen fear in his eyes. It was certainly right that he should have the sword affixed to his name and be called Hjor-Leif.

Leif awoke of his own accord at sunrise. Then he saw his men still in a circle round him. He broke into a loud fit of laughter when he saw their stupid eyes and faces weary with watching.

"Beer! Beer!" he shouted, and sprang up. "Plenty of beer for all the men! Drink now, boys!"

He cheered them up. The most slack of them he whirled round and capsized and thumped till there was a roar of merriment around him.

When Leif had emptied a couple of jugs of beer he felt hungry and demanded food. For a whole day and night he had had nothing except two raw shellfish, if that were not something which he had only dreamt. At any rate, his hunger was keen and insatiable. With continually increasing wonder his men stood round him and watched him devour a hearty meal. He was the only one on board who had an appetite. An icy dread instilled by the moonlight still possessed his men like bodily nausea. Even the beer which he had given them they drank more from obedience than from pleasure.

When Leif had made them first stir themselves and then totter a little on their legs, he set them at the oars and bade them set to work like the boys they were! They should only think of their wives and dearest ones, and for the rest row as though a dead man were after them. Leif had had enough adventures for the present. Now he wanted to get home to Norway.

V

Helga, the faithful and anxious, was once more to see the summer die on the fields and in the wood and Leif return home over the autumn sea.

The foggy, raw, cold autumn day became great and festive when she caught sight of Leif's ship out on the fjord. A red flag waved from the mast, a signal which had been agreed upon. There came Leif sailing with her happiness on board.

Merely the fact of his being alive was like a boon from the gods. It filled her soul with summer to feel herself warm and living in his arms. Every time that Leif came home from an expedition, it was equally new and incomprehensible that he lived—lived and was near her again.

Leif came home with spring and renewal of life in his soul. That was always the case with him. The evil and dangerous unrest was gone. He had swept it out of his soul with adventures. Leif was again Leif. His cheerful laughter betokened his inner quiet. There was noise and bustle wherever he moved, but there was a contented assurance in his voice and look.

To Helga, at any rate, it seemed worth while to have endured the pain of longing and anxiety during the summer in order to have him home again. The eager tone of his voice alone, when he asked questions or related incidents, made her heart swell with happiness. She could forget both to answer and to listen, and just cast herself on his neck because she must, because it was so delightful to weep and laugh out her happiness with his arms round her.

Leif never returned empty-handed from an expedition. Besides the serfs and goods which he had this time gained, he had acquired a new name—Hjor-Leif.

Ingolf, Hallveig, and Helga were all obliged to laugh loudly the first time they heard him called by this new name. Leif began at once to explain eagerly, and with a little embarrassment, that it was not a name which he had himself assumed—one of his men had bestowed it on him of his own accord. But it was plain to see that he was proud of the addition to his name, and did not like their laughing at it.

They questioned him with curiosity about the sword which had given occasion for the name—a valuable sword which few remembered to have seen the like of.

Leif answered with great seriousness that there was a ludicrous story connected with that sword. He had told it once to his men. But it was not a story one went spreading about. He had no intention of repeating it. His old headman, on the other hand, was fond of relating it. He was by no means disposed to let Leif's adventure pass into oblivion. And he related it in such a way that one did not sleep quietly for several nights after hearing the old man's quavering voice relate the unheard-of terrors which Leif had experienced in the cave. He certainly deserved to be called Hjor-Leif, especially since he himself liked it—on that all were agreed, when they had heard of the way in which Leif had gained his sword. And so from that day he was called Hjor-Leif, and nothing else.

Neither Ingolf nor any one else doubted that the story was true. The sword in itself was sufficient proof. Moreover, it was so entirely like Leif not to be satisfied with fighting living men, but also to have to test his strength with the dead, and to come well out of the encounter.

Hjor-Leif was, as we have said, not to be persuaded to narrate the story himself. He was not at all fond of being reminded of it.

His other adventures, small and great, he was generally willing enough to relate. And he took them by no means seriously. His description of the way he hung out over the cliff, clinging to the handle of his ax and being thrust at by sharp spear-points, might have made even a dead man writhe with laughter, although in itself there was nothing pleasant in the situation. The Leif who revealed himself behind such experiences, and could relate them in such a light and completely artless way—that was the Leif whom Ingolf loved and could not resist. For a long time after he had heard Hjor-Leif tell of the little hollow and the flat stone, Ingolf could have a fit of laughter merely by thinking of it.

