The Long Ships

CHAPTER TWELVE

CONCERNING THE THING AT THE KRAKA STONE

THE NEXT morning twelve men were chosen from each of the three border tribes, the Virds, the Göings, and the Finnvedings; and these men went to the places traditionally reserved for them, in a half-circle facing the Stone, with each twelve seated together. The rest of the men grouped themselves behind their chosen representatives to listen to what these wise men had to say. The twelve Virds sat in the center of the half-circle, and their chieftain rose first. His name was Ugge the Inarticulate, son of Oar; he was an old man, and had the reputation of being the wisest person in the whole of Värend. It had always been the case with him that he was never able to speak except with great difficulty, but everyone was agreed that this was a sign of the profundity of his thinking; it was said that he had been marked out as a wise man even in his youth, when he would sometimes sit through a three-day Thing without uttering a word, only now and then slowly shaking his head.

He now advanced to the Stone, turned to face the assembly, and spoke.

“Wise men,” he said, “have now gathered here. Very wise men, from Värend and Göinge and Finnveden, after the ancient custom of our fathers. This is good. I greet you all and pronounce that our decisions shall be received peacefully. May you judge wisely, and to the advantage of us all. We have come here to talk about peace. It is the way with men that some think one thing and some another. I am old and rich in experience, and I know what I think. I think that peace is a good thing. Better than strife, better than burning, better than murder. Peace has reigned between us tribes for three whole years now, and no harm has come as a result of this. Nor will any harm come if this peace is allowed to continue. Those who have complaints to make shall be heard, and their complaints judged. Those who wish to kill one another may do so here at the Stone, for such is the law and ancient custom of the Thing. But peace is best.”

When he had finished his speech, the Virds looked this way and that, for they were proud of their chieftain and his wisdom. Then the Thing-chieftain of the Göings rose. His name was Sone the Sharp-Sighted, and he was so old that the two men who were seated next to him took hold of his arms to help him get up; but he brushed them angrily away, hobbled nimbly forward to the Stone, and took his stand beside Ugge. He was a tall and scraggy man, desiccated and bent crooked with age, with a long nose and thin wisps of mottled beard; and although the day was fine and the late summer sun shone warmly, he wore a skin coat reaching to his knees, and a thick cap of fox fur. He looked immeasurably wise and had had a great reputation for as long as anyone could remember. His sharp-sightedness was famous; he could find where hidden treasure lay, and could look into the future and foretell the bad luck that lay there. In addition to all this, he had been married seven times and had twenty-three sons and eleven daughters; and it was said that he was doing his best to get round dozens of both, which made him much admired and honored by all the Göings.

He, too, pronounced peace upon the assembly and spoke in fine words of the peaceful intentions of the Göings, which, he said, were proved by the fact that they had undertaken no campaigns against either the Virds or the Finnvedings for four whole years. This, he continued, might be taken by foolish strangers to signify that weakness and sloth had begun to flourish among them; but if anyone thought this, he was wrong, for they were no less ready than their fathers had been to teach manners with point and blade to any man who sought to do them wrong, as could be testified by one or two people who had made the effort. It was also wrong to suppose that this peaceful attitude was the result of the good years they had enjoyed recently, with rich harvests, lush pasture, and freedom from cattle sickness; for a well-fed Göing was as doughty a warrior as when starvation cramped his belly, and of as proud a temper. The true cause of this desire for peace, he explained, was that men of wisdom and experience now prevailed, their counsel being accepted by the tribe.

“So long as such men are to be found and their advice listened to,” he concluded, “we shall prosper. But as the years pass, the number of wise men grows less, and I think that, of those men whose judgment can be fully relied upon, no more than two are alive who are likely to survive much longer, Ugge and myself. It is therefore more than ever necessary that you young men who have been chosen to represent your tribes, though you have not yet any streak of gray in your beards, should listen carefully to what we say and thereby glean wisdom, which as yet you lack. For it is a good thing when old men are listened to and young men understand that they themselves have but a small measure of understanding.”

A third now joined them at the Stone. He was the chieftain of the Finnvedings, called Olof Summerbird; and he had already won himself a great name, though he was yet young. He was a finely proportioned man, dark-skinned, and with piercing eyes and a proud look. He had been in the Eastland, having served in the courts of both the Prince at Kiev and the Emperor at Miklagard, whence he had returned home with great wealth. The name Summerbird had been given him on his return because of the splendor and bright color that he affected in his dress. He himself was well pleased with this nickname.

