“Because there is rumour of war; I’m sure that is neither strange nor new to you, mother.”
“Truly no; and well do I know that where war is, there my husband and my son will be found.”
Herfrida said this with a feeling of pride, for, like most of the women of that time and country, she esteemed most highly the men who were boldest and could use their weapons best.
“’Twere well if we were less noted in that way, and more given to peace,” said Erling half-jestingly. “For my own part, I have no liking for war, but you women will be for ever egging us on!”
Herfrida laughed. She was well aware of what she was pleased to term her son’s weakness, namely, an idea that he loved peace, while he was constantly proving to the world that he was just cut out for war. Had he ever shown a spark of cowardice she would have regarded those speeches of his with much anxiety, but as it was she only laughed at them.
“Erling, my boy,” she said suddenly, as her eye fell on the axe at his side,—“what terrible weapon is this? Surely thou must have purchased Thor’s hammer. Can ye wield such a thing?”
“I hope so, mother,” said Erling curtly; “if not, I shall soon be in Valhalla’s halls.”
“What are these rumours of war that are abroad just now?” asked Herfrida.
Erling replied by giving his mother an account of King Harald’s recent deeds, and told her of the calling of the Thing, and of the appearance of the Danish vikings off the coast.
“May good spirits attend thee, my son!” she said, kissing the youth’s forehead fervently, as a natural gush of tenderness and womanly anxiety filled her breast for a moment. But the feeling passed away as quickly as it came; for women who are born and nurtured in warlike times become accustomed and comparatively indifferent to danger, whether it threatens themselves or those most dear to them.