Hjor-Leif confided to Helga, and Helga alone, a wonderful story regarding which he was not sure whether it was an actual experience or a dream. Upon an island he had swum to he had met a hermit who from some mysterious characters on some pieces of skin had deciphered a long and wonderful account of a place which was called Paradise, and a bird he called the Phœnix. Had Helga ever heard the name of the place or the bird? No, Helga had not. And even though Helga in her heart thought that there was no limit to Hjor-Leif's possible experiences, she gave it, nevertheless, as her view that it was very likely a dream. Hjor-Leif also thought it might be. For part of the story or dream was that the hermit had given him shellfish to eat, and that he really had eaten them. That could in any case not be the fact, for he cherished the most decided dislike to raw shellfish. That must at least be something he had dreamt.

All the same, the story about the monk continued to haunt Hjor-Leif's mind and disquiet him. For a part of the dream which he had not confided to Helga was—that he had stolen his sword from the monk. That was a bad dream.

When Hjor-Leif returned home from the Viking expedition of the summer, Ingolf had already sold such of their goods and cattle as could not be stowed on board the two ships. He had also sold his dragon-ship. He confided in a quiet voice to his brother that he intended hereafter to lead a perfectly peaceful life. Hjor-Leif once more remembered his dream of the hermit on the island, and said that he also had had enough of these expeditions. They agreed that Ingolf should purchase from Hjor-Leif his share in the vessel, and that Hjor-Leif should then exchange his two ships for a powerful trading-ship. Ingolf had in his journeys seen one that might suit him. The matter was arranged, and everything was now ready for their departure in the next spring.

It was the season when the first winter nights were powdering the earth with frost.

And now began a lively and unquiet time for the sworn brothers. Relatives and friends came from near and far to spend some days with them. The whole of this last winter in Dalsfjord there was a festivity and bustle which made them all giddy with hilarity, especially Hjor-Leif. His irrepressible mood infected Helga. She gave herself away and forgot everything, even her most secret troubles—she forgot everything in the one fact that she just had Leif. They let day be day, and night be night, and merely lived—lived in a state of blissful intoxication, which excluded everything except absorption in the present happiness of their souls. Often when Helga was falling asleep, she thought, "You will not wake in the morning," and smiled happily. Her happiness was so deep that death and life ran into one.

There was no pause in the festivities. When there was no feast being held in the house, they and their guests and servants were invited to week-long feasts in other houses. Among their kinsmen and friends there were already at this time many who said that if Ingolf and Hjor-Leif prospered in the new land, they also would sell their properties in Norway and migrate thither. Norway was no longer what it had been. They knew no longer whether they were free yeomen or King Harald's lease-holders. Lately one of Harald's Jarls had murdered Atle Jarl the Slender. Haasten held his right and inheritance by Harald's permission. And there were many situated as he was. Every one who dared to murmur had forfeited life and land. It would certainly be a good thing to find a free place so far away that Harald's hard arm could not reach.

Hjor-Leif reminded Ingolf that he had long fore-told that. There was no need to fear solitude in the new land. Before many years had passed, the whole of the great island would be taken in possession by the best men of Norway.

Hjor-Leif spoke contentedly and undisturbedly about the matter. He was himself, as usual, not aware of any responsibility. Upon Ingolf the prospects of many following them thither had a different effect. He was quite weighed down with a sense of responsibility and anxiety. Was the land out there in the west so good that he could justify drawing others by his example from their inheritance and the country of their race? And, above all: Was it the gods' will that he should journey thither? Ingolf arranged a great Yuletide sacrificial feast. And now he wished to ascertain the will of the gods.

On the first night of the feast he cast lots. Some chips or sticks, dipped in sacrificial blood, were tossed in a cloth, and he read off the characters formed by the positions which the chips assumed towards each other. Far to the left lay a chip by itself, straight up and down, a clear character, an "I." That signified "ice," and seemed to mean that he should travel. The next character was even clearer. Some chips had so arranged themselves that they formed the runic character "F." That signified "cattle"; goods and wealth. There was no fear of making a mistake. Ingolf read off still more characters, but they were all propitious, with the exception of a single death-rune. Well, one could not escape death by not travelling. That came to each one on the day assigned by the fates. Ingolf was reassured.