All the Finnvedings, both the chosen men and those who sat behind them, shouted with pride and triumph as he strode forward, for he looked in sooth like a chieftain; and when he took his place by the other two in front of the Stone, the difference between himself and them was manifest. He wore a green cloak, sewn with gold thread, and a shining helmet of polished silver.

After pronouncing peace upon the assembly, as the others had done, he said that his belief in the wisdom of old men was perhaps not fully commensurate with their own. Wisdom, he thought, could sometimes be found in younger heads; indeed, there were some who thought that it more often resided there. He would not disagree with the old men when they said that peace was a good thing; but everyone ought to remember that peace was nowadays becoming more and more difficult to keep. The chief cause of this, he said, was the unrest that was being aroused everywhere by the Christians, who were very evil and cunning men.

“And, believe me,” he continued, “when I speak of the Christians, I know what I am talking about. You all know that I have spent five years at Miklagard, and have served two Emperors there, Basil and Constantine. There I was able to see how the Christians behave when they are angry, even when they have only one another to vent their spite upon. They clip one another’s ears and noses off with sharp tongs, as revenge for the smallest things, and sometimes geld one another. Their young women, even when they are beautiful, they often imprison in closed stone houses and forbid to have intercourse with men; and if any woman disobeys, they wall her up alive in a hole in the stone wall and let her die there. Sometimes it happens that they weary of their Emperor, or that his decrees displease them; and then they take him and his sons and bind them fast and hold glowing irons close to their faces until their eyes sweat and so go blind. All this they do for the glory of Christendom, for they hold it to be less of a crime to maim than to kill; from which you may gather what kind of men they are. If they behave so toward one another, what will they not do to us, who are not Christians as they are, if they should become strong enough to attack us? Everyone should therefore beware of this danger, that it may be met and stifled before it grows greater. Have we not all witnessed how, in this very place, a Christian priest only last night forced his way to this Stone and committed murder here, in the full sight of the Vird women? He had been brought here by the Göings, perhaps so that he might commit this foul deed. This is a matter between them and the Virds, which does not concern us Finnvedings. But it would surely be good if the Thing could declare that any Christian priest who appears among the Göings, the Virds, or the Finnvedings shall instantly be killed and shall not be kept alive as a slave, much less be permitted to practice his witchcraft undisturbed; for otherwise much mischief may be caused and strife be provoked.”

Thus spoke Olof Summerbird, and many nodded thoughtfully at his words.

He and the other two chieftains now seated themselves on the three chieftain-stones, which rested on the grass bank before the Kraka Stone, and the Thing began. It was an ancient custom that those quarrels should first be decided which had originated in the arena itself, so that the first case to be debated was that of the magister. Ugge demanded compensation for the death of Styrkar, and wished to know to whom this Christ-priest belonged, and why he had been brought to the Thing. Orm, who was among the chosen twelve of the Göings, rose and replied that the priest might be regarded as belonging to him, though he was in fact no slave, but a free man.

“And one would have to travel far,” he added, “before finding a more peaceable man. He has no appetite for violence, and the only things he knows how to do are reading manuscripts and singing and winning the favors of women. And he came here on a mission which he will never, now, as things have turned out, be able to fulfill.”

Orm then told them about the magister and his mission; how he had been sent from Hedeby to offer himself in exchange for a priest who had been enslaved by the Finnvedings, but who had now been killed by them. “Which matter,” he said, “will doubtless be discussed later. But as regards the manner in which Styrkar met his death, those who saw it happen can testify. For my part, I do not think this priest capable of killing a grown man.”

Sone the Sharp-Sighted agreed that those who had witnessed the affair should be heard. “But whatever the judgment of the Thing shall be in this matter,” he said, “it shall not result in a feud being declared between the Virds and the Göings. You, Ugge, shall judge this case alone. The man is a foreigner, good for little, and a Christian to boot, so that he will not be missed much, whatever your decision. But you cannot demand compensation from us Göings for something that has been done by a man who is a stranger to our tribe.”

The witnesses were now heard. Many men had seen Styrkar topple backwards from the Stone with a loud cry; but whether anyone might have struck him from the farther side of the Stone, none could say. Not even Toke Gray-Gullsson, who sat among the Vird twelve and who had been the first to arrive at the scene of the crime, knew for certain; but he declared that the cross which the Christ-priest had been holding in his hands, and which had been his only weapon, was made of such frail twigs that it might have served as a good instrument to kill a louse with, but would have made little impression on such a tough-hided old fox as Styrkar. It was his belief, he concluded, that the old man had slipped and had broken his neck in the fall; but the people who knew best what had happened, he added, were the women, for they had been on the spot and must have seen everything; provided, he said, some means could be found of persuading them to speak the truth.

