FREY AND HIS WIFE

THE
NOVELS OF MAURICE HEWLETT.

THE FOREST LOVERS.
A LOVERS' TALE.
THE QUEEN'S QUAIR.
LITTLE NOVELS OF ITALY.
RICHARD YEA-AND-NAY.
THE STOOPING LADY.
FOND ADVENTURES.
NEW CANTERBURY TALES.
HALFWAY HOUSE.
OPEN COUNTRY.
REST HARROW.
BRAZENHEAD THE GROUT.
THE FOOL ERRANT.
SPANISH JADE.

"Gunnar gave her the cloak, and she cast it over Frey's shoulder, ... while she whispered to him what it was." (Page 126.)

Frey and his Wife] [Frontispiece

FREY AND HIS
WIFE

BY

MAURICE HEWLETT

Author of "The Forest Lovers," etc.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
1917

CONTENTS

WHO AND WHAT WAS OGMUND RAVENSSON, AND WHY CALLED OGMUND DINT

CHAPTER I WHO AND WHAT WAS OGMUND RAVENSSON, AND WHY CALLED OGMUND DINT

It's hard to tell why men could not get along with Ogmund Ravensson; but so it was, and something must be said about it. He was of thrall-origin, it is true, for Raven, his father, who became very rich and lived in the North, in Skaga Firth, had been a thrall. Glum, of Thwartwater, who was better known as Battle-Glum, had owned him, and had given him his freedom. More than that, he had taken in fostership his son Ogmund, and brought him up with his own son, Wigfus, and made much of him, putting him in a fair way to gain money and renown on his own account. When Wigfus went out to Norway and took service with Earl Haakon things stood better than ever for Ogmund; for Glum was ageing and had no other young man so much in favour about him. A thrall for your father was not thought well of; but it had not so far stood in Ogmund's way with Glum, and there must have been more against him than that. Indeed, the tale says that his mother was related by blood to Battle-Glum, and that would be more than enough to cover the taint on his father.

He grew up to be a fine, broad-shouldered, portly, upstanding man, with a black beard; he had a large, flexible nose, strong eyebrows, white hands. His eyes were somewhat small and near together; grey eyes, and a cast in one of them. But what of that? Plenty men have it, and no harm done. Finally, he was a great talker, full of his reasons for or against a thing. Other men don't like that, I fancy. They don't follow the reasoning; and the better it is the less they want it. Here are some of the causes of Ogmund's lack of friends.

But Battle-Glum, who, as I say, was getting old, was averse from change. He watched him from under bushy white brows, he watched him with quick eye-blinks, and shut his lips the firmer, men used to think, for fear he might let fly a volley at the man he had bred up from a child. When the time came, and Ogmund desired to see the world, Glum furnished a ship for him and found everything. So it was that Ogmund became a shipman and began to get on. He made money, and spent money. He had a fine person, and knew it very well. He was fond of adorning it. He liked furs, and gold-work; he wore a chain round his neck, and a good ring on his forefinger. He had as yet no wife in Iceland, but his fancy ran upon a young woman of good family, of Glum's kindred and, since that was so, of the kindred of Earl Haakon, of Norway. In the meantime, he had a bondwoman in Norway, and a steading in very good land not far from the firth. She was a pretty and good girl who did her duty by him and his household there, and by her children also who were dependent upon Ogmund and what Ogmund's whim might be. Her name was Gerda; but she has little to do with the tale, which begins here with a voyage made by Ogmund some three years before the coming of King Olaf Trygvasson into Norway.

For this voyage Ogmund bought a new ship from some men in the North, and embarked a great store of merchantable goods which he had from his father Raven, as well as what his own money could furnish him forth. All this he told his foster-father Glum; and then he said, "I hope that you will take it well in me, Glum, that I ask nothing of you for this venture."

To that Glum, blinking hard, replied that there were things which any man might ask of another without reproach.

"But," said Ogmund, "I would venture what I have of my own, so that what I win may be my own without cavil."

"That's very fair," said Glum; "and what is it you expect to get out of the voyage?"

Ogmund laughed a little, and spoke lightly. "Why," he said, "I expect to get rather more than I give for everything. That is the trader's way, the chapman's way. If he has a piece of goods that breeds no profit, overboard with it. It has not earned its stowage."

Now Glum had his lips shut like a trap, and blinked fearfully. "Ah," he said, "and fame, and great report, and the lifted hands of men—what of those?"

"They are good," said Ogmund. "Of them, too, you may trust me to render account."

"Such accounts," said Glum, "are not to be made in money."

"Well," said Ogmund. And that was all he did say.

Then Glum looked at him with earnest eyes; and this time he did not blink at all. "Many a man goes abroad," he said, "who is of no greater promise than you are, so far as can be seen. Now I have it close at heart that in the voyage you make you should rather get honour than store of money. But you may have both, I believe, if you go rightly to work."

"To be sure I can," said Ogmund; and soon after this—rather late in midsummer it was—he set out from Thwartwater.

They started in fair weather, with a westerly wind which blew steady and strong. It held them all through the voyage, and when they sighted the islands which lie close together in the channel of the Hardanger Firth, it was still blowing steadily.

But it was dusk when they saw the islands, and close upon nightfall when they were threading the course between them; and the pilot whom they had aboard was strong for bringing up for the night in good anchorage, such as they could have where they were, rather than to push on and try to make the haven in the dark.

Ogmund, who was in a hurry, said, there was a moon, and they had a fair wind. Who knew how long it would hold? And suppose that in the morning it should come off the land, and keep them beating about for a week or more? He was vehemently for going, and he was master of the ship; so they went on in the dark.

That which happened might have been foreseen, and very likely was so by the pilot. In one of the narrow sounds between the islands there were long ships moored in the fairway. Before they knew it they drove into one of them amidships, cut her in half and held on their course. Whether Ogmund knew it or not—and I suppose he did—that was the way of it. The crew of the rammed ship were all in the water and most of them were saved. But none of them were saved by Ogmund's vessel. She ran on her way before the wind, and made the haven and was drawn up on to the mainland. The pilot had something to say when he had his ship laid up; the crew had something to say. There were not two opinions among them. But Ogmund took a strong line of his own at the time. He said, "The ship lay in the fairway where no ship has business to be. Every man must take care of himself first, but no man has a right to risk his life if, in so doing, he risks the lives of other men. You may take my word for it, those were no seamen on board that vessel. Why, what are we to think of men who berth themselves in the fairway, regardless of traffickers who come and go out of Bergen, so great a town? What of good Icelanders faring on the sea? Are their lives, is their property, of no account at all? No, no. We were right and they were wrong; and that is all there is to say." He went ashore in the morning and made himself busy, disposing of his merchandise.

