XII
Ingolf sent his men to search for the Irish serfs.
As the boats were gone, there was reason to suppose that they had sought flight by sea. And as they knew Ingolf was in the east, it was likely they had rowed farther westward along the coast.
Ingolf’s men searched the coast westward for many days’ journey. They saw nothing of the serfs anywhere—not even a sign that they had landed. And even if they had been drowned, their bodies must have been cast ashore. Neither did they find the pillars of Ingolf’s high-seat, which they were also looking for.
When they returned home and told Ingolf that they had neither found the serfs nor the pillars, he said in his quiet way: “The pillars shall be found and the serfs too, if I have to search the whole country.” Ingolf sent Vifel with fifteen men in a boat out to the islands, which from the mountains near the point were visible in the south-west.
There Vifel found the Irish serfs. They were living in caves scattered about on the largest of the islands. When they found that they were discovered, panic seized them, and they did not even try to offer resistance. When they saw Ingolf’s men coming over the island they scattered in wild confusion. Some of them were cut down while flying; others, among whom was Duftak, flung themselves down from the cliffs and promontories and perished.
The women, whom the serfs had taken with them out to the islands, and the most obstinate of whom were still kept bound, were able to tell how Hjor-Leif and their husbands had been murdered. They spoke coolly and calmly of the matter. They had forgotten how to weep and how to rejoice.
Vifel buried the serfs on the edge of the shore, where the ground is dry at ebb and covered at full tide, as criminals should be buried.
Then he searched each creek and promontory in vain. The pillars had not drifted to shore there. Afterwards he distributed his men in three boats with the women and the valuables which the serfs had stolen and taken with them to the islands, among them Hjor-Leif’s costly sword. Ever since then the islands have been called the Westman Islands after the Irish serfs.
Ingolf met the boats down on the shore. Vifel told him of the death of the serfs, recounted the women’s narrative of Hjor-Leif’s murder, and handed him the sword.
Ingolf took it cautiously. He remembered the story about Hjor-Leif’s fight with the dead man, who was reported to have said that a charm attached to the sword whereby everyone who killed with it should himself die by it. Ingolf had comforted himself with the thought that so long as Hjor-Leif had not killed anyone with the sword there was no danger for him from it. Now, however, Hjor-Leif had been slain by it. Perhaps the saying meant that whoever possessed that sword should perish by it. At any rate he would not have it. Sorcery was not to be trifled with. Ingolf went straight to Hjor-Leif’s grave with the sword and stuck it in the earth so that the golden handle projected from the black mould. It was the only thing left by his brother which he was unwilling to receive.
There was no danger of anyone taking it there. His men kept at a distance from Hjor-Leif’s grave. They asserted that he walked again, and believed that Helga met the dead man when she went up there at night, as she often did.
Ingolf did not share their superstition in that respect. But, on the other hand, he well understood how Helga’s appearance might give rise to such thoughts in his men. She looked more like a dead man’s bride than a young living woman. Her fair hair had become white, and hung dishevelled about her head. The light of her glance was quenched, and the skin that stretched over her wan, emaciated face was grey and without brightness or colour. The only signs of life she gave were eating and breathing. She carefully took charge of Thorsten, with a peculiar absent tenderness, since Hallveig had now a little girl to watch over. She did nothing else.
That summer and the following winter Ingolf remained by Hjor-Leif’s point. The next spring he departed and went farther westward. He stopped at a river whose mouth formed a comparatively safe harbour. Good landing-places were generally scarce on these shores. Thither he had his ships brought. Some way inland, west of the river, he built winter dwellings under a hill, which was named Ingolf’s Hill. In the summer, as always, he had his men out to search for the pillars. When they came back they were able to inform him that they had reached a great promontory. North of the mountains there was a broad fjord.