Ugge sat for a while deep in thought. At last he said that there seemed to be nothing for it but to hear what the women had to say.

“According to our ancient law,” he said, “women can be regarded as admissible witnesses; though how such a decision ever came to be arrived at is more than a man can guess. It is not our custom to use women’s evidence where we can avoid it; for while to look for truth in a man can be like looking for a cuckoo in a dark wood, to look for the truth in a woman is like looking for the echo of the cuckoo’s voice. But in this case the women are the only persons who saw exactly what happened; and the murder of a priest on holy ground is a matter that must be investigated with care. Let them, therefore, be heard.”

The women had been waiting to be called, and now appeared, all together, the young ones who had danced round the Stone and the old women who had assisted with the ceremony. They were all wearing their finest apparel and ornaments, bracelets and necklaces and broad finger-rings and colored veils. At first they appeared somewhat bashful as they walked forwards into the space between the judges and the semicircle of chosen men. They had the magister with them, looking woebegone, with his hands tied and around his neck a rope, by which two of the old women led him, as they had led the goats to the Stone on the previous evening. A great shout of laughter arose from the assembly at the sight of him entering thus.

Ugge cocked his head on one side, scratched behind his ear, and looked at them with a worried expression on his face. He bade them tell him how Styrkar had met his death; whether their prisoner had killed him or not. They were to speak the truth and nothing else; and it would be a good thing, he said, if no more than two or three witnesses should speak at the same time.

At first the women were afraid of the sound of their own voices and whispered among themselves, and it was difficult to coax any of them to speak aloud; but before long they were persuaded to overcome their shyness and began to testify vigorously. Their prisoner, they said, had gone up to the Stone and cried in a loud voice and had then hit Styrkar over the head with his cross, causing the latter to cry also; then he had dug his cross into Styrkar’s stomach and pushed him off the Stone. On this they were all agreed, though some said that the priest had struck once, and some twice, and they began to quarrel about this.

When the magister heard them testify thus, he became white in the face with terror and astonishment. Raising his bound hands toward heaven, he cried: “No, no!” in a loud voice. But nobody bothered to listen to the rest of what he had to say, and the old women gave a tug on the rope to silence him.

Ugge now said that this evidence was more than sufficient, for even the speech of women could be regarded as credible when so many of them said the same thing. Whether the murderer had struck once or twice did not affect the issue; here, he said, they had before them a clear case of priest-murder committed on holy ground.

“This crime,” he proceeded, “has been regarded ever since the most ancient times as one of the foulest that it is possible to perpetrate, and occurs so rarely that many men sit through a whole lifetime of Things without ever having to judge an instance of it. The penalty for it, which is also of ancient prescription, is, I think, known to no one here save us two old men, Sone and I; unless, perhaps, you, Olof, who reckon yourself to be wiser than us, also know it?”

It was evident that Olof Summerbird was displeased at this question; nevertheless, he answered boldly that he had often heard that the penalty for this crime was that the culprit should be hung by his feet from the nethermost branch of a tree, with his head resting on an ant-hill.

Ugge and Sone beamed with delight when they heard him give this answer.

“It was not to be expected that you would know the correct sentence,” said Ugge, “so young as you are; for to attain wisdom and knowledge takes longer than you would like to think. The proper punishment is that the murderer shall be handed over to Ygg, which in former times was our fathers’ name for Odin; and now Sone will tell us the manner in which the presentation is to be made.”

“Twenty good spears shall be found,” said Sone, “with no rot in their shafts; and to each spear, just below the end of the iron shoe, a crosspiece shall be fixed. Then the spears shall be driven into the ground to half their length, close together with their points facing upwards. On these the murderer shall be cast, and there he shall remain until his bones drop to the ground.”

“Such is the law,” said Ugge. “The only detail you omitted to mention is that he shall be cast so as to land on the spears on his back, in order that he may lie with his face toward the sky.”

