The women who had conducted him sat upon their heels and began their song again. The rest of the village crowded the entry of the court. When they had sung for some time, the curtains of the doorway moved; Gunnar thought that he saw the outline of a shoulder, and then was positive that a hand was at the opening. He could not answer for it, but he fancied that he was being looked at.
In the meantime the crowd began to draw away from him and to form two companies, one on each side. He found himself standing alone, and looking presently round, saw an old bearded man coming towards him with a long bare knife in his hand. He had glittering eyes and a determined expression. "This old man is going to shed blood," said Gunnar to himself. "He chooses for mine, but there are two parties to a bargaining of that sort."
The old man, being now beside him, produced from the bosom of his gown a coil of cord. "He will truss me like a fowl," said Gunnar; then he greeted the man fairly, giving him the time of day.
"You are welcome," said the old man. "It is the hour of the evening sacrifice."
"Is that so?" Gunnar answered. "I hope you don't take me for your offering. I have not escaped one kind of death to fall into another."
"Frey must be contented," said the old man.
"He shall be," Gunnar said; "I will give him my cloak."
He opened his pack, and brought out the famous cloak. Shaking out the folds of it, he put it on and displayed it. The assembly murmured applause; even the old knifer was moved.
"I have brought this cloak as a gift for Frey," said Gunnar. "Set open the temple; let him show himself and he shall have it. It will last him longer than a blood-offering, which is a beastly thing not at all suitable to a great God. In my country we serve Frey—or we did once upon a time—but not with men's blood. Oxen and sheep are pleasing to him; dogs also and hens. But he has other uses for men."
The old man was fingering the cloak. The gold work on the back was a delight and wonder to him.