In the winter, Ingolf sent Vifel and Karle to search the coast-line north of the hills. Out on a barren promontory in a creek, which because of some warm, densely smoking springs in the neighbourhood received the name “Rogvig” (“smoke-creek”), Vifel and Karle at last found the pillars. They had drifted ashore just below a little rounded height. On the height there sat an eagle. It did not move when Vifel and Karle approached. It sat there still when they went away, after having secured the pillars. Vifel and Karle were much afraid of the eagle. Only once before had they been equally afraid—that was when the brazen voice from the monks’ house had cast them to the ground. Vifel and Karle went back and informed Ingolf of their find. Then Ingolf was glad. Now he knew where he should dwell. Now he caught a glimpse of meaning again in his life. He immediately arranged a great sacrificial feast, and made sacrifices to Odin and Thor and gave them thank-offerings.
When he heard about the eagle he became thoughtful. Neither he nor anyone else believed that the eagle’s having sat there was accidental. There was in Ingolf’s mind not the least doubt that the eagle had really been his old father, who, in a shape corresponding to his name, had been sent by Odin to guide and keep watch over the pillars.
Never again was an eagle seen on that height, which received the name “Orn’s Height.”
As soon as spring came, and the roads were passable, Ingolf left Ingolf’s Hill and went over to Rogvig. The place where Ingolf’s pillars had drifted ashore was a large, bare promontory. The district was stony, and there was not much pasture-land. By far the greatest number of the parts he had traversed had been better and more suitable for settling. But here it was his lot to dwell. And, besides, he could take possession of as large a territory as he chose, and build houses for his people and cattle-sheds where he found fertile soil.
Already that summer Ingolf began to mark out his lands. For himself and his posterity he took possession of the whole of the great promontory, from the river-mouth where his ships lay up along its curving course and across the hills to a fjord on the north side of the promontory, which was named Hvalfjord, between two rivers, which received the names of Brynjedal River and Okse River.
Many of Ingolf’s men were dissatisfied at having to settle in this unfertile region. The serf Karle, in great vexation, ran away with a serf-woman. Ingolf found them long afterwards settled inland.
Ingolf gave land to his freed serf, Vifel. He settled on Vifestofte, and Vifel’s Hill bears his name. He became a well-to-do man. The next summer Ingolf went to Norway to fetch timber for his houses. He built a residence at Rogvig, which was not at all inferior to the chief seat of the family at Dalsfjord in Norway. To the residence was attached a temple which in its size and splendid equipment did not fall far short of that at Gaulum. Ingolf was faithful to his gods and showed them great honour. Since they had given him a new place of abode he felt confidently assured that he had regained their favour.
Ingolf, who daily had his sister Helga before his eyes, was often reminded of his sworn brother, Hjor-Leif. Now he understood much which he had not understood before, and caught a sight of the connection between events, which taken separately seemed accidental. He remembered the beggar’s words: “Point and blade!” Now he understood what the beggar had meant. It was owing to Hjor-Leif’s prompting that they had journeyed to Iceland. Hjor-Leif was really the first occupant, even though he had not come to settle there permanently. Fate, the blind and immovable, had been out after him prematurely. Ingolf’s heart was moved when he remembered how Hjor-Leif had grown fond of this land from the first. It was accordingly Hjor-Leif whom Iceland had first taken in its embrace. Hjor-Leif was the first who had consecrated the soil of the new land with flesh and blood. Had the gods, or perhaps the guardian spirits of the country, claimed him as a sacrifice? It was at any rate a great sacrifice. But Ingolf did not dare to find fault with the gods. Already the year after Ingolf had settled in Rogvig people began to flock to the country. They were for the most part Norwegian chieftains who could not come to terms with King Harald. Ingolf gave several of the settlers land in his territory.
Among the first settlers was Hallveig’s brother, Lopt, who was called Lopt the Old, and many of his family, which was a good and noble one.
Haasten, Atle Jarl’s son, was also among the first occupants. He had at last been obliged to leave his own lands and property and flee the country to save his life. He took some land, guided by his high-seat pillars, due east of the river which bordered Ingolf’s territory. Haasten lost his ship when landing, but his property and men were saved.