A murmur of satisfaction passed through the whole assembly as they heard this punishment described, which was so ancient and rare that nobody had seen it. The magister had by now become calm and stood there with his eyes closed, mumbling to himself; the women, however, received the news of his sentence much less placidly. They clamored that this was a crazy punishment to condemn him to, and they had not intended, when testifying, that anything like that should happen; and two of them, who were related to Ugge, pushed their way through the crowd toward him, called him an old fool, and asked why he had not told them of this penalty before they had testified. They had, they said, given the evidence that he had heard because they wished to keep the Christ-priest, whom they liked and held to be more potent than Styrkar, fearing that if he was acquitted, he would be set free and go back to the Göings.

The most vehement protests came from one of the old women, who was Styrkar’s niece. Eventually she succeeded in quieting the others so that her voice might be heard alone. She was large and coarse-limbed and shook with fury as she stood there before Ugge. She said that in Värend no decision was taken about anything until the women had passed judgment, and that old men there were put out to play in the woods.

“I have nursed Styrkar, troll that he was, for many years,” she shrieked, “gaining my livelihood thereby. How shall I live now that he is dead? Are you listening to me, you crookbacked imbecile? Another priest, young and beautiful, and, from his appearance, wise and tractable also, has come and killed him, and nobody can deny that it was high time that somebody did so. And what do you suggest we should now do! Throw this young man upon the points of spears! What good will that do to anybody? I tell you that he shall be handed over to me, to replace the priest I have lost. He is a fine priest, and when the dance round the Stone was finished he performed to the satisfaction of us all; in nine months the whole of Värend will be able to testify to the efficacy of his magic. The services of such a priest will be sought by many, and all who come will bring him gifts; and I shall thereby be compensated for my loss, whether I have him as husband or as slave. What purpose will be served by throwing him upon spears? It would be better if you sat on them yourself, for it is plain that your age and learning have driven you crazy. He shall be mine, as payment for the murder he has committed, if there be any justice in the world. Do you hear that?”

She shook her clenched fist in front of Ugge’s face and appeared to be considering whether to spit in it.

“She is right, she is right! Katla is right!” cried the women. “Give him to us in Styrkar’s place! We need a priest of his mettle!”

Ugge waved his hands and shouted as loudly as he could in an endeavor to quiet them; and beside him Olof Summerbird was near to falling backwards from his stone in his delight in the wise man’s discomfiture.

But Sone the Sharp-Sighted now rose from his stone and spoke in a voice that made everyone suddenly quiet.

“Peace has been pronounced upon this assembly,” he said, “and it is a quality of wise men to endure women patiently. It would be an ill thing if we should allow the peace to be broken, and particularly ill for you, women; for we could then sentence you to be birched before the assembly, with good switches of birch or hazel, which would be sadly ignominious for you. If that were to happen, all men would snigger at the sight of you for the rest of your days, and I think none of you would wish that to happen. Therefore let there be an end to your screamings and vituperations. But one question I would ask of you before you depart from this place. Was Styrkar struck by the Christ-priest, or was he not?”

The women had now become calm. They replied with one accord that he had not so much as touched Styrkar; he had merely shouted something and raised his cross, at which the old man had fallen backwards and died. This, they declared, was the pure truth; they could, they said, tell the truth as well as anyone, if only they knew what purpose it would serve.

The women, including Katla and her captive, were now ordered to leave while Ugge debated with his chosen twelve over a suitable sentence. Several of them thought that the priest ought to be killed, for there could be no doubt that he had slain Styrkar by trollcraft, and the sooner one got rid of a Christ-priest, the better. But others opposed this argument, saying that any man who had managed to troll the life out of Styrkar was worth keeping alive. For if he had succeeded in doing this, he must also have been able to perform efficaciously upon the women; besides which, there was the old woman’s argument to be considered, for, as she had asserted, it was true that no compensation could be claimed from the Göings for the loss of her man. The end of it was that Ugge declared that Katla should keep the Christ-priest as a slave until the fourth Thing following this one, extracting from him as much service as she could during that period. Neither Sone nor anyone else had any fault to find with this judgment.

“I could not have judged the matter better myself,” said Orm to Father Willibald when they were discussing the case later. “Now he will have to get along with the old woman as best he can. He was reckoning on becoming a slave of the Smalanders anyway.”

“For all his weaknesses,” said Father Willibald, “it may be that God’s spirit was upon him last night when he went up to denounce the heathen priest and his abominable practices. Perhaps he will do great works now, for the glory of God.”

“Perhaps,” said Orm, “but the best of it is that we are now rid of him. When a man is campaigning or a-viking, it is only right that he should indulge his lust for women, even if they belong to someone else; but it seems wrong to me that a man of his mettle, a Christ-priest and a good-for-nothing, should cause women to lose all sense of decency as soon as they set eyes on him. It is not right; it is unnatural.”

