II
A couple of months after, the two boys were riding over the heath. It was towards evening. The day was calm with biting frost; grey storm-clouds lined the whole horizon. The blue patch of sky above the heath grew ever smaller; it seemed as though a storm was brewing. Banks of clouds were already threatening to swallow the pale moon. The sun seemed stranded on golden mountains of cloud in the west. The two cousins were returning from a visit to their friends and comrades, Haasten, Haersten, and Holmsten, sons of Atle Jarl at Gaulum. Holmsten, the youngest of the brothers, was the same age as Ingolf; the others were a little older.
The two cousins had come to know Atle’s sons at the great sacrificial feast of the preceding year at Gaulum, and had become friends with them. On Leif’s side the friendship was not very warm.
During the last year they had visited each other regularly. And since there was still no sign of disturbance in that part of the country, they had obtained leave to journey to Gaulum again this winter. But they had been obliged to promise to exercise caution, to follow the main roads, to return home quickly on the least sign of trouble, and, finally, to conduct themselves circumspectly, and to remember whose offspring they were if anything happened. They had naturally promised all that had been demanded, Ingolf with the firm resolve to keep his word.
They had not had any occasion to break their promises until today, when Leif had induced Ingolf to make a short cut across the heath. He had twitted him with want of courage till Ingolf, in a mixture of anger and love of adventure, consented. Leif, who was always the most eager for an expedition, was, on the other hand, most quickly and completely seized by homesickness. In the morning he had felt that he must see Helga before evening.
And now they were riding here at a furious gallop. The long, wide, red cloaks, fastened by silver buckles on their breasts, fluttered behind them. So did as much of Leif’s red and Ingolf’s bright yellow locks as were not confined by their helmet-shaped caps.
Leif rode at haphazard and carelessly, satisfied with things in general, without thought for anything but the exciting present. He rode with arms, legs, and his whole body.
Ingolf, who sat as though of a piece with his horse, and moving neither arm nor foot, glanced at him sideways, and a faint smile passed over his firm mouth.
“You ride like a fluttering chicken, Leif!” he shouted to him as they rode on. Leif looked quickly at him and was not at a loss for an answer. “And you sit your horse like an old idol, cousin!”
The horses’ frost-powdered heads stretched forward as they ran. Yellow flakes of foam flew now and then from their mouths; their warm breath rose like clouds of vapour from the quivering nostrils. The snow and the splinters of ice which they kicked up flew about the ears of the riders. Leif enjoyed travelling without restraint, and his delight found vent now and then in a ringing shout. Ingolf, on the other hand, rode in a mood of deep displeasure; but it seemed as if he could not give vent to it at once, for he, also, had become partly intoxicated with the wild ride. The rapid beat of the rough-shod hoofs against the hard, frozen snow sounded pleasantly in their ears. And the strength of the mighty muscles which were supporting them thrilled the young riders with a glorious sensation of invincibility, capacity for anything, and divine exultation which made their hearts light and filled their heads with blissful excitement.
The sun, preparing to glide down the golden slopes of cloud, cast long and fantastic shadows of the horses and riders over the glittering plain of snow. Leif suddenly became aware of the rushing shadows, and burst into laughter. He shouted to Ingolf, and pointed to the shadows, suddenly anxious to make Ingolf also amused at them. Ingolf must laugh also. But Leif’s mirth was too violent, too overpowering. He laughed out all the laughter that there was at once, and left nothing for Ingolf. Leif’s uncontrolled glee blocked up all the feeling of amusement in Ingolf, and directly evoked his dawning displeasure. He no longer gave himself up to the mere pleasure of riding. His fits of forgetfulness never lasted very long; thought and reason resumed their power over him.
There rode Leif, and was happy! Did he not see that a storm was brewing? Did he not know that it was impossible for them to get home that night? Did he not reflect that if a regular snowstorm came on they might easily go astray on the heath? No, he saw nothing, knew nothing, thought nothing! He simply rode and was happy. And yet it was all his own fault.
As they rode on side by side, a sullen, smouldering anger penetrated deeper and deeper into Ingolf’s mind. He had great mental stability, which is always something to hold fast to. He tried to struggle against his feelings; he would not ride here and become gradually furious with Leif. But the process in his mind had already gone so far that he was powerless to control it. What happened afterwards was in spite of his will and better conscience. Leif’s ecstasy also blew up the smouldering embers of wrath in his mind like a pair of bellows. Leif’s joyful shout caused flames to flare up within him. Why should Leif just now become so senseless, so idiotically happy? Why? Why? There were innumerable “whys?” to answer when Leif was in question. Why should Leif be always occasioning difficulties and vexations for him? Why should he be allowed to transfer all responsibility from himself to him? What was the sense of his alone having to bear inconveniences for them both just because Leif did not choose to be inconvenienced? His only fault, after all, had been that he had always been, and still was, too yielding towards Leif.
Leif, who rode there so merrily, without thinking of his broken promise or the gathering storm—did he not remember the gash from Holmsten’s knife which he carried in his coat as he rode? Did he not remember that it was solely due to Ingolf’s presence of mind and powerful grip that the knife had not been buried in him up to the handle?
Ingolf was angry now. His perception was distorted by evil powers. He only saw Leif’s weaknesses and failings, and they were many. Ingolf held a reckoning, and was angry.
