Chapter IV: Book I: I (4)

They arrived at the place at the same time as Atle Jarl, who as high priest was to conduct the proceedings. Atle Jarl, generally a mild and amiable man, wore his severest expression that day. He had the sacrificial bracelet on his arm and a spear in his hand. A serf followed him bearing two turf-cutters and two bright, sharp-pointed knives. The people had gathered round a circular space, marked out with wooden pegs. They readily made way for the two cousins and Atle Jarl. When they reached the place marked out, Atle Jarl curtly bade the two future brothers take off their shoes and stockings and step into the ring. While they were doing so, he himself stepped into the ring, and with his spear marked off a semicircle within it. Then Ingolf and Leif each received his turf-cutter with orders to begin, each on his own side of the semicircle, and cut a turf loose, taking care, however, that both its ends remained firm. The turf that was to be cut loose was to remain a living part of the ground. Ingolf was set to cut on the outside of the semicircle, Leif on the inside. They each dropped on one knee, stuck their turf-cutters into the ground, and began to cut. Their task was to cut a solid piece of turf which would hold fast when it was raised. Ingolf cut with an even, straight stroke; he was quiet and undisturbed by the people standing and looking at him. Leif, on the other hand, was nervous. He began cutting with all his might; his edge became bent and uneven, and sweat was pouring from him before he had got half through. When the spectators saw their different ways of working, they smiled and winked at each other.

Orn and Rodmar stood just outside the ring. Orn did not look happy, but he concealed his displeasure under a mask of indifference. Rodmar stood and looked angrily at Leif. He could hardly restrain himself from shouting to him and correcting him. He saw, however, clearly that it would only make bad worse, and controlled himself. But he leant towards Orn and whispered as though making an excuse. "Ingolf will need all his quiet and strength before he can get Leif tamed."

"He cannot be tamed," answered Orn in a low tone, but with emphasis in his voice. "A horse with the staggers cannot be broken in; it is a useless animal, and brings ill-luck."

"He is my son," answered Rodmar, who always found fault with Leif but could not bear others doing so. "You judge him too severely."

"He is your son and my kinsman," Orn whispered back sombrely, "otherwise this ratification of brotherhood would not have taken place--at least as long as I had a breath left in my body."

Ingolf and Leif had now cut loose the piece of turf, and went together to lift it. They raised it carefully till it stood straight up and formed an arch. Then Atle Jarl stepped in and placed his spear in the middle of the arch to hold the turf up. He himself stood and supported the spear while Ingolf and Leif cut loose an oblong turf under the arch. Their blood was not to run on the greensward, but was to mingle on the bare earth. When they had finished they gave up their turf-cutters, and at Atle Jarl's command stepped in under the turf arch, each on his own side of the spear-shaft. Atle Jarl now dictated the oath, and they vowed mutual brotherhood, each with his right hand on the sacred bracelet. When the oath had been taken, serfs came with knives. Atle Jarl received the knives and handed them to the newly-sworn brothers, with the command to confirm the brotherhood they had just inaugurated by letting their blood flow jointly on the sacred earth. Atle Jarl showed them briefly where they should pierce their calves with the knives.

Ingolf and Leif both did so at the same moment. Ingolf thrust his knife-point well in and cut a deep gash. Leif put his knife right through so that the point projected a couple of inches on the other side of his calf. He had difficulty in drawing it out again. The blood ran down in red streams. The spectators felt a strange shuddering thrill at seeing how it oozed out from under the naked soles of their feet. Leif watched the course of his blood attentively as it approached Ingolf's on the brown scar of earth between them. As it seemed to him to go too slowly, he stooped down, directed the streams of blood with the point of his knife, and stirred the blood and earth round between him and Ingolf. A laugh then rang out in the air from hundreds of throats. Even Orn smiled, though against his will, and Atle Jarl's eyes assumed a milder expression.

Leif looked hastily up and straightened himself with a jerk. He looked round, a little astonished, and his eyes rested on Ingolf. A very pleasant smile lay on Ingolf's face, and there was a moist glimmer in his eyes.

Atle Jarl now proclaimed that Ingolf Arnarson and Leif Rodmarsson had entered into legal brotherhood, and named the witnesses. With that the solemn ceremony was at an end. The grass-turfs were carefully laid down again in order that they might grow firm and be incorporated with the earth's life.

Ingolf and Leif were now joined together by the strongest bonds that exist--the blood-tie between brothers, the most sacred and inviolable of all blood and family ties. The earth by which they had been formed in different mothers' wombs had now drunk their blood mingled, and had at the same time given them new birth, since they had passed together under the turf arch, a part of earth's living frame. The earth knew now, and had recognized their covenant--a covenant no power could break. The sons of Atle were the first who approached to tender their good wishes on the occasion.

Haasten pressed Ingolf's hand and whispered confidentially: "You have in Leif made a brother who at any time and without hesitation will give his blood for you to the last drop. Keep always a watchful eye on him, for his mind is as easily moved as a willow, but it has also the willow's toughness."

Holmsten handed over to Leif a broad-bladed, long-shafted battle-ax with a handle inlaid with gold, a splendid weapon, which made Leif colour with joy. "Here is an ax for you, friend Leif," he said cheerfully. "Swing it bravely, but take care that you do not absent-mindedly come to cleave your friends' heads with it!"

