CHAPTER XII THE WINTER FEASTS
The custom of the winter, when no man could work, was to make merry with what you had gained in the summer. Men killed pigs and sheep, and drank their mead out of horns. This was the time for skalds and story-tellers.
But the village where Gunnar was now settled was a holy village, because of Frey's house. It was proper that no feast should be held unless Frey were present at it. He was carried from homestead to homestead; and where he was there was Sigrid his wife, and there now was Gunnar also. Those three always sat on the dais with the giver of the feast, and when the tables were ready they had the chief seats. Sigrid was waited upon as if she had been a man, and great respect was shown her, which she sullenly received. Once she had told Gunnar that she disliked being noticed. She had said that she had been happiest in her days when she was keeping pigs in the forest; and he had said that he understood that very well. Now he put that down as the reason why she had a hang-dog look at these merry-makings, ate little, drank less, said little and laughed not at all. When the drinking began she always left the hall and sat with the women in the bower. Frey was left—and then it was that Gunnar in his cups used to take liberties with Frey—to clap a clout over one of his eyes, or stick an apple on a spike of his crown. He was wary how he played these tricks, for in some company it would have been taken very ill; but in some, and when men were far disguised in drink, his japes went well enough, and gave him satisfaction.
He was by now entirely out of conceit with Frey. That a god should be throned in the world he sincerely believed—and could swear to a hundred or more; but that one should be caged in a painted block he did not believe. As for his marriage, that made the hairs on his back bristle, and his neck to swell. A good deal of talk went on when Sigrid was gone with the women. He listened to it and raged, but outwardly he was still, and found nothing to say. The people expected—or some of them—that Sigrid would bring Frey a child. Some said that she had miscarried; none thought it unlikely. Things were said and tales were told of Frey which amazed him while they made him angry. "At this rate," he said to himself, "I shall be an atheist or a Christian. Would that King Olaf could hear me say so. He would countermand his rope and make me one of his household."
Then he found out that it interested him more to hear tales of Sigrid than it disgusted him; and he said to himself then, "Frey and I shall be fighting for Sigrid one of these days. I learn that I am in love with her." But he knew that it would be a shame to tell her so, and resolved that she should learn nothing about it.
There was never a merrier winter in that village, and never a man more beloved than Gunnar was. He was no skald, but his tales were without end, and so were his jokes. He had had his share of travel, and now they had their portion in it. He told them of Micklegarth and of the great King of the Greeks. He said that there was a temple there dedicated to divine wisdom, which was a paragon and wonder of the world. The King did sacrifice there every day to his god—and there was nothing in the temple less precious than gold. He spoke of that other Garth in the North, a Russian city, which was envious of the Greek kingdom, and wishful to rival it. Then of Frey's worship he had something to say. In Iceland he said Frey was worshipped, and there had been a priest of his there called Ravenkeld, who had not only built a house for him with five or six images of Frey set round in a circle, but had had a famous stallion which he shared with the god. No one but Ravenkeld or Frey might ride this horse, which also had a stud of twelve mares for his own use and pleasure. Ravenkeld had made a vow that he would have the life of any man who should ride the horse; and he kept it though it cost him all that he had. For once there came to him a certain man called Thoreir, wishful to serve him. Ravenkeld made a shepherd of him, and set him also to keep guard over Frey's horse and his mares, warning him of the vow he had made. Then on a day thirty sheep were lost and Thoreir must ride far to find them. Never a mare of the twelve could he come near, but Frey's horse stood; so he saddled him and rode him all day. Ravenkeld came to know about it and went out to find Thoreir, who was lying on the stone wall, counting his sheep over. "How came you to ride my horse," said Ravenkeld, "when I warned you to ride any other but him?" Thoreir told him how it was. Then Ravenkeld said, "I am sorry, but we make vows one day and find them heavy another." Then he drove his spear through his back and slew him. He paid for doing that, for he was outlawed by Thoreir's kindred at the Thing, and they came upon him unawares, and pierced his legs at the tendons of the knees and hung him up by them for a day. When they came to take him down the blood was in his eyes and he was as near dead as might be. Then they banished him with hardly any money or goods; but yet he prospered and got his own back again. But when he was restored to his ease and wealth he said that he had no opinion of Frey at all, and would have no more to do with him. He broke up the images and turned the god's house into a byre for his cows, and had no religion thereafter that ever Gunnar heard tell of. "And that," he said, "is the way of men. They make a god first and unmake him afterwards—and all that is foolishness."
But they said, "How can that be when we know very well what Frey here does for us, sending the rain in proper time upon the earth?"
"Now tell me this," said Gunnar; "do you pray to Frey for rain when the wind is in the east?"