Winter passed, and the days increased in light and length. Then came a spring day. It was a warm and festal spring which fell in step with winter's mood.

The sworn brothers launched their vessel and loaded it with goods and implements, men and cattle. Ingolf had taken the pillars of his high-seat on board, together with all the images of the gods from the temple.

Leif sat doubled up with laughter and watched Ingolf and his men dragging with solemn intentness the worm-eaten and bedizened pillars of the gods from the temple down to the ship. Was Ingolf, then, no wiser?

Helga awoke from her trance of happiness as she stood with her hand in Hjor-Leif's and sailed out between some small islands covered with spruce and fir, from whence a strong pine-scent was carried towards her by a gentle breeze. Hjor-Leif felt her hand grow cold in his. He clasped the slender fingers more closely. Had he clasped them too closely? Her little hand began suddenly to tremble in his. He looked into her eyes with a searching and slightly troubled look. But there was nothing the matter. She smiled her quietest and happiest smile at him. He kissed her, made her sit in shelter, and wrapped a skin round her, so that she should not feel cold. Soon they were outside the islands. The wind blew stronger and more steadily. Before the bellying sails the two heavily loaded ships steered over a sea blue with spring.

VI

The sworn brothers' ships lay rolling violently, rocking and pitching in the heavy swell south of Iceland. The day was calm and warm. High light clouds were spread over the deep blue vault of heaven. The sun poured his strong spring light in broad floods over sea and land.

That day it was fourteen days since they had sailed out from Dalsfjord. For fourteen days they had been in the power of the wind. A storm which tore the sails and broke the yards had driven them about over a raging sea, which ceaselessly sent cold showers of spray over the low gunwales. From morning till evening, from evening till morning, four men had stood in each vessel with the two baling scoops, working for life to keep the water out. In spite of being continually relieved the men were at last so worn out and wasted that they could scarcely eat, and fell asleep and rolled over wherever they sat down even for a moment.

By continual watchfulness and clever seamanship the brothers had succeeded in keeping their vessels together. Each stood day and night at the rudder. Only in the short intervals when the wind turned, or there was a short pause, did they throw themselves down to sleep for the moment as if dead. They had no time to think of Helga and Hallveig. Helga was careful not to be in the way. She rendered the small service she was able to do under these circumstances as much as possible without making herself observed. Hallveig sat with her boy in her lap and let the wind blow and the storm rage. She kept her eyes on Ingolf and felt safe.

The sworn brothers fought for life and death with storm and sea. The great thing was to hold out, not to give up, not to think of anything but what concerned the steering and the quantity of canvas they should carry, not to be wearied, not to lose one's head—to hold out, to hold out. It was just this unceasing struggle which kept up their courage and spirits.

The animals were ill and starving; some of them died and had to be thrown overboard, others lay in their last agonies, pitiable to see. Much of their corn and other food-stores was spoilt by the dense showers of spray. The fresh water in the casks sank regularly and irremediably. The men went about slackly, and had to be kept going with a hard hand. There was hardly anything on board which was not otherwise than it should be, and giving reason for deep anxiety. But the brothers held out.

When at last on the previous day they had seen on the extreme verge of the northern horizon a light from the snow-covered interior of the new land like a faint white gleam, each had thought within himself that it was not a day too soon.

During the last twenty-four hours the storm had at last slowly quieted down, and now they lay here, held up by a presumably only short calm, a few hours' sail from the coast, and gazed curiously and expectantly over the sea at the land in the blue distance.

The ships lay side by side, kept in their places by long boat-hooks, only so far from each other as was necessary in order to prevent their chafing and injuring their sides.

Hjor-Leif and Helga had gone on board Ingolf's vessel in order to greet him and Hallveig and to talk over the situation. All four were seated, Hallveig with her little boy in her arms, on the stern poop. After the severe trial they had passed through there was a silence over them which was difficult to break. They had not yet grown properly accustomed to the fact that life and death did not hang on each moment as it passed. Therefore they spoke but little. Towards the north-east and north-west the soft lines of the slightly rising and falling glaciers stood out behind the blue mountains that crowned this flat land. The brothers followed the changing contours of the country with a peculiar tenderness in their eyes. But their gaze always turned back to the glaciers which shone sparkling white in the strong sunshine.

