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.