Now the long ship which he had sunk was one of a fleet of them which sailed under the ensign of Earl Haakon himself. The master of it was a man of Iceland called Halward, who had been in Norway for many years, in the service of the Earl, and was a close friend of his. This Halward was a great man and a strong man; everybody spoke well of him and desired his good opinion.

In the morning, when he had heard the news, he went to Earl Haakon and told him about it. His men were saved; but his ship and all his gear and merchandise were at the bottom. The Earl was greatly put out, and his anger grew as he spoke. "Who and what sort of land-lice are these men? Are they thralls of Iceland upon a first adventure? Are men of worth and substance to be tossed into the water like frog-spawn? Now, Halward, you have my leave to take your due and pleasure of them. It will be a light matter for you, for you see what sort of cravens they are. Use your wit, exercise your hands upon them; I give you a free way with them."

Halward thanked the Earl and was for going out then and there to have the law of his assailants; but Wigfus, Battle-Glum's own son, was standing by, and had a word to say. It is very possible that he had an inkling whose ship it was that had been sailed so foully; but if he had he kept it to himself, and was content to plead with the Earl that things should go by the law of the land rather than by the power of Halward's arm. He urged that Halward should take amends from them, if so be that they were willing, as he had no doubt, to submit themselves to the judgment of the Earl. "At least," he said, "let Halward agree to this, that I go myself and find out what men they are, and what sort of terms may be made with them, supposing that terms may be made at all." Halward said nothing in reply to this; but the Earl considered the saying, thought it fair and reasonable, and bade Wigfus see what he could do. But he said also, "Let these men make no mistake. My plane makes thick shavings." By that he meant it to be understood that the fines he should lay would be heavy.

Wigfus betook himself to the ship where men were busy unloading the merchandise. He soon saw his foster-brother Ogmund, and greeted him fairly, asking what news of Iceland and his father. Ogmund reported all well there, and they talked a little about the Thwartwater people. Then Wigfus opened upon his matter, saying it was going to be awkward, and that Ogmund would have a difficult cause to plead.

Ogmund frowned. "How is it to be difficult?" he said. "To my mind it's as plain as daylight."

"If you had waited for daylight it had been very much better," said Wigfus, and told him what had been said that morning at the Earl's council. Then he spoke strongly about the necessity of laying it all to that lord's judgment; but, "I will do what I can for you, since you are my foster-brother; and we may not come off so badly after all."

But Ogmund was rather hot, and would not listen to reason. That is the way of men not too sure of their footing; they fan their eloquence and take fire from it. He stated his case as he viewed it, and stated it at length, and several times over. And then he said, "I know this Earl of yours so well by common report that I shall be careful to have nothing to do with his dooms and judgments. Why!" and he spread his hands wide, palms outwards, "Why! Look at this, Wigfus, that he says beforehand what he will do to me—with his talk of planing me deep and the like. And if I will not lay a case before him where he says nothing, how shall I plead at his judgment-seat when, before a word said, he avows what he will do?" He was very indignant; but by and by he said, "Mind you, I do not refuse if he speaks me fair, and keeps an open mind. No, no. I am not a hard man, far from it. So much you may tell Earl Haakon—to whom, nevertheless, I owe no allegiance; for I am not of his country, but am an Icelander, and a well-friended man in those parts."

Wigfus tossed up his chin. "Well, you shall do what seems good, and be ready to meet what befalls you. If Earl Haakon is angry, you will smart for it. You have not a rat's chance with him; and in my opinion you are talking rank nonsense. But have your own way."

Now then, Wigfus reports to the Earl that Ogmund will abide his judgment—which was not true, and was even notoriously untrue. So said one of the Earl's men who was there at the time, and Wigfus could not deny him.

Then up and spoke Halward, that mighty man, and spoke quietly as mighty men may. "I believe that Wigfus speaks untruly, and shall take my own way, by your leave, my lord. I did not need a mediator, and can do much better without him what I have to do."

Earl Haakon said, "Go on, Halward. Do what becomes thee."

Then said Wigfus, "Give me leave, my lord, to say this. I will be the death of that man who kills Ogmund, my foster-brother, and kinsman—for so he is by the mother-side."

Said Halward, "You talk over-big, Wigfus," and Wigfus said, "I come of a strong stock."

"I know that you do," said Halward; "I know that the Icelanders are good men. But I know this too, that the custom of my country will not suffer a man to be injured without amends offered or taken. Neither Battle-Glum, nor you neither, shall stay me from avenging a shame done me." And Earl Haakon said that they should not.

Then Halward went down to the shore to board the Iceland ship; but he found that she had been run down into the water since the morning, and was now moored a bowshot out. So he took boat and was rowed out to the ship. There on the poop he saw Ogmund standing with his arms folded.

"Are you the master of this ship?" says Halward. Ogmund said that he was.

"I have a case against you, as you know very well, and have come to see what sort of amends you think of offering me."

Ogmund said, "We will make amends if you don't ask too much."

Halward's neck grew red. "It would not be easy to ask too much for insolence and knavery like yours."

"On those terms," said Ogmund, "we cannot deal with you."

"That suits me better," Halward said, and made a jump for the bulwark of the ship. He swung himself up as easily as a boy into a row-boat; and the moment he was on deck, he aimed at Ogmund with the hammer-end of his axe, and felled him like a bullock. Down he went, and never stirred. Some of the shipmen who were in the forepart of the ship saw it all done; but not one of them cared to move. Halward was a very big man.

At leisure he went over the side into his boat, and was pulled ashore. Then he went to Earl Haakon and told him what he had done. "You have done well," said the Earl.

HOW OGMUND DINT DID NOTHING AND PRESENTLY SAILED HOME TO THWARTWATER; AND WHAT BATTLE-GLUM THOUGHT ABOUT IT ALL

CHAPTER II HOW OGMUND DINT DID NOTHING, AND PRESENTLY SAILED HOME TO THWARTWATER; AND WHAT BATTLE-GLUM THOUGHT ABOUT IT ALL

That was why Ogmund Ravensson was called Ogmund Dint, or Dint-head. Halward's hammer had knocked a great hollow in his skull. Men said you could have boiled an egg in it; but that is nonsense. At any rate, he was senseless for a long time, and not his own man all the winter; yet as soon as he was fit to be moved he was carried up into the country, to his house-stead, and given over to his bondwoman to nurse.