Hallveig and Helga also could not turn away their eyes from the glaciers. The few words which they now and then exchanged were said in low tones, as if they sat in a temple, and not at sea on a swaying vessel.

Ingolf and Hjor-Leif had long sat silent side by side, inspecting the land with keen eyes. Between a projecting point a long way to the east, and another far to the west, there stretched a flat, unbroken coast-line, distinctly marked by a white edge of rolling surf.

"It will be difficult to land here," concluded Leif at last, in a slightly hard and irritated tone. "Also, it seems as if most of the land nearest the shore is barren sand."

"There are enough landing-places by the points," Ingolf answered quietly, "and behind the sands the land may be good and fertile, even close up to the glaciers. We saw that on the eastern side last summer."

Ingolf was in secret rather disappointed that they had not found the Svanefjords again. But he did not speak about it. It was not possible to look for them now. At present, the great thing was to get on land as quickly as possible, and almost anywhere, so that the men and animals could have a good rest and recover.

The sworn brothers had agreed that they must settle for the summer and the coming winter on the spot where they landed. Afterwards they might look out for a permanent residence. Ingolf had very decided views with regard to the choice of a dwelling-place. These views, however, he had not yet confided to Hjor-Leif, nor to any one else. The matter concerned the gods, and in all that concerned them his brother's attitude was a foregone conclusion. Hjor-Leif, on his part, only thought of finding a pleasant and fertile spot, preferably by the sea, and protected by the mountains, where he could feel himself at home and be comfortable.

For a long time they sat in silence, each deep in thought. Ingolf reflected how he had best communicate his plan to Hjor-Leif. He saw at once that it was no good to be silent about it longer. For already, before they departed from here, it must be put into execution. He sat and felt rather perplexed inwardly, and could not find words.

At that moment Hjor-Leif was sitting and reflecting over an experience which he had had the previous night. He had lain asleep in his bearskin bag while his old headman took charge of the tiller. Suddenly he started up from sleep, having certainly dreamt of something or other he could not remember, and as he did so he collided with a man who must have been stooping over him. It was one of his Irish serfs, Duftak, a man whose evil eye had followed him since he once in wrath had stretched him on the ground with a well-deserved blow. Hjor-Leif was not certain, but it seemed to him that the serf had thrown something or other which he had in his hand overboard, just as he had stumbled against him and stood opposite him. He thought he had heard a little splash as when a hard object strikes the water. But he was by no means certain of the matter, and neither the serf's eyes nor his behaviour had betrayed anything. He had asked him what he was doing here, and it seemed that he had come to look after a roll of rope which lay close by. Hjor-Leif had had his thoughts occupied the whole day by this occurrence. He had already observed for a long time that the serf's eyes followed Helga wherever she went and stood, with an evil and at the same time covetous look. He could not understand why he had not already thrown the serf overboard, and why he did not intend to do so. He was quite sure that it was not from fear, although there seemed to be a peculiar understanding among his Irish serfs. It was rather because he could not do without serfs, and because if he killed one of them it would be safest to kill them all.

At length Leif unwillingly shook these thoughts off, and asked curtly: "We shall sail southward, I suppose, when the wind gets up again?"

Ingolf was silent. It was certainly about an equal distance to the two points, and he had a very great desire to seek a landing-place near the more easterly of the two.

Instead of giving a direct answer, he began cautiously: "I have thought, brother, that I for my part will let the gods decide where I should settle in this new land."

Leif, whose temper at the moment was a little off its balance because of the incident with the serf, gave a hard laugh: "How will you go about it?"

Ingolf pointed to the pillars of his high-seat, which lay lashed together with strong skin straps above a pile amidships.

"I will throw the pillars of my high-seat overboard. Wherever they drift to land, I will settle."

"Even if they drift to land in the middle of the sands here?" asked Hjor-Leif incredulously and a little scornfully.

"The gods will know how to find the place where it will be best for me and my family to settle," answered Ingolf, undisturbed. "I lay with confidence the choice of a dwelling in their hand."

Hjor-Leif was silent for a long time. There was a hard and pitiless line round his large mouth. There was Ingolf again with his cursed gods! At last he spoke, without looking at anything: "Instead, then, of our choosing a place for ourselves where the earth is fertile and luxuriant we are to settle wherever it pleases the wind and current to wash up a pair of dead planks on shore."

