Saying this he remounted and rode away.
“I was told last night by Hilda,” said Erling, “that, when we were out after the Danes, and just before the attack was made by the men of their cutter on Ulfstede, the hermit had been talking to the women in a wonderful way about war and the God whom he worships. He thinks that war is an evil thing; that to fight in self-defence—that is, in defence of home and country—is right, but that to go on viking cruise is wrong, and displeasing to God.”
“The hermit is a fool,” said Glumm bluntly.
“Nay, he is no fool,” said Erling. “When I think of these poor women, I am led to wish that continued peace were possible.”
“But it is, happily, not possible; therefore it is our business to look upon the bright side of war,” said Glumm.
“That may be thy business, Glumm, but it is my business to look upon both sides of everything. What would it avail thee to pitch and paint and gild the outside of thy longship, if no attention were given to the timbering and planking of the inside?”
“That is a different thing,” said Glumm.
“Yes, truly; yet not different in this, that it has two sides, both of which require to be looked at, if the ship is to work well. I would that I knew what the men of other lands think on this point, for the hermit says that there are nations in the south where men practise chiefly defensive warfare, and often spend years at a time without drawing the sword.”
“Right glad am I,” said Glumm, with a grim smile, “that my lot has not fallen among these.”
“Do you know,” continued Erling, “that I have more than once thought of going off on a cruise far and wide over the world to hear and see what men say and do? But something, I know not what, prevents me.”