Gerda, who, although she looked as sleek as a stroked kitten, had a shrewd tongue and a clear understanding, employed both to his discomfort—but not until she felt that she was justified. So long as he lay bemused and muttering thickly she was all devotion; but when he picked up a bit, and presently would get out of bed and sit by the fire huddled in a bearskin, she did not scruple.

"You look like a shagged rock," she said, "and with a cave in the crown of it, too. Pity is that you had so little in your head. If there had been some sense or some manliness there you might have driven against the hatchet. Halward would have split it open, it's likely, and who knows what he might have eased you of? A lot of wind."

"Such talk as that maddens me," said Ogmund. "I wish you would have done with it. It becomes you not at all, and puts me out."

"That's a service I can do you," said Gerda. "You need something of the kind."

"Woman," said Ogmund, "I am meditating my revenge."

"Yes," said she, "and I have a hen sitting on a chalk egg. She's meditating also."

However, she did her duty by him, and as he got stronger she did more. As she said, "It pleases him, and is nothing to me."

Wigfus came to see him now and then, and told him what had happened. He said that Earl Haakon held Halward to have been justified in what he had done, and that Halward himself was content for the moment. "There was plenty more smiting in his axe," Halward said, "and if Ogmund wants any more he knows now how to get it, and where." Ogmund, brooding over the fire, swung his foot violently as he heard, but said nothing. He complained of pains in the head, and dreams at night. Gerda scorned him.

Wigfus went on to say that he himself had taken Halward's deed very much awry. He had challenged Halward to a battle, and intended to slay him in that wise, or otherwise, but the Earl had forbidden battle, and had had a watch set over him, so that he could not get away. He did not then say what was in his mind to say, that he expected Ogmund to take vengeance on his own account, because the man was too ill to hear it.

But in the spring, when Ogmund was about again and seemingly as well as ever he had been, except for the dint in his skull, Wigfus waited for him, to see what he would do. Ogmund went about his affairs, and had everybody in the haven laughing at him, and cracking their jokes at his dunted head. Some said that a sea-bird had made a nest for herself there, some brought eggs from the rocks to put under her. A man wished Ogmund to keep it filled with water, and promised him goldfish from his next voyage to the South. Every one called him Ogmund Dint, even the boys who played about on the quayside. But Ogmund managed to be very busy, and pretended that they were not talking of him. Whenever he met Halward in the course of business he looked sternly at him, but without greeting. He considered that the dignified way to deal with him, for the present. To his intimates he said that Halward had taken him unawares and dealt a foul blow. "But there's a time for all things," he would conclude; "and so he will learn for himself one fine day." Men looked at each other at such talk.

Wigfus was now at him, insisting upon his taking vengeance. He said he would help him in every way, risking outlawry in the act, for certainly the Earl would resent it. But Ogmund looked very thoughtful, and one day said fairly that he did not see his way. "What do you mean by that?" said Wigfus, taken aback.

"We may easily do wrong, I believe," Ogmund said, "and add wrong to wrong until you have a regular mixen of wrong at your house-door. But is that good sense? I don't think so. Now, to my thinking, I was as much in the wrong as Halward was. I am a proud man, and as quick to fire as touchwood. Everybody knows it who knows me. If I met Halward haughtily I am sure there's no wonder. We can't help our natures. We didn't make ourselves. Now that being so, what else could come of it? I ask you. The man being what he was, a common fellow, took it amiss, and struck me a foul blow in the half dusk." He rubbed his hands together, then folded his arms over his chest. "That's the way of the vile. They do vilely, and the wise man lets them be, and the proud man scorns them. But there is another thing, which settles me in my opinion, and I will tell you what it is. This man Halward is befriended by the Earl; and here are you, my friend, my kinsman, my foster-brother, in the power of the same great man. Your father is my foster-father, to whom I owe duty, gratitude, faith and service. It would be a strange way of paying Glum my scot and lot if I embroiled his son with an Earl, and got him robbed of life or member in my quarrel. No, no. My fingers itch to be at him; I lay hands on myself; I tell you I have to run sometimes lest I should fly at the dog's throat. He knows it too. You can see that by the way he looks at me—all ways at once. But I will not suffer harm to come to my fosterer's son—and there's end of it."

At this speech Wigfus grew very red, and clenched his two fists. "It is a strange way you have of doing service to Battle-Glum. And you will get no thanks from me for being more careful of my body than I am myself, If you are not mad, you are something which I don't care to name. Whatever I may think of your head with a hole in it I have little doubt about your heart. You have a hare's heart, my man—and there's no driving a hare to meet a hound. And I will trouble you to talk less about our kinship than you please to do at present. You had a father as well as a mother, and he was not of our blood. Now you may do as you please; but I should not advise you to hold these speeches with my father; and you shall hold no more of them with me."

With that he walked off, leaving Ogmund to explain to Gerda that it was no use reasoning with an angry man. "That's the way of it," he said. "You try to do a man a service, and he reviles you for it."

Gerda bit her lip; and at last she said, "You make me ashamed that I am a woman. God knows what sons you may have given me." Ogmund boxed her ears; but she said that he should give her no more sons, and she meant it.

But Ogmund, whatever else may be said about him, was a good chapman. He bustled along with his affairs, made a great deal of money, and sailed away towards midsummer, for Iceland. He came prosperously into Eyefirth, and when he had settled his business with the ship he rode by the dales into Thwartwaterdale, to stay with his foster-father Glum. Now Glum had had news of the coming of the ship, and was told something about the affray with Halward. He said very little, but thought very much. Ogmund had a short welcome, but took no notice of it. He was so prosperous, he had such a store of good clothes that he felt that all was well, when it was by no means so. He began to take a great part in the affairs of the country-side, gave it out that Glum was getting old and wanted to be quiet, that he had no one to look to but Ogmund, in short that all matters hitherto referred to Glum's arbitrament were now for his handling—and so on, and so on. He had much to say about the management of the household; in fact he strutted, and clapped his wings, and puffed out his wattles very finely.

For a long while Glum, who certainly was old, would not speak to him; but at last he did.

He then said, "You had better know what I think of you, and maybe I had better have told you sooner. I think that all this strutting and crowing becomes you sadly. You have had my name in the dust, and proved yourself a poltroon, if not worse. A man may be a craven, but if he holds himself bravely when there is nobody in the way, then he is a fool as well. Now for the disgrace you have brought upon me I desire never to see you again."

Ogmund began at once with his excuse. "But look at this," he said. "How could I bring your own son into danger on my account? What is my revenge compared to such a life as his?"