He talked himself into a bad temper. And he wound up bitterly: "We shall hardly be neighbours, then, brother!"

Ingolf sprang up from his place. He was on the point of giving an angry answer when he remembered suddenly a snowy day when he and Hjor-Leif had ridden alone over a desolate heath. He shut his lips tightly, and stood for a while silent, leaning against the tiller. In his eyes there was a seeking look which wandered in perplexity over the water. The sun's glimmer dazzled his eyes. He could not find a word kind and cautious enough to answer with. But his resolve stood immovably firm. Suddenly he collected himself, and, calling a couple of his men, bade them take the high-seat pillars down from the pile and lay them on the gunwale. So he stood for a little and let his hands glide carefully over the age-browned wood.

Hjor-Leif sat watching with a hard, evil look in his grey eyes. Cautiously Ingolf let the pillars glide overboard. He remained standing, and followed them with his eyes as they lay there floating on the bright, oily water. Hjor-Leif could only see his back. There was an air of decision and resolve about that back which irritated him still further. Hallveig and Helga had followed the conversation, and now sat silent and anxious, not daring to look at each other. Helga did not at all reflect which of the two was more in the right. She was simply troubled. In her gentle mind there rose a strange, impotent fear which made her heart beat heavily and painfully.

Hallveig, on the other hand, was at first in her inmost heart on the point of justifying Hjor-Leif. At the first moment it appeared to her that one's own eyes' choice of a dwelling could always be as good as that of blind gods, nay, really much safer. But when she had sat for a while with her firm, open gaze fixed on Ingolf's back, a change took place in her mind. The air of security and assurance which was about her husband's whole person, and which his back just now so distinctly expressed, had an unconscious effect upon her. She understood all of a sudden that it was just this sign from the gods which was needed in order to attach her husband's heart firmly and unbreakably to his new home. There, where the pillars of his high-seat drifted on shore, Ingolf would feel himself at home with all his soul and in spite of reason. The gods' choice of the place would give his strength and will the firm ground without which, in spite of all his strength, he could not thrive. On a spot so chosen Ingolf would force happiness and prosperity to dwell in the face of every imaginable difficulty. For in alliance with his gods he was invincible.

Hallveig sat there and became assured and peaceful in mind.

She understood that it was from an unwaveringly sure and wise instinct that Ingolf acted when he cast the pillars overboard. It was of vital importance to him to feel himself in covenant with his gods and in possession of their favour.

Hallveig stooped over her little boy and kissed him on the forehead, and remained sitting for a while with bowed head, lest any should see she had tears in her eyes.

With beating heart Ingolf stood and watched his treasured pillars tossed by the billows, lightly, aimlessly, as though they were ordinary pieces of driftwood. It was not without severe internal conflicts that he had resolved to deliver his dearest possession to the power of the sea. But here life was at stake. It was not only a matter of finding a place where his cattle could graze and his house stand, but of finding exactly that place which the gods willed to grant him and his family. The place where they could know he would stay for the future. The place where his and his family's happiness and prosperity were not only under his but under their care and responsibility.

When Ingolf had stood for a long time watching the pillars, which gradually drifted astern in an easterly direction, his displeasure towards his brother disappeared. He turned slowly, and, with a peculiar smile upon his young face towards the others, went quietly and seated himself by the side of Hjor-Leif.

"What do you think of our choosing the eastern point as a landing-place, brother?" he asked in a quiet and friendly tone.

The question irritated Leif. There was no talk of choice; it was merely a question where a piece of driftwood should decide their landing.

"I have already for my part chosen the west," he answered firmly, and at the same time as quietly as he could, and not without a certain satisfaction at the effect of his words.