Leif was moved to tears. He kissed Holmsten for the ax. Leif and Holmsten's friendship lasted for whole days, to the great joy and relief of Ingolf and Haasten. They had never before been able to keep the peace for even a few hours at a time. Ingolf began to believe that the costly gifts which had been exchanged between Holmsten and Leif must have some special significance. He felt unusually cheerful in spirits that day. Leif also felt a peace and sense of security which was strange to him. It was as though the responsibility which he had assumed in entering into brotherhood evoked his manhood. He seemed to have suddenly grown adult. His mind had found an equilibrium, which acted beneficially, and was plainly traceable in his bearing.

Evening came, and the second night of the sacrificial feast was about to commence. As people began to go to the temple, Leif said to Ingolf: "I shall not go. I shall remain at home in the tent."

"Very well, I won't go either," said Ingolf, and tried to appear as though it were a matter of indifference to him.

But Leif would not hear of that. "Those who know me will not be surprised that I remain away," he said. "It is another matter with you. If you won't go alone, you will oblige me to go with you, and I don't much like going there."

At last Ingolf went alone. When he entered the temple the people were already assembled with great jubilation and much noise. On the floor there was burning a fire from one end of the temple to the other outside the partition-wall. This fire, named Langildene ("the long fires"), could be crossed at various points, though only by going through the lambent flames. Over it hung great cauldrons, whence the fumes of the meat of the sacrifices filled the air with vapour and smoke tempting to hungry stomachs.

Tables and benches were arranged on both sides of the fire. It was some time before each man had his horn. Then Atle Jarl rose, consecrated the drinking, and proposed the toast in honour of Odin. It was a toast for Victory and Might, and everyone had to empty his horn to the bottom. Some made the sign of the hammer over the horn of mead. They were those who trusted in their own power and might. They consecrated their drinking to Thor. Now other serfs entered, bearing great dishes. They fished the meat out of the cauldrons with hooks, filled the dishes, and bore them round. Then began a festive battle for the best morsels, with shouting and laughter which shook the temple.

Women now entered, lifted the gods down from their platforms, took off their dresses, and began to rub them with the fat of the sacrificial animals. This was a very solemn ceremony.

When the guests had appeased their first hunger, full horns stood again before them. Atle Jarl blessed the drinking, and they all emptied their horns in honour of Thor. Then they ate again, but now quietly and deliberately. The dishes were emptied and filled anew. There was no scarcity of food or of beer.

They drank horns to Njord and to Frey for peace and fertility. They drank a horn to Brage, with which they pledged solemn vows. Last of all, Atle Jarl rose, always steady on his legs and firm in his voice (he had tasted mead before), blessed the drinking, and proposed a toast in memory of their deceased kinsmen. That toast used not to be very widely observed--by that time many lay under the table. Others had gone outside, and the rows of the feasters grew thinner.

When Ingolf had gone to the temple, Leif's newly found mental equilibrium suddenly forsook him. He was overcome by a feeling of disquiet, strong and not to be shaken off--a fit of impatience which rankled in his breast, and made him perspire and feel unwell. Something must be done, he knew not what, until it suddenly became clear to him that he could not do without Helga any longer. He ran home to the house and got hold of a serf, whom he sent with a message to Ingolf. Then he took a bridle in his hands and a saddle over his shoulders and went off to find his horse. There was a strange feverishness in all his proceedings, but he was cheerful and light of heart, as was always the case when he had overcome uncertainty and betaken himself to action. He found his horse, caught and saddled it, and went straight homewards at full gallop. He dared not think at all, for it was plain to him that it would be too long before he could see Helga, and the thought made his heart sick. A feeling of longing was on him, a longing of the strong kind, which grows in force if one gives way to it. His rapid riding gave him relief, and released him from thinking. He entered into a strange relation with the paths he rode by, and every stone and bush which he passed on the way. A pasture which he went by reminded him of the horse, and he dismounted, took off the saddle and bridle, and lay down. The horse rolled on its back awhile, then rose and began grazing eagerly. This haste seemed to quiet Leif's longing, and he lay comfortably there. He allowed the horse to still its sharpest pangs of hunger, but soon his patience was over, exhausted and vanished. He saddled the horse again and went off at full gallop. Daylight came, and he was forced to stop and let the horse breathe and graze a little. This time Leif could not lie still, while it was grazing. He sat a little, walked a little, and was restless. Long before the proper time he saddled the horse again, but before mounting this time he patted its neck and head, scratched it behind the ear, and spoke kindly to it: "If you hold out, I will remember you as long as we both live!"

So it carried him forward again, over hill and dale, over smooth, grassy plains and stony tracts, over clear streams and roaring rivers. The horse's clattering hoofs awoke in the air alternately falling and rising echoes. So the incredible was accomplished, and the length of the way slowly overcome. One morning at sunrise Leif arrived home. Helga stood outside the house as though she had expected him, and the world seemed new.

"It is you, Leif," said Helga, and did not conceal her gladness. Leif had already sprung from his horse. He ran to her and flung his arms around her. "Helga," he said, and kissed her. "I _had_ to come home all at once." Helga laughed.

"I dreamt of you last night," she said, and kissed him. "_That_ was what I dreamt."

"What?" asked Leif.

"That I kissed you."

And she kissed him again. That was a happy day.