“He will have plenty of opportunities to atone for his sins,” said Father Willibald, “when that old crone Katla gets her claws into him. Certain it is that I would rather be in the hungry lions’ den with the prophet Daniel, whose story you have heard me recount, than in his clothes now. But it is God’s will.”

“Let us hope,” said Orm, “that it will continue to coincide with our own.”

The Thing continued for four days, and many cases were judged. The wisdom of Ugge and Sone was praised by all, save those who received the wrong end of their decisions; and Olof Summerbird, too, showed himself to be a shrewd judge, rich in experience despite his youth, so that even Ugge was forced on more than one occasion to admit that he might, with the passing of the years, attain some wisdom. When difficult cases arose, in which the parties refused to come to any agreement and the representatives of the tribes involved in the dispute could not agree, the third judge was called upon to help them reach a decision, such being the ancient custom; and on two occasions, when the dispute lay between the Virds and the Göings, Olof Summerbird officiated as the impartial judge and acquitted himself with great honor.

Thus far all had gone well; but gradually the common members of the assembly began to show signs of increasing unrest as time went on without any good fight developing. A combat had, indeed, been ordered on the second day, as the result of a dispute between a Finnveding and a Göing concerning a horse-theft, for no witnesses could be found and both parties were equally obstinate and equally cunning at prevarication; but when they fronted each other on the combat place, they proved so unskillful that they straightway ran their swords through each other’s belly and fell dead to the ground, like two halves of a broken pitcher, so that nobody gained much pleasure from that contest. The tribesmen made wry faces at one another when this happened, thinking that this was proving a very disappointing Thing.

On the third day, however, they were cheered by the appearance of a complicated and difficult case, which promised excellent results.

Two Virds, both known men of good reputation, named Askman and Glum, came forward and told of an instance of double woman-theft. Both of them had lost their daughters, buxom young women in the prime of their beauty, who had been stolen by two Göing otter-hunters in the wild country east of the Great Ox Ford. The identity of the thieves was known; one of them was called Agne of Sleven, son of Kolbjörn Burnt-in-His-House, and the other Slatte, known as Fox Slatte, nephew to Gudmund of Uvaberg, who was one of the twelve Göing representatives. The theft had taken place a year previously; the two young women, it appeared, were still in the clutches of their captors; and Askman and Glum now demanded treble bride-money for each girl, as well as reasonable compensation for the injury caused to the Widow Gudny, Glum’s sister, who had been with the girls when the theft had taken place and had been so affected by the incident that for a good while after it she had been out of her proper mind. This good widow, they explained, they had brought with them to the Thing; she was well known to have an honest tongue, and, since many could testify that she had by now returned to her full senses, she would, they claimed, be the best witness to tell the assembly exactly what had happened.

The Widow Gudny now came forward. She was of powerful and impressive appearance, not yet old enough to frighten men; and she described clearly and earnestly how the incident had taken place. She and the girls had gone into the wild country to gather medicinal herbs and had had to spend the whole day there, because these herbs were rare and difficult to find. They had wandered farther afield than they had intended, and a terrible storm had suddenly broken over them with thunder and hail and pelting rain. Frightened, and drenched to the skin, they had lost their way; and after wandering for some time without coming upon any track or landmark, they had at last arrived at a scraped-out cave in the earth, in which they had taken shelter. Here they began to feel the effect of cold, hunger, and fatigue. There were two men already in the cave, hunters who lived there while trapping otters; and she was relieved to see that they did not look dangerous. The men had given them a friendly welcome, making room for them at their fire and giving them food and hot ale; and there they had remained until the storm ceased, by which time it was night and very dark.

Up to then, she continued, she had only worried about the storm and the ache that she was beginning to feel in her back as the result of being cold in wet clothes. But now she began to fear for the girls, which worried her much more. For the men were now in high spirits and were saying that this was the best thing that could have happened, for it was a long time since they had seen any women; and they were liberal with their ale, which they kept in a keg in their cave, and warmed more of it against the cold, so that the girls began to grow muzzy, being young and inexperienced. She had asked the men, in a pointed manner, to describe to her the way back to their home, and they had told her; but apart from this they had shown no concern for the girls’ safety except by sitting close to them and feeling them to see if they were dry. This went so far that after a while Fox Slatte picked up two small bits of wood and told the girls that they were now to draw lots to decide which man each was to sleep next to. At this she had declared vigorously that