Leif laughed sarcastically. "It will scarcely be a one-armed Haasten who comes out to take vengeance for Holmsten."
Ingolf looked at him. There was a troubled, but firm and quiet, look in his eye. "I should be surprised if Haasten took vengeance," Leif laughed scornfully. Ingolf rose quietly and said: "But it would be best to be on our guard against Haersten."
Ingolf took home to the chief house as many of his own and Leif's men as could be spared from the rest of their property. Moreover, he collected his friends from the surrounding district. He always had many people round him in the winter. He set guards on all the roads to secure himself against an unexpected attack, and for the rest watched events quietly.
What had happened, had happened, and could not be altered. And whose fault was it? Neither his nor his sworn brother's, it seemed to him. He made offerings to Odin and Thor, and relied on them and on the good luck of the family.
Already, on the day after his arrival, Leif had to go to bed. For a considerable time he had to keep quiet. He suffered a good deal from his wounds. They were on various parts of his body, so that it was difficult for him to find rest.
Leif was not good at keeping quiet. He was tormented by an intolerable impatience. Time after time when his wounds were on the point of healing up they opened again, because of his want of care. The fever which accompanied the wounds had a wearing effect both on his flesh and his temper. He became even more bony and thin than he had been before. Long and wasted he lay there in bed, and vexed himself over the loss of the days, of which he was unjustly deprived.
Helga nursed him patiently, and always sat by him. That was the only thing which reconciled him with this kind of existence. He could not look away from her even for a moment. Leif discovered that there was a happiness and soothing effect in the touch of Helga's hands, which he had not hitherto known. All the time he had to have her hands busy about him. Leif was not easy to manage. In vain did Helga beg and pray him to leave the bandages alone and not continually look at his wounds at the wrong time. At last she went in despair to Ingolf, and Ingolf found a means. On the same day that Helga had spoken to him, he said to Leif in his usual composed manner: "Your wounds are a long time healing, Cousin Leif. You will hardly be fit for fighting by the time Haersten attacks us." That was effectual. Ingolf knew his brother. From that day Leif lay rigidly still and did not touch the bandages. With a mighty effort he kept his mind in control and curbed his impatience. With a mysterious smile in her eyes, which Leif could not understand, Helga continued to nurse him. Leif could not make out why her eyes had suddenly become so bright. Here he lay, tortured both outwardly and inwardly. One would think that was nothing to be amused at. At last he asked her plainly, and in a rather morose tone, why she was so cheerful. Helga laughed, and promised to tell him as soon as his wounds were healed; for now that could hardly be long. Leif sighed. It seemed to him that already the time had been incomprehensively long.
At last the day came when Leif could go about on his legs again. But it was plain that he had quite got out of the habit of going with his head high and his legs down. His head was not so high aloft, and his legs tottered. He had to laugh at them. They were really silly legs—to speak plainly—miserable legs of dough. He went about laughing and waddling, and was obliged every minute to sit down and rest his legs. He had never guessed that such a simple thing as walking could become so difficult.
But one day it was difficult no longer, and Leif rapidly forgot both his sickness and his weakness.
What was Haersten about? It seemed to Leif plain that he had a claim that Haersten should come now, and quickly. Now that he was in a condition to receive him in a suitable manner, he began to long for him deeply.