XI
The winter was nearing its end. After Goi came Enemaaned, and then, in the midst of spring, a fine Thursday ushered in Harpe, the first month of summer.
On the first summer day there was held in this part of the land a great sacrificial feast at Gaulum, which lasted three days and nights. On that occasion there assembled, at the residence of the Jarl, chiefs and yeomen from distant parts, each bringing for himself some food and a large quantity of beer. Especially was it obligatory on those who were preparing Viking expeditions for the summer not to remain away, if they wished for honour and victory in their undertaking.
From the early morning the place began to be alive. Great crowds were seen gathering from all sides. The sun was reflected from new-polished weapons, and shone on parti-coloured shields. The house-servants were for the most part dressed in suits of grey home-spun frieze, but the peasants and their sons appeared in splendid foreign-made clothes. Red, blue, green, and parti-coloured chequered cloaks were seen in each company.
All day people continued to assemble at the house. The days passed in putting up tents, preparing for the festival, seeking out friends and acquaintances, making appointments for the summer, and settling various accounts. Atle Jarl was invisible that day. Only his closest friends, and people who sought him on important business, were taken to the room where he had hid himself, busily absorbed as he was in arranging or preparing arrangements for his own and others’ affairs.
Among those who sought him that day and had audience of him was Orn Bjornulfsson. Their conversation was quite short, and resulted in Atle Jarl sending for his eldest son, Haasten. Haasten was only for a moment in the room with his father. His brothers, Haersten and Holmsten, waited meanwhile outside. Haasten told them nothing about his conversation with his father. And when Haasten did not speak of his own accord, his brothers did not question him. Haasten, Haersten, and Holmsten went about and bade every newly arrived chief welcome. They wore splendid clothes, and carried valuable weapons and ornaments. Over his shoulders each of the brothers wore a long cloak of heavy silk—Haasten a red one, Haersten a blue one, and Holmsten a green one.
They were all three fine-looking youths, tall and well-built, fair-haired, with noble features and quiet demeanour. As they went about bidding the guests welcome, side by side, Haasten on the right and Holmsten on the left, few remembered having seen three such fine-looking fellows together. They were very popular; very many sought their friendship, but few won their confidence.
Among these few were Ingolf and Leif. Haasten made no attempt to conceal his gladness when he greeted the two cousins. Ingolf was the special object of his warm friendship. He included Leif because he was once for all inseparable from his cousin, and because in spite of everything he liked him, and silently admired him for his courage.
Walking slowly, the three brothers turned back to the place where Ingolf and Leif were superintending the erection of tents, but their fathers had already disappeared. They had found a place of honour in the hall, where individual guests were received. There they sat, tasted the brewing of the house, and compared notes on the latest news with like-minded friends.
Ingolf observed at last that Haasten especially wanted something with him that day, and accordingly arranged that they should be alone for a while. Haasten went straight to the point. “I hear, Ingolf, that you and Leif will tomorrow enter brotherhood. I have expected that some time it would come to that, but it is happening somewhat sooner than I had expected.”
Ingolf interrupted him, though he well understood that he had not finished what he had to say. He told Haasten briefly, but without concealing anything, about their journey home after their last visit to Gaulum. He hinted that Leif and he certainly were both anxious to enter into an unbreakable bond.
“You know Leif,” he concluded. “You know how imprudent he is, and how he needs protection. The shield that shall protect him will receive dints. But a shield he must have, and that shield I will be.”
“Do you think that it would be of use if Leif at the same time obtained other shields?” Haasten asked quietly. Ingolf grew a little pale, a fact which did not escape Haasten. For awhile they stood and looked into each other’s eyes. There was a strange silence between them. Both felt that now their destinies were being settled. At last Ingolf reached Haasten his hand. “Haasten, my friend,” he said in a low voice, “I hope that we will always stand side by side where the word of friendship sounds as well as where weapons speak. But I think Leif would feel a defence of shields as a prison.”
Haasten remained standing quite still with his friend’s hand in his, and looked into his eyes. Both had a troubled look. Then Haasten said quietly: “You have spoken, and it cannot well be otherwise. Let us each for himself keep a good watch on our brothers. I have a sure foreboding that it will be needed.” He gave Ingolf’s hand a final pressure and released it. Silently they returned to the tents where Leif stood engaged in friendly and cheerful conversation with Haasten’s brothers. Leif had produced the knife which Holmsten gave him, and was showing with gestures and much hilarity how he had succeeded in killing the horse.
“The belt is paid for, Holmsten,” he concluded cheerfully. “Your knife, which once should have taken my life, has saved it. If you have an ax, hew at me and make me a present of it afterwards. I need an ax; my father will not give me one. He fears I might test its usefulness a little too much. I have tried to steal one from him. But he has locked the weapons up in a chest which I cannot open.”