"What the mischief had you to do with that?" said Glum. "And how the mischief did it concern you, if he had no concern about it himself? Do you think all men are such rats as you are? Don't you know that I would have seen the pair of you dead with gladness if I knew that you had died like men? Vex me no more, but let me be rid of you."

Then Ogmund began to plead in earnest, but Glum would hardly listen to him. He cut him short by saying, "It comes to this, Ogmund. Either you are a man of long-mindedness and caution—and why you took such a high hand with Halward at first if you are not, that beats me—or you are a bag of silly vapour, a bladder of dry peasen. I believe myself, that you are a cur, and am forced to remind you that you come of base blood. A thrall deals like a thrall, they say—and so I say. But you shall not stay here any longer." And Ogmund must needs go. He went away to his father in the North, and there he was for two years or more.

OF KING OLAF TRYGVASSON; AND OF SIGURD HELMING AND GUNNAR, HIS BROTHER

CHAPTER III OF KING OLAF TRYGVASSON; AND OF SIGURD HELMING AND GUNNAR, HIS BROTHER

During those years, while Ogmund was faring prosperously with his father and was thinking of marrying a girl of those parts, misfortune overtook Earl Haakon, who fell out with some of his sworn friends, became suspicious of others, and at last took to his bed with a troublesome complaint, and died in it, but not of the complaint. He had a servant called Kark, whom he trusted inordinately, and used to have him to sleep in his chamber at the foot of his bed. He had bad dreams and used to throw himself about and cry out against his enemies. One night he had a very bad dream, and sat up in bed, staring at the wall and screaming, "They are coming, they are coming, they are here!" Kark sprang up in a fright and with a sword in his hand slashed about him. He slashed the Earl in the neck; and that was his death-blow. The deed was done, and by misadventure, but being done, Kark thought he might as well make profit off it. So he cut off Earl Haakon's head and put it in a bag. Then he carried it with all speed over the mountains to King Olaf Trygvasson, who he knew would be chosen King of Norway, as his right was. That was the end of the Earl, who was a great man. But his death made way for a greater.

King Olaf was still a youngish man when the Thing chose him. He may have been thirty years old, and the wife he had was his second, if not third. He was a great-grandson of King Harold Fairhair, and had been bred up in Russia, then in Vendland, which is the country round about the Vistula; then he went viking and did great things in Orkney, in Iceland and in England also. He sailed to Scilly at one time, and there he was baptized and became a Christian. The way of it was this: He heard tell of a prophet in those islands who knew everything that was going to happen, and determined to see what he could do. So he sent a fine man of his out to visit him, dressed in the best clothes that he had, rings, chains and I don't know what else. "Now," he said, "go to the prophet, and say you are a king. Ask him what he has to tell you, and report it all to me." The man went as he was bid, found the prophet and said, "Here is a king come to visit you and hear what you have to say." The prophet, who was old, and white, and had a loose, wrinkled skin and remarkable finger-nails, like a bird's claws, plucked at the roots of his beard. "You are not a king," he said, "but I advise you to be faithful to the man who is one, and sent you here. I have nothing to tell you, and if I had I should not tell it. Go away."

There was little else to do, indeed, there was nothing else. When Olaf heard the story, he said, "This is certainly a prophet. I will go to see him."

Olaf was a very noticeable man, very tall and broad, with a golden beard; he was high-coloured and had bright blue eyes. The prophet was sitting in the mouth of his cave, which he had swept out and put in order. When he saw Olaf he bowed until his head was level with his knees. Olaf sat down beside him, and they had a long conversation.

The prophet presently began to prophesy. He said, "You will become a notable king in a country which is yours, though you have never seen it. And you will be a Christian king and cause all your people to become so before the end. And in case you doubt what I say, as you may easily do, listen to this token. When you take to your ships again, all of you, there will be a plot against you, and a rising by night. Then there will be a battle—but on land; and you will lose men, and be wounded. They will carry you on a shield to your ship, and in seven days you will be well. The first thing you will do will be to seek out a bishop hereabouts, and go down into the water with him and be baptized. After you all your men will go, and that will be the beginning of Christianity in Norway and Iceland."

Now the odd thing about this tale is that it all fell out as the holy man had foreseen. That very man of the king's whom he had warned against treachery was himself the beginner of a treacherous attack. There was fierce fighting, the king sorely wounded. He was carried on a shield to the boats, and laid aboard his own long ship. There he lay for seven days, and on the seventh he was well. The first thing he did was to visit the man of God.

"You told me the truth," said Olaf; and the prophet said, "That is why I am here and living in sanctity."

Olaf said, "The least I can do is to fulfil the prophecy which has so far fulfilled itself. I will go into the water when you please."

The man of God said, "The sooner the better. You will find the bishop very ready for you."

"I will send for him," King Olaf said, "but you shall tell me something of the religion which I suppose gives you the powers you possess."

The prophet agreed to that. "It is a very good religion for a king," he said, "because it may make him humble-minded before God, which he has no reason otherwise to be—or so he is apt to think. In any event it must make his subjects so, which is very useful to the king."

"Oh, very," said Olaf, and became attentive to what the wise man had to say.

To be short about it, King Olaf was baptized and all the men with him in the long ships; and soon afterwards he sailed for Norway where, in the time of Earl Haakon's sickness, he made a landing and gathered a company about him. When the Earl was killed by Kark, his head was brought to King Olaf in a bag by the malefactor. Olaf accepted it as his due; but he hanged Kark then and there on a convenient ash-tree.

I said that the Thing chose Olaf for king; and one of the first of his acts was to proclaim that he chose Christianity for the religion of Norway, and willed that all his people should be baptized. He had brought back priests with him from Scilly, and a bishop as well, so everything was in order.

The common sort gave him no trouble, for they either ran down into the water in herds, or withdrew themselves to the mountains and forests; but some of the great men were stiff about it, and did not choose to forsake their gods. They debated about it among themselves, and sent chosen champions to debate about it with the king. But in this they had mistaken their man. King Olaf listened to one or two, and then, lifting his large hand, slammed it down upon the board in front of him. "Enough of this," he said. "It may be a good religion or a bad, but it is my own religion, and I desire it to be that of my people. See you to it, and let me have no more talk, for I am sick of it." They went away, and a good many of them were baptized, but by no means all.

There were two brothers living in a dale of Drontheim—Sigurd was the elder, and his brother was Gunnar. Both were called Helming. They were well descended, and neither of them was thirty years old, though Sigurd was near it. He was married and a friend of the King's. Gunnar was twenty-six years old, a cheerful high-coloured man with a reddish beard, though his hair was much darker, and might have been taken for black. Sigurd was a councillor, Gunnar was not, but had been to sea, and fought in Sicily, and as far as Micklegarth. When he was not voyaging he lived with his brother. The pair were great friends.