The very next winter he visited Ingolf in Rogvig. On the evening of Haasten’s coming, Ingolf sat as usual in the high-seat with his men at the table round him, a step lower. The fire burned cheerfully on the hearthstones and spread a genial and penetrating glow. The coarsely carved images of the gods on the strongly illumined age-browned pillars of the high-seat laughed broadly in the glaring light. The talk was lively around the tables, and the beer-jugs were diligently emptied and filled. Ingolf was not grudging of beer to his men. He sat with a contented look in his peaceful blue eyes and listened to their talk. He himself spoke but seldom, except when questioned.
Then suddenly there came three knocks at the door. All the talking round the tables ceased. Ingolf turned his head and gave a signal to the man at the door. The bolt was pushed to one side, and in stepped a tall, erect, fair-bearded man in a red silk cloak with a golden helmet on his head, followed by three other men.
Ingolf immediately recognized Haasten, in spite of his beard and the ageing and weary expression of his thin face. He sprang up and went to meet him. He was too much moved to speak. For a while the two former friends stood silent, pressing each other’s hands and looking each other straight in the eyes. Then they fell into each other’s arms. When, shortly after, they sat side by side in the high-seat and had drunk to each other, Ingolf said: “I did not know, Haasten, that you were on this road.”
Haasten smiled his weary, steady smile, and answered: “Yes, King Harald has driven me from the country, as I in my time drove you two brothers. Have you forgiven me that, Ingolf?”
“I have never been angered with you for it,” Ingolf answered.
They spoke together of many things, and their talk was light and untroubled. There was in Haasten’s attitude towards Ingolf the same deference that all other chieftains who came there showed the quiet, confident, simple, taciturn man, who by his example had drawn all the others to this new land. Ingolf was indeed his friend, and as such he showed him confidence, but he was also the first settler in the land, and as such he evinced for him a great and undisguised deference.
They talked of Hjor-Leif. “It happened as I fore-told,” said Haasten, and smiled sadly. “The mistletoe branch at last struck the invulnerable.”
“We all owe Odin a death,” said Ingolf quietly, and drew a deep sigh. “It is most often the survivors whose lot is the hardest.”
His look involuntarily sought the women’s dais. There sat Helga, gazing before her without expression in her eyes, with his son, Thorsten, in her lap.
Ingolf pointed out the boy to Haasten. “His name is built of Thor’s name and yours,” he said in a gentler voice. While Ingolf talked, he noticed how attentively his son’s quiet blue eyes dwelt on the high-seat pillars. Thus he had himself sat as a boy, he remembered suddenly. And now he met his son’s look. Were Thorsten’s thoughts something like his had been when he was a child?
Haasten had been sitting in silence, watching the boy. Then he said suddenly: “He must have been born soon after that winter.”
“The winter after,” Ingolf answered, a little curtly.
“He bears Thor’s name and mine,” Haasten continued thoughtfully. “May that bring him good luck!”
He was silent a short time. Then he asked: “But who is the woman?”
“My sister, Helga,” answered Ingolf quietly. The two friends sat silent a long time.
Then Haasten beckoned to the boy, and when he came he took him between his knees, and looked closely at him. “You have honest, intelligent eyes; you will be a brave man,” he said at last, and stroked his fair hair. Then he took a heavy gold ring off his arm and gave it to Thorsten.
“That is because you are in some part my name-sake,” he explained, smiling at the boy, who stood with the ring in his hand, staring alternately at gift and giver. Thorsten tried the ring on his slender arm. “It is too large,” he declared, a little offended. Then he suddenly brightened up. “But it will fit me well enough by the time father is dead, and I sit in the high-seat.”
Both Ingolf and Haasten laughed. Thorsten went to show Helga and his mother the ring. Then silence came over the two friends. Shortly after, Ingolf proposed that they should drink to their dead brother. The friends’ glances met over the rim of the drinking-horns. There were tears in their eyes.
They sat late that night and drank and talked together. They were very happy to sit side by side again. The solitude which had threatened to imprison each severally was suddenly banished. Now they had each other again, and felt the joy of friendship.
The fire burned yellow and brightly on the hearthstones. In its genial warm light the images of the gods on the carved pillars looked down as if following all that passed with slow content, and waiting, calmly wise, for what should come.
The End