But it was not only on Ingolf that Leif's answer had the effect of a well-directed blow. Both Hallveig and Helga felt that here was something evil and dangerous going on. Quite involuntarily Helga called Hjor-Leif's name in a supplicating tone. She had no idea of wishing to influence him in the least degree. She knew him, and was aware that it was hopeless. The word fell like a prayer from her gentle and anxious soul. In one hot wave the blood mounted to Hjor-Leif's head when he heard Helga's voice. "You can remain with your brother, since you prefer that to following me." The bitter words leapt from his mouth. Helga broke down in a heavy and despairing fit of weeping. Leif sat motionless, and apparently un-moved. But in his breast there tore and tugged a fierce and intolerable pain which was not far from making him powerless. It was not at all, as it now appeared, a sudden whim which caused him not to wish to have Helga on board again. It was the scene by night with the serf, Duftak, which from the beginning had given rise to the thought in him that Helga would be really safer on Ingolf's ship. Some vague and groundless presentiment or other, which made him still more sensitive and impatient, told him that there was danger in the journey for him and Helga. It was nothing but pure tenderness for Helga which made him resolve that they should part before they were all quite on shore. This time he had not thought of parting from Ingolf. But in a moment Hjor-Leif was completely in the power of his restless temperament which, as so often before, distorted his words and actions and drove him to hasty resolves. To separate from the others, and seek another landing-place, with the prospect perhaps of not seeing them for a whole year, was for him a much greater trial than for Ingolf, to whose equable temperament a year's separation contained nothing unthinkable or alarming. Hjor-Leif could really not imagine how he could hold out merely a month, much less a whole year, without them.

And if he now chose to land in another place than Ingolf, each for the present would have to remain where he landed. But it was completely impossible for him to expose his dependence and pain at parting. He could neither humble himself nor subdue his spirit so far as to enable them to discuss matters reasonably. As soon as the fateful words were out of his mouth he was helplessly in their power.

While thoughts and feelings were rushing like violent streams through Hjor-Leif's lacerated soul, Ingolf had already succeeded in reviewing the matter reasonably. In separation there was the advantage that the one who first found a landing-place could, by kindling a fire on his point, inform the other, who perhaps would be seeking a landing-place in vain, where he could look for one. Ingolf, with a seaman's practised eye, had long before discovered that the coast here was difficult, not to say impossible to land on. It confronted the open sea. The heavy swells, which were certainly almost always prevalent here, would shatter any ship that tried to land on the sands. It was by no means unlikely that the character of the coast near the two points might be equally difficult. And it was impossible to know if the coast east or south of the points was better. Since Leif now wished it, Ingolf had for his part nothing against their separation, for some days or for a year, as it might happen. He therefore quietly proposed that whoever first succeeded in landing should kindle a fire on his point as a signal to the other. The latter could then make for that place, if he had not found another harbour before, or in the contrary case might answer with a fire on his point.

Hjor-Leif briefly agreed to this arrangement. It was he who had settled that they should separate, and yet it was a severe disappointment to him that it was now finally decided on. "I may come southward in the spring, if I have not by that time found my pillars," said Ingolf quietly, when the matter of the fires had been settled. "But if I should not come, I will send you a messenger, if I have not heard from you before."

Hjor-Leif nodded curtly. It was incomprehensible to him that Ingolf could sit there and talk so quietly, as if nothing had happened between them and everything was all right.

"If you find my pillars," Ingolf continued, with the same immovable calm, "take good care of them, and let me know of the discovery as soon as possible."

Hjor-Leif made no answer. Internally he swore that if he had the luck to find the infernal pillars it would be a joy to him to let the fire devour them.

All conversation gradually died out among the four persons who sat there, swinging on the sea, swayed by the balance of fate, each mind filled with its characteristic inner thoughts, peace or unrest, wearing pain or assured contentment—sat there in the grip of their own souls and of blind powers, while the brilliant spring day glided into a light, soft night.

The red sun-gold over the sea in the west faded and died away into other and colder colours. The world was new and strange, and charged with presentiment as always on the boundary between day and night. The four sat there, and let the day go and night come over their peaceful or irritated silence. Ingolf's little boy, Thorsten, slept quietly in his mother's bosom. All around was quiet. Peace was there for whomsoever had a mind to receive it. The brothers sat side by side, yet each in his own world. Ingolf, as always, kept his mind collected, was his natural self, and knew it. Just as he ate what nourished his body of the good things of sea and earth, so his mind absorbed whatever benefited him from the changing moods of day and night, sea and heaven and earth. Everything else remained lying untouched and harmless outside the tightly closed circle of his mind.

With Hjor-Leif it was otherwise. He had no collectedness in his mind. Every kind of experience or mood which approached him was seized by the tentacles of his restless heart. Evil and good, health and injury—his hungry nature swallowed and satiated itself with all, without any other result than merely to increase his burning desire for something—a condition or an experience—he knew no name for it. In a measure he was himself just as Ingolf was. But his self was volatile and difficult to grasp. It died away in grief and gladness, as though it were a part of them.