Such was Leif! A child, a stupid boy! A forgetful and ungrateful beast! Not once in friendly games with Atle’s sons had he behaved properly. Although Holmsten was two years older than he, he could not endure to give place to him in any matter. Times without number they had attacked each other like fiery wolf cubs. Times without number he and Haasten had reconciled them. Each time Leif had promised it should be the last time; next time he would be careful not to let his temper run away with him. But Leif’s promises were like flying snow in a storm. Such was Leif, the great humbug, unreliable and unintelligible. Why should he, because Holmsten at parting had given him the knife he had nearly killed him with—why should he for that reason unclasp his most valuable money-belt, and with his own hands clasp it round Holmsten? Weaker characters could do that! Next time they met they would, all the same, attack each other like fiery wolf-cubs. That would certainly end some day with serious enmity between the two; and that would mean a feud with Atle’s sons. It might well happen that Leif would yet entangle him in murder and bloodshed. Some day they would certainly have to quit Dalsfjord, as their grand-fathers in their time had been obliged to quit Telemarken.
Thus Ingolf’s thoughts were forced to run on possible division of the family, murder, and exile.
Why could not Leif be content with the difficulties he had stirred up for him at Gaulum? Why further entice him into breaking the promise he had given his father to follow the main roads and to be cautious?
At first Ingolf had only been angry with himself for having let Leif seduce him into disobedience and breaking his word. But in his present condition he had no power to apportion his anger. He had to heap it all together with the blame on Leif.
The riders had slackened their pace, and rode quietly side by side, close together. But they avoided looking at each other, and did not say a word. Leif perceived that Ingolf, for some reason or other, had become very angry.
That did not surprise him. Ingolf, who was accustomed to preserve his calm on occasions when others became angry, was also wont to become angry at the strangest times. Leif searched his conscience. It was fairly uneasy, as usual, but nothing more. It was impossible to see how he had deserved Ingolf’s wrath at that moment more than at others. He had not mocked at the gods, and he had till just now been so cheerful. He felt a little irritated, and was also curious to see what had happened in Ingolf’s mind, but he had resolved that it was not worth while to irritate him by speaking. He would see if he could not, by keeping silence, charm the anger out of him. Ingolf could not well remain angry indefinitely. Still, it was a nuisance; all the pleasure of the ride was gone.
They rode on at a rapid trot, and Leif remained silent. But he was not accustomed to ride in that way. A great feeling of heaviness came over him, and quenched in its darkness all the lively sparks of his humour. But they would soon be home. He yawned till his jaws seemed to crack. Would there be a storm? He felt reckless. But what an endless way back it seemed when they approached the forest which they must go round. What sense was there in the forest lying there and barring their way to the valley? But for that, they might easily be home by bedtime. If the horses only had such long legs as their shadows on the snow possessed, they could stride over the forest. What wretched short-legged jades they were!
Yes, everything had gone wrong that evening. Nothing was as it should be. There rode Ingolf with a bee in his bonnet. One dared not even speak to him. And why had they no food with them? He felt suddenly so ravenously hungry that he actually seemed to sniff the scent of roast meat. Meat and bread and beer—hm hm! And now that he had once begun to think of food, he continued to do so. He could at last almost taste it upon his tongue. Could they not ride through the wood?
He suddenly forgot all caution and addressed Ingolf in the simplicity of his heart. “I know a path through the forest.”
It sounded quite naturally, as though he had suddenly thought of it. But for those who knew Leif, his voice was too sincere to be able to conceal a lie. Ingolf saw through him at once. So Leif was not yet content with the harm done! He looked angrily and scornfully at him. “Do you?” he answered, with an excessively quiet and indifferent air. “Then you’d better make a short cut through.”
Leif looked uncertainly at him. He knew no path through the wood; on the contrary, he had lost his way in it one summer’s day, and only with great difficulty got out of it again. It had just occurred to him that if he induced Ingolf to try the wood, they would be able to manage it.
It was only a matter of keeping the right direction, and that can always be done when there are two going together. The wood could certainly not be impassible. And to try it would at least be a change. To stay here would be tedious in the long run.
“Shall we see if we can find it?” he braced himself up to ask in a conciliatory and almost submissive tone. He dared not express his request more plainly; he was afraid that Ingolf had already seen too much.
“I’ll share in no more foolishness today,” said Ingolf coldly and decidedly.
Leif started as though struck by the lash of a whip. Ingolf’s tone kindled a flame in him like fire in dry straw. The consciousness of having lied, and the fear of its being perceived, made him sensitive and irritable beyond measure. He was seized with rage, and felt a shiver run through his whole body. Senseless evil words and terrible execrations rose in his mind, but in such rapid succession that his tongue could not utter them. With a jerk he turned his horse and rode toward the wood. He wanted to get away from Ingolf: he would show him—
Ingolf looked after him. And as he sat there and saw him ride away, his arms and legs waving all ways at once, a revulsion took place in his mind. His wrath had come to a head, and now began to subside. “There was no sense in that,” he thought, and could not recover himself after Leif’s disappearance. “I did not think to drive him so far. But surely he will have the sense to turn back!”
No, Leif did not turn back. And Ingolf, who had let slip the opportunity of calling him to return, could not yet bring himself to ride after him.
“Now we shall be separated for life,” he thought again. “That is too ridiculous. That must not happen.” He would not be separated from Leif like that. But the consciousness of his own right and Leif’s obvious wrong had still too strong a hold on him. It seemed to him impossible to turn his horse round. Yet once more he repeated to himself: “It must not happen.” But all the same he rode on. He let it happen.