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.