Leif stopped when Ingolf and Haasten came up. A hasty glance convinced him that something had taken place between the two. They were very quiet. He thrust the knife noisily into its sheath, and involuntarily straightened his body from its careless attitude. Soon after, Haasten and his brothers withdrew. Haasten went straight to his father. “Is the matter arranged?” asked Atle Jarl. “No, I have been considering it,” answered Haasten, who did not wish to give his father full information. “I fear that brotherhood with Leif Rodmarsson will cause us too many difficulties.”
“Very possibly,” answered Atle. “But Ingolf is a good fellow, and will inherit much property. His family has many friends, and will be a good support in disturbed times.”
“My friendship with the cousins is independent of their entering brotherhood.”
“Perhaps,” answered the Jarl dryly. “You are in any case master over your proceedings. My advice was only advice. May you never regret not having followed it.”
Haasten, who saw that his father was angry, did not answer, but saluted him respectfully and retired. He was depressed and filled with heavy forebodings, but tried to conceal it as much as possible.
The day began to decline. Atle Jarl had taken measures, and all the arrangements for the feast were ready. The animals destined for sacrifice were not allowed out at all that day. The fine, powerful horses which were to be offered to Odin stood stamping their hoofs impatiently in the stables. A flock of sheep, likewise meant to appease the All-Father, pressed against one another, patiently resigned to their fate, in a pen, rested their heads on each other’s backs, and chewed the cud over the last remains of the contents of their stomachs, now and then shaking their ears a little discontentedly. Plump oxen and bulls which, with one exception, should soon bleed in honour of Odin, bellowed in all kinds of tones and butted against the beams of the stalls. In an outhouse lay nine serfs and criminals with their hands tied behind them. They were to be hung in order to join the storm-god’s wild hunt. That day it was chiefly Odin who received offerings. But there was also a little diversion destined for Thor. Away in a corner of the outhouse, where the serfs waited for the rope, lay a ragged bundle. It was the serf-woman, Trude, who had been guilty of stealing, and who, as she must somehow say good-bye to life, might as well be utilized as an offering to Thor the Thunderer. When the pale twilight of the evening had drawn its light veil over the landscape, softened its sharp outlines and changed them to vague, shadowy contours, people began to gather round the temple. All their weapons they had left under guard in their tents.
The temple at Gaulum was an old chief temple built long before the house became a Jarl’s seat. The dignity of high priest had from time immemorial descended from father to son, and Atle Jarl the Slender had thus inherited it. The temple was a large and spacious edifice, built of heavy beams, with its entrance by a main-wall furnished with gables. Burning and smoking pitch-torches hung fixed in heavy iron rings on the walls, each watched by a serf. On entering, one perceived in this flickering light only indistinct images of gods who sat on their platforms behind a low partition-wall away at the opposite end of the temple. Within the wall no ordinary person ventured to tread; only the priest and his consecrated assistants, helpers in the sacrifice, might go there. The gods sat arranged in a spacious semicircle. There were several of them, both male and female. Most were splendidly dressed, some even adorned with gold rings and precious stones. But the three chief gods, Odin, Thor, and Frey, who sat in the midst of the semicircle, drew the spectator’s chief attention. In the centre was enthroned Thor—here, as in many other places in Norway, the chief object of worship. Thor sat in his thunder-chariot, to which were yoked painted goats with gilded horns. The goats were on wheels, as though on the point of drawing the chariot from its place in the chief procession at Thor’s festivals. In his right hand Thor held his short-handled hammer high uplifted. He had an awe-inspiring aspect. Straight in front of him was a thin slab of rock with a sharp upper edge, placed edgewise.
On the right of Thor sat Odin in a wagon, both larger and more magnificent than Thor’s, but without animals to draw it. Odin sat on a chair adorned with runes and sacred signs. He held a long spear in his hand, and stared threateningly with his one eye.
On the left of Thor sat Frey. His platform was a great stone, covered with a parti-coloured carpet. In contrast to the other gods he sat naked, holding a stag’s horn, his only weapon, high in his right hand.
In the midst of the semicircular space, on a special elevation, stood a great stone basin in which the blood of the offerings was collected. In the bowl lay a rod, used to stir the blood and then to sprinkle it around. On the mound lay, besides, the Sacred Bracelet, a heavy, open circlet of gold, inscribed with sacred signs, on which all oaths were taken.
When the people had assembled in the temple, Atle Jarl the Slender entered, followed by his assistants. He wore white clothes with red borders. His assistants were also dressed in white.
When Atle Jarl entered, carrying a broad-bladed, long-handled ax over his shoulder, taller by head and shoulders than most of those present, thin and erect like the branch-lopped stem of a fir, he caused a gasp in many a young breast, and even old, hardened Vikings felt a slight shudder in their backs. This man stood at that moment in covenant with the gods. They were brought into touch with the Unknowable. There was a death-like silence in the temple.
Atle Jarl walked with dignity between the thick-packed masses of men on both sides. At the partition-wall his assistants remained standing for a while; only the priest could go within. He placed the ax on the mound where the basin stood. He saluted the three chief gods with a slow and solemn bending of the knee before each, and then included the other gods in one. Then he went back muttering secret words, took the sacrificial bracelet from its place, and drew it on his right arm, seized the ax with his left hand, and raised his right arm in command. That was a signal to the door-guard.