Sigurd Helming was one of those who followed Olaf's example, and went down into the water. When it was over and all his household had been made Christians, he said to Gunnar, "Now it's your turn."

Gunnar laughed. "Not for me," he said. "I will go into the water when my time comes, but that will be the end of me. I know too much about the water."

Sigurd said, "It's soon over."

"The sooner the better," said Gunnar, "when it is to be—and also, the later the better."

Sigurd said, "This is the king's religion."

"Why not?" said Gunnar.

"The king will be displeased. He loves his own way."

"We all do that, I believe," said Gunnar.

"What am I to tell him when he asks me of you?" Sigurd asked him.

"Tell him that I follow him because he is a man," said Gunnar. "Tell him that I will serve him all the better for following my own counsel in this business of religion. You will see that he understands me."

"I am sure he will not," said Sigurd, "but I will try him."

He made the best case he could, and King Olaf heard him out. When Sigurd had done he said, "Send Gunnar to me." So Gunnar went to the King's house.

King Olaf looked at him with his bright blue eyes like swords. "You are a fighting man, I hear."

Gunnar said that he was.

"And now you will fight with me."

Gunnar said, "If you go fighting, King Olaf, I will go with you, if you will have me."

"My religion says that he who is not with me is against me."

Gunnar said, "That's a good saying. But I am with you."

"Not at all," said King Olaf, "since you refuse to take my religion."

"If I were to take your religion I should be a liar," said Gunnar, "and if I were a liar I should not be worth your while. Better take me as I am."

"I will take you as you are sooner than not at all," the king said. "But I do not like a stiff-necked man."

Gunnar said, "The neck of a man is part of the back of the man. If he is too supple in the neck it is likely he will give in the back, and that at a time when stiffness may be useful."

King Olaf frowned. "Beware of talking too much. It makes me angry."

"I had much rather not talk at all," Gunnar said, "but it would be ill-mannered to be glum when a king speaks to me."

Olaf said, "Will you consult with my bishop, and hear what he has to say?"

"I will," said Gunnar, "but you must let me tell you that I am not a scholar, but a man of hands. There will be more talking. Heat will be engendered, and you will be angry again."

Olaf liked Gunnar very well, and was silent for a bit. Then he said, "You are one of the few who gainsay me; yet I don't feel badly disposed to you. I think you are a fool; but you seem to know it yourself."

"The fact is, that I do," said Gunnar. "Your bishop alarms me."

"You will find out in time that I am right and you wrong," said the king. "Be off with you, and serve me as well as you can."

"Have no fear about that," said Gunnar, and kept to his own religion, which was not, with him, a very great matter. But he did not feel at all inclined to change it because he was told to do so. King Olaf soon got over his vexation; but, as it will shortly appear, he kept it at the back of his mind.

OGMUND DINT COMES AGAIN TO NORWAY, AND MEETS GUNNAR ON THE HARD OF DRONTHEIM

CHAPTER IV OGMUND DINT COMES AGAIN TO NORWAY, AND MEETS GUNNAR ON THE HARD OF DRONTHEIM

It is time to go back to Ogmund Dint, who had now been two years and more with his father in the North. He had become something of a great man, and had impressed himself as such upon the people round about. But he was not easy in his mind, and more than once or twice he asked himself, "What am I doing, purfling here in a fine coat, when my foster-father, who is as rich as he is old, is perhaps dying in his bed without sight or memory of me, and with none of his kindred at hand either? Is this sense, is this pious? Here I am, for two years at a time, a great man, and a great fool."

At another time he would reflect like this: "That was a very dastardly deed done upon me by Halward, to take me unawares on my own shipboard and knock a great dint in my head!" He would feel the place of it: there it lay under a growth of hair as snug as a wren's nest in the roots of a tree. "A foul blow!" he would say; and "A man may carry his magnanimity too far, to overlook such a shameful thing for the sake of another man, only half akin, who moreover gives you no thanks." He shook his head. "Indeed, I let off Halward too lightly. I daresay he thinks himself a lucky fellow—and so he is, by God."

One train of thought led him into another, and he began to consider his affairs more narrowly. "It would be an easy thing, and very pertinent indeed, to carry this warfare on as it was begun. Two years, three years, is a goodish while. Halward will not be expecting such a long memory in a man who never did him any harm. But insults such as he did to me stay by a man, and the prouder the man the quicker the soil in which they root themselves. I am astonished—I am fairly astonished—that I have kept myself off him so long. There are not many men in Iceland who have themselves so firmly in hand—bitted and saddled."

In the event, without saying anything of his private mind to anybody, he gave out that he must go to Norway upon his affairs. He furnished a ship with men and goods, and towards midsummer sailed from Eyefirth, and steered East-North-East.

He had a fair wind and came into Drontheim Firth in the morning light, sailed up the firth prosperously and brought his ship to under Nith's holm. There he cast his anchor, and bade them get out a boat, though the day was spent and a cool breeze was now blowing off the land. But "I must row up the river some little way and go into the town," he said. "I have heard something of trouble in this country, and we must be sure of our footing before we go further." He dressed himself with splendour, and put over him in particular a very fine cloak of two colours. It was green on one side and golden-brown on the other. It had trimmings of sable-tails which fluttered in the breeze, and over the back of it a dragon worked in gold thread: a very magnificent cloak. He took a sword, and had two men to row him.

They came in to the hard with the last of the light. "Stay you here for me," he said, "and don't show yourselves. This is an urgent affair."

Ogmund walked on the hard, up and down, and felt himself admired of the few persons who were about. By and by he saw one coming down from the town at a brisk pace; a man of his own height, but of sparer frame than his own. He wore a crimson cloak with a hood to it, and wore the hood over his head, shadowing his face. The oncomer when he was close at hand was struck by the splendour of Ogmund's appearance. Ogmund saw that and saluted him. Gunnar Helming, for that was the man in the hood, returned it, and stopped his quick step.

"You are the master of that boat, I take it?" said Gunnar. "A stranger in this water?"

"Not so much as that," replied Ogmund. "I come now and again to see my friends here. But I am from Iceland myself. My name is Ogmund."

Gunnar looked at him. "Are you Ogmund Dint?"

Ogmund said, "Some men call me that, and others who know me better call me Ogmund Ravensson. But that matters little to me. Now what might your name be, in fair return?"

