Outside, the spring winds raged, while he sat within. The spring's gladness found no way to his soul. His exhausted heart could not welcome the days in its embrace and rejoice at the prospect of soon meeting Helga.
Hjor-Leif used every opportunity of bullying the serfs. He heaped on them kicks and blows whenever the fancy took him, and often without cause. He hated these serfs, who crept before him like vermin, so dog-like and abject that they did not dare to show the glances of their eyes. His fear of their combining and attacking him and his men had long ago died out of his mind to the last spark, and it seemed to him now both ridiculous and incredible that he had ever cherished such a thought. These abject animals, these crook-backed creatures! Their fault it was—all that he had had to suffer this year. And they should pay for it! To the end of their wretched days they should pay for it! Blows they should have—blows and kicks. He would fill their currish hearts with never-appeased fear. He would not kill them; they should live and suffer. In all that concerned the serfs, Hjor-Leif was implacable. He had succeeded in inspiring them with such terror that there was not a look in their eyes, nor speech in their tongue, save when they were alone and sure of not being seen or heard.
As soon as the earth was released from the frost to a spade's depth Hjor-Leif set his serfs to plough a piece of pasture-land west of the point. They had an ox to draw the plough.
And now the serfs' time had come. Duftak, who had many kicks and cuffs to avenge, had hatched a plan. The opportunity was ready to hand.
When Duftak and another serf went off in the morning with ox and plough, he gave the other serfs a signal. They had knives and clubs hidden here and there. Now these were produced and concealed in their rags. The serfs were ready.
As soon as Hjor-Leif's free men had gone into their morning meal, Duftak stabbed the ox with a knife in its neck and set out running home with the other serfs close on his heels. Breathlessly Duftak burst in to Hjor-Leif, and stammered, apparently in the greatest terror: "A bear! A bear!"
The serf's fear seemed quite genuine. Hjor-Leif seized him by the neck, shook him, and quickly learnt from him that a bear had come out of the wood and had killed the ox.
Everything happened as Duftak had foreseen. Hjor-Leif let him go, strangely enough without the usual kick, shouted to his men, and bade them follow him and look for the bear, and scatter themselves well in the thickets, so that the beast should not escape. Then he seized his ax and spear and ran.
Ah, this meant something for Hjor-Leif. His heart was again in its place, and beat gladly and quietly. The bear came as though sent by good fortune itself. His soul expanded with a great and happy sense of freedom. He sprang like a boy out of doors, and forgot in his haste to take his sword with him.