The most splendid of all the sacrificial animals, a coal-black ox with shining head and large, crooked horns, was brought in by serfs, and led to the partition-wall by other serfs, chosen as sacrificial helpers, and consecrated to the service. At the same time two of the priest’s assistants came forward, lifted the bowl from the mound, and placed it a little way off. The ox resisted violently when led in, and uttered angry bellowings. It foamed with frenzy, and showed the whites of its eyes.
Atle Jarl stood with his left foot advanced and his ax lifted in both hands. At the instant the ox was placed in the proper spot the ax fell with a powerful and practised aim on its neck. The beast gave a bellow and sank on its knees. Immediately the serfs stood over it with long knives. A stab in the neck and a cut between the neck arteries, and then down with it to the basin, so that the precious sacrificial blood should not be spilt. Meanwhile, one of the assistants kept stirring the blood in the bowl with a rod so that it should not coagulate.
When the last drop of blood had been drawn off in the bowl, the assistants raised the dead body by a rope and carried it beyond the partition-wall. There it was received by other serfs, who carried it outside and immediately set to work to skin it.
Other animals were now brought forward. One by one they were killed, and their blood emptied into the bowl. But their bodies were not carried out afterwards, like the ox’s. They were thrown on one side, and left to wait till the sacrifices were over.
A speckled bull was offered to Frey. All the other animals were offerings to Odin, the god of battle, so that he should give success and victory to the Viking expeditions which would take place in the summer.
Last came Thor’s only offering—the serf-woman, Trude, was brought forward. A pair of serfs dragged her to the wall, where two assistants received her and stripped her rags from her body. The crowd waited breathlessly. But not a groan or a gasp came from the serf-woman, Trude. She was dragged by her hair before the Hammer-wielder, lifted up, and laid with the small of her back crosswise over the sharp edge of the stone altar. Then Atle Jarl made the sign of the hammer over the offering, and the serfs pressed her down. A scream of unspeakable terror tore through the air, and died away in a blood-curdling low, quivering wail. With broken back the serf-woman, Trude, lay across Thor’s sacrificial stone.
The bowl filled to the brim was now lifted by the assistants and set on its mound again. Atle Jarl drew the sacrificial bracelet off his arm, rubbed it in the blood, and drew it on his arm again. Then he took the rod and began sprinkling the steaming blood around. First he sprinkled Odin, then Thor, then Frey, and afterwards each of the gods. Also the walls, ceiling, and floor he sprinkled with the protective sacrificial blood. When Atle Jarl had finished the ceremonies within the partition-wall, the assistants lifted the bowl, and, sprinkling the blood on the right and the left, he went out of the temple, followed by the assistants bearing the bowl. When it had been emptied of the last drop, the bowl was carried back and set in its place.
But the sacrifices were not yet over. Odin’s chariot was now drawn out of the temple, and two splendid white horses were yoked to it. Then a serf came forward, chosen for his stature for the part, and was dressed in the ox’s skin, with the horns and hoofs hanging down and the tinkling bells attached to it.
The procession to Odin’s grove was arranged, with Atle Jarl at the head bearing the bloody ax over his shoulder. After him came the serf with the ox-skin and bells. Then came Odin in his car drawn by white horses and surrounded by white-robed assistants. The rear of the procession was brought up by the crowd. Silently, the creaking of the car and the tinkling bells being the only sounds audible in the bright night, the procession went forward to Odin’s grove. There were waiting already the nine serfs and the criminals, who, by being strung up as sport for the winds, should appease the storm-god, each tied to his death tree.
Odin’s car was driven forward to an open space, surrounded by sharp stones. Only the priest and his consecrated helpers ventured to enter the ring of stones. When Odin’s car was brought to the place, and the crowd had arranged themselves, the assistants went, two by two, to the waiting victims. One fixed the cord and made sure that both it and the branch were strong, the other loosed the victim’s bonds. One of the serfs wailed and begged for his life. He met only contemptuous glances, and was kicked and thumped by the assistants. As he would not be quiet, they forced a stone in between his jaws.
When Atle Jarl saw that his assistants had finished their preparations he gave a sign. At the same instant the victims were strung up all together. Just before they had ceased their struggles a whistling sound came through the wood. A gust of wind imparted a swinging motion to the dangling bodies. A thrill of satisfaction mingled with awe went through the hearts of those assembled. Odin had accepted the offering. Slowly the procession wound its way back from Odin’s grove. When they reached the temple, the dead bodies of the sacrificed animals had already been carried away by serfs, to be flayed and divided. The body of the serf-woman, Trude, had also been removed. It had been sunk in the holy well by the gable-end of the temple. This was not the first victim it had swallowed.
Odin was drawn to his place on the right hand of Thor. Atle Jarl took the sacrificial bracelet off his arm and laid it on the mound by the side of the bowl. This concluded the first part of the sacrificial feast—the slaughter night. The people went to their tents and crept under their skins, to get a little sleep. The early spring day was already dawning in the east.