Gunnar told him—but could not keep either eyes or tongue from Ogmund's wonderful cloak. "Gunnar is my name," he said, "and some call me Gunnar Helming, and some Gunnar Half-and-Half."

"What do they call you that for?"

"Because I take pleasure in wearing clothes like that fine cloak of yours," said Gunnar.

"Oh," said Ogmund, "my cloak! It is an ordinary cloak, I believe."

"I, too, like to believe that," said Gunnar.

Then Ogmund asked him for news of the country, "since it is some years now since I was here."

Gunnar told him that they had news which they thought a good deal of. "Earl Haakon is dead, and we now have a very notable king, whose name is Olaf Trygvasson. He is a Christian, and drives all men, and women too, into the water, to make Christians also of them."

Ogmund said this was greatness; "And do the people take kindly to the water?" Gunnar said that they did.

Then Ogmund said, "And my friend Halward, how is he?"

"Oh, he!" said Gunnar. "I saw him just now."

"What, here?" says Ogmund.

"Yes," said Gunnar, "he is here sure enough. He is as good friends with King Olaf as ever he was with Earl Haakon, and yet he is not the man he was when he gave you your name."

"How is that then?" Ogmund wanted to know.

"Why," Gunnar told him, "one of the last battles fought by Haakon was at Yomswicking; and in that battle Halward got a great whang by the ear, and rather below it. It cut the sinew of his neck, and made a bad healing. The good man now carries his head on one side, and will do it until his death-day. And yet he is as well as ever he was otherwise, and in high favour with the king."

Ogmund thanked him for all this news; but saw how preoccupied Gunnar was, and how his eyes dwelt upon his cloak. "You are pleased to admire my cloak," he said. "And yet I assure you it is by no means the best I have."

"I can believe it," said Gunnar, "but for my part I have never seen one so fine since I left the great city of Micklegarth. Now if I asked you to sell it to me, Ogmund, would you take it amiss?"

Ogmund thought for a while. "I will not sell it to you," he said, "but I will ask you to accept it from me. It would be a pleasure to me to please you."

Gunnar opened his eyes. They were very bright. "Give it to me by all means," he said, "and prosper in all your undertakings! But it is too much for you to do—and I am rather ashamed."

"By no means," said Ogmund Dint, "by no manner of means. Yet if it will set your mind at ease, and as the wind blows shrewdly off the mountains, perhaps we may make an exchange. How would that suit you?"

"Excellently," said Gunnar, "but my old cloak is dross for your gold."

"It looks a serviceable garment," said Ogmund. "It will keep the weather away."

There and then they exchanged. Ogmund put on the crimson cloak, and pulled the hood up over his head; Gunnar put on his bargain and was as pleased as a boy with a new top.

"Now indeed we shall see something," said Gunnar.

"Yes, indeed," said Ogmund, and saluted him.

Gunnar went his ways with his brisk step, and Ogmund turned back to his boat. "I shan't be long gone," he said. "Stand by your oars, and be ready the moment I want you." Then he went into the town with long strides, and walked briskly, swinging one arm, as he had observed Gunnar do coming down.

OGMUND DINT SATISFIES HIMSELF, AND SAILS HOME

CHAPTER V OGMUND DINT SATISFIES HIMSELF, AND SAILS HOME

Ogmund walked briskly into the street, looking for Halward. At first he could not find him, but that was because he looked in the wrong places. Then, after a time, he turned into a lane or by-way which led to a creek, and a row of buildings facing it, with willow-trees in front of them, between them and the water. One of these buildings was an inn, and in the court of that inn there was a company of men washing their hands before supper. The tallest of them by far was Halward, and if Ogmund had not remembered him very well without it, he would have known him by the twist in his neck, which made him poke his head out like a stork when she is stretching hers forward to flack her wings. It was now dusk, and a lamp was alight in the court that men might see what they were about.

Ogmund with the hood well forward over his face stepped into the court. Before him was Halward, standing with his legs apart. He was rubbing the soap-suds into one arm with the other hand. His face and beard were wet with rinsing. He saw the entry and hailed it with a "God save thee, Gunnar"; but Ogmund laid a finger on his lip and beckoned him to come apart with an air of having a secret to tell. Having done that, he stepped out of the court until Halward should follow him.

Halward came after him with a "What's in the wind then?" Ogmund drew into a doorway, and got his sword free of his cloak. The moment Halward came within range of him he stepped out to meet him and hewed at his neck. It was Halward's death-blow. He shook and groaned thickly, and then fell. His head was nearly off.

Ogmund went away with all speed, and was not long coming to the quay where he had left his boat. He found his men waiting for him, and jumped into the boat.

"Pull with a will," he said; "we will be out of this. There's war in this country. Up the street I saw men fighting. There will be no trading here."

"What," said one of them, "are we to see nothing of the sport, master? That will be a poor tale to take home with us."

"We are here to trade, not to go to peep-shows," said Ogmund testily. "Do you do as I bid you. There is a wind coming strong off the land which will hold the night out. By morning light we shall be in the open sea. Fortunate for us that it is so."

The men did as they were bid. One of them said, "It's plain you have been in the fray. You have changed cloaks with a foe, I see, and lost by the bargain. That is bad trading for such a keen merchant."

"Pull, man, pull, and hold your tongue," said Ogmund Dint.

They reached the ship and he swung himself aboard. Then while the crew were busy hauling on the tackle he got himself a great stone from the ballast. This he rolled into the hood of Gunnar's cloak, and then cast the thing into the water. As he saw the waves lap over the hole he had made, he took a long breath.

All went well with him; as he had thought, he was out at sea by the morning. Even then his luck held, with a quarter wind which carried him to Eyefirth. People were surprised to see him; but he made a very good tale of it, and spoke at length about the sad state of things in Norway, the risks, the frays, the bloodshed in the streets, burnings, ravishings, cut throats, men hanging by the thumbs and so on. He did not forget to work into it much about the killing of Earl Haakon, and King Olaf's baptizings. After a bit he rode South to Thwartwater to see his foster-father Battle-Glum.

Glum joined his shaggy brows and blinked hard when he saw him. Ogmund said he brought him news which he would be pleased to hear. "I have avenged the insult done me by Halward the Strong, and though I have been slow about it I have done it surely. He will insult no man hereafter."

"What," said Glum, "have you slain Halward?"

"I have," said Ogmund.

"And yourself scatheless?"

"I am."

"That was a good battle then?

"It was. They were twelve to our three; but we thought little of it at the time. In hot blood such things are not memorable."

"Well," said Glum, "you have done now as I hoped it might have been at first. Did my son Wigfus help you?"

"He did not."

Glum was thoughtful. "He will be sorry not to have been in with you."

Ogmund said that he had not seen Wigfus at all, and rather thought that he was at sea; "Or he would surely have stood in with me."

"To be sure he would," said Glum.

Now Ogmund was taken into favour again, and stayed with Battle-Glum all the winter.

THE HUE-AND-CRY FOR HALWARD NECK

CHAPTER VI THE HUE-AND-CRY FOR HALWARD NECK

After a bit somebody in the inn yard said, "Let us go in to supper"; and then another, "Where is Halward, and what is he doing?"

A man said, "He is outside talking with Gunnar Helming."

Then another: "Let us have Gunnar in to sup with us. He is the best company."

They all agreed to that.

After a time of more waiting a man went out of the yard to see where Halward and Gunnar were, and came back with a serious face.

"Come out with me," he said. "Here's a bad affair."

They all tumbled out together with the lamp, and there found Halward dead in his blood. He was stiffening already.

Then, after silence, all began to talk at once. Nobody could understand the slaying, nobody could doubt who had done it, for everybody had seen Gunnar come into the yard, or the few who had not took it from the many who had. Not a word of doubt was raised about it.

As Halward was a friend of the king's certainly the king must have the news; but all hung back from the errand because all men liked Gunnar. The end of it was that, having brought the body into the yard and covered it with a carpet, they went in to supper and ate and drank thoughtfully and in silence.

While they were sitting at their drink in came Sigurd Helming to see if Gunnar was there. He asked for him and could not but notice how his question was received. Repeating it, he had no answer at all. A third time he asked it, and of one man by name. He was answered that Gunnar had been there, but had spoken to nobody.

"That is not like Gunnar," Sigurd said. "What did he do when he came in?"

"He beckoned to one of us, and went out again."

"And to which of you did he beckon?"

"It was to Halward Neck."

"And where is Halward Neck?"

Then there was a silence, and after that another man, very red in the face and with gleaming eyes, spoke between his teeth.

"I will show you where Halward Neck is," he said. "Come with me." He led him out into the yard, while the rest crowded at the door.

He showed him the dead man; he held the lamp close to his face.

"Who did this?" said Sigurd. Then, beginning with a low murmur, all voices rose and the name of Gunnar was cried in his ears. Sigurd lifted his head, and all were silent.

"I don't believe it," he said, "but somebody must tell the king of it."

They went back into the house and shut the doors. Sigurd was told what every one knew, or thought that he knew. One man had seen Gunnar go down to the hard in his cloak and hood; half-a-dozen had seen him come into the yard afterwards; three or four had heard Halward greet him; some had seen the beckoning, others had seen Halward follow him out. Then they had gone out to look for them, and there found Halward slain.

Sigurd said, "It looks very black against Gunnar, but I cannot believe it. Yet I know that the king must be told, and that he will be ready to think the worst of my brother because he has been so stiff against his religion. Now my thought at first was that I would tell him myself, since none of you seemed ready to go with the news—but see here, my friends, you would not have me bear witness against my own brother?"

They all agreed to that. Then he said, "I will ask one or several of you to tell the king in the morning. It is late now, and he will not expect you to disturb him at this hour of the night. Yet I tell you fairly that I myself shall go to find Gunnar and warn him of what is astir against him. If I think, when I see him, that he is the guilty man, it may be that I shall go with you to King Olaf. If I leave him still in the mind I am in now, then I shall not testify against him."

They all said, No, no. They said that he knew nothing of the matter, and that his name need not be in the business at all. Sigurd said, "The king will speak to me about it, I know. But I shall have time for what I want to do." Then he left them sitting at their drink, and went to find Gunnar.

Now first I will deal with the embassy to the king, and then with what happened when Sigurd saw his brother. Olaf was in a great taking. He grew red and thumped the table with his fist. "This is what comes of clemency. That rascal refused my religion and I let him go. He vowed that he would serve me and I believed him, like a fool. This is how it is brought back to me, sevenfold into my bosom. Now do you go and apprehend Gunnar, and hang him up on a tree. Don't let me see him, for I am in such a rage that I should insult him in his chains. Hang him out of hand, and let us get on with our affairs."

That was what the king said, and they left him with heavy hearts. But Gunnar was not hanged because he was not at home when they went to fetch him.

The very night of the slaying Sigurd had gone to him. He went directly to him from the inn where Halward lay dead.

"Gunnar," he said, "what was the grief between you and Halward that you must deal him a dog's death?"

Gunnar gaped at him. "Halward? Is Halward dead? Who did that?"

Sigurd said, "They say that you did it this very evening at the inn on Markfleet."

Gunnar answered him, "That be far from me." But he had no more to say.

"Well," said Sigurd, "you say what I believe, but it looks very black against you." Then he told him what the rumours were, how he had been seen go down the street, then come up the street, how he had shown himself in the yard, said nothing, but beckoned Halward out; how he had not been seen again, and how Halward had been found stiff in his own blood in the street.

Gunnar heard all this in silence, and remained silent so long that Sigurd had to make him speak. "Well, what are we to answer them?" he said.

Gunnar lifted his head and looked at him. "I can only tell you," he said, "that I am innocent of this deed."

"Do you know nothing at all of it?" he was asked.

"Ah," said Gunnar, "that is where you touch me. Now I must tell you fairly that I can say nothing more to you or anybody at this hour."

Then Sigurd said, "You had better be off. The king will certainly hang you for it."

Gunnar thought. "Yes," he said, "I must go. All may be set straight some day; but not by me." Then Sigurd left him, and Gunnar made his preparations.

He took very little with him, for he knew that he must go far, and most of it afoot. The king's hand stretched to the confines of Norway, and even in Iceland his power was being felt. Gunnar thought that he must travel East—on horseback so far as he could get, but after that, he must cross the mountains and get down into Sweden. He took a sword and a sack of provision, and those were all that he took. No, there was one thing more. He could not bring himself to relinquish the fine cloak he had had from Ogmund Dint. Besides, if it were found when men came to look for him it might be witness against the man who had done the deed. It was against Gunnar's religion to betray a man's secret. He rolled up the cloak therefore and stuffed it into the saddle-bag.

Then he got out his sorrel mare and rode off in the dusk. He went East by a dale which he judged would bring him soonest out of King Olaf's holding; and he rode all night and till noon the next day.

GUNNAR CROSSES THE MOUNTAINS

CHAPTER VII GUNNAR CROSSES THE MOUNTAINS

It was slow going in the dark, but the sorrel picked up her feet, and the road was well known to Gunnar. He had not much time to think, but found little to regret except Halward's death. He had liked Halward, as he was ready to like most men. Nevertheless, he had now to admit that he had little esteem for Ogmund Dint.

"That was a dirty trick to serve a man who had done him no harm. And I took his bait down like a codling, and served his turn finely. A sharp practiser is Ogmund Dint, and gets by foul means what he dare not try for fairly." So he thought of it—and then he said to himself, justifying the man, "When all's said, a man must look after himself. Halward had many friends to avenge him; and if Ogmund had been caught red-handed he was done for. I am thinking King Olaf would have been cheated of his rope-work. Somebody or other would have hewn him down before news ever got to the Court. Yes, I don't see what else he could have done—and yet I would not have done it myself. Well, I am a fine cloak to the good, which I will keep in case I want it some day as testimony." He chuckled over his great gains, glad that he had brought it with him, though he had had another purpose in his mind when he packed it into his bag. "May be the Swedes will take me for a king's son." He knew nothing of the Swedes, believed to be a dark and savage people, a people of forests and swamps; but he must venture among them if he wished to save his neck. "Oh, yes, certainly I wish to save my neck."

He found himself to be passably happy, riding under the stars up the dales which grew ever narrower, and more intricate. There was little cantering ground, and the way difficult to find. Knowing the stars well, he steered by them. Besides that the season was still fair and it could never be called dark.

He rested not until the sun was warming the snow on the peaks above him, and then not for long. But he had to go very slowly now, up the bed of a water-course which he must cross and re-cross half-a-dozen times in the half-hour to get tolerable going ground. The sorrel stretched her neck and blew through her nose. She was tired and he knew it, and felt heavy at the thought that he and she must soon part. She was his dearest possession. He thought that he loved her as much as his brother. Both of them had served him well in this affair. "It was a generous thing of Sigurd, so near as he is to King Olaf, to come and warn me. He may get into trouble over it. All depends on the king's mood. If he is in a rage he may tie Sigurd up and keep him in bondage on my account. But no! I trust that king. He was good to me about his religion." He laughed over the memory of that, and looking up into the clear sky, which the sun was burning to whiteness, watching the soaring eagles, marking up the glittering snowfields the herds of deer stretched out in thin lines of travel like trees in file, he felt happy.

The time came when he must send the mare home. He freed her of saddle and bridle. He loaded himself with the pack-bag, cut himself a birch-sapling for staff, and stood ready. Then he kissed Sorrel's nose, and turned her face westward. "Home with thee, dear one," he said, "and keep thy counsel when thou art there. We shall meet again if the luck holds. Neigh at thy stable door and Sigurd will befriend thee. Farewell." He gave her a hearty smack on the buttock, then held his arms wide and said "Off." She looked round at him, prick-eared and close-eyed. She whinnied to him, then turned to nibble the grass. "What, thou wilt not? But I tell thee, go. One more kiss perhaps." He kissed her again, and whispered in her ear, "Home, my dear." She looked forward down the rocky vale she had climbed and then walked soberly down. Once or twice she stopped and looked round, and then she neighed after him. "Shoo, mare!" he said. "Shoo, girl!" and opened his arms. Sorrel went down the valley and he lost sight of her.

He turned to his way which asked him to cross a mountain shoulder deep in snow. That was heavy going, for it was soft in the sun. From the top he saw his work before him, fold within fold of snow, brown valley-bottoms, and over all the great ridge of white with pines like scars upon it, which was the boundary between Norway and Sweden. Heavens! What a job he had got. But he went on, nothing doubting, and kept a stout heart. "A lonely place to be hanged in, and few trees fit for it. But I doubt I should have a fight for it here."

I need not delay over his journey, which took him two days longer, and two nights. By the time he had climbed the great ridge he had come near the end of his strength and his provisions for it. Yet he must go on; for that was no place in which to spend the night, a waste of snow and a line of torn pines driven everlastingly by a cruel wind. When he saw what was now in front of him and below, his heart might sink, though it did not. So far as eye could range all was forest. It was like looking upon a dark sea, featureless except for the lines of light and shadow which ran over it when wind and sun played together. He saw no ways, no clearings; there rose no chimney-smoke anywhere. Not a bird sailed above, not a wolf grieved, not a fox stirred. "And is that Sweden then? And are there people dwelling in the dark beneath? There are two worlds there, and there might be dwellers in the tree-tops who know nothing of the inhabitants of the deep, and are themselves unknown. How am I to guide myself through that thicket, and who is going to feed me or give me drink?" Looking into it, he shivered in the wind. "Outlandish country, you must do better for me than this," he said. He had a traverse of a league of snow-slope before he could enter the forest. To that he addressed himself now, with a prayer to all the Gods in Valhall.

GUNNAR IN THE FOREST HEARS TELL OF FREY AND HIS WONDERS

CHAPTER VIII GUNNAR IN THE FOREST HEARS TELL OF FREY AND HIS WONDERS

The course of the snow-slope brought Gunnar to rocks and a precipice from a gorge in which descended a river of ice. Far below him he heard the thunderous crash of water, and judged that in following that, if it could be done, he would find his best chance of guiding his way through the forest. The river would join another; that other must in time reach the sea. So he determined to do; but it was easy talking. It took him the best part of a day to get down the cliff. He spent a miserable night crouched under a rock, and started off again in the morning almost fasting. There was coarse grass now growing wherever there was hold for it. In one of these he saw a white hare lying flat, and by a trick he knew he fell his length upon her and secured her. He had no fire, and made what he could of her raw and sinewy flesh. So replenished, he went on his downward course, reached the waterfall bathed in sweat, and followed it as nearly as might be down into the chill and silence and darkness of the forest.

Day and night were alike to him now; for a time whose duration he took no pains to guess at, he worked his way downwards, a more fearful toil, with more of peril in it than any he had spent in climbing the ridge. This great forest was untouched by the hand, unvisited by the foot of man so far as he could understand. He saw no living thing, though high above him he sometimes heard the battling of wings, and once or twice hoarse cries which he judged must come from the air. He listened for wolves or foxes, but heard none; he kept his eyes aware for the track of roe-deer or bear, but vainly. All was silent and accursed. Except on the banks of the torrent there was little vegetation to be seen, for among the pine stems the needles lay close and deep upon the ground, and nothing could live in such a soil or in such a chill and dank air. Whither he went, or how far he had come, he knew not; for all his steadiness of heart, the conviction turned him sick that if he did not soon meet with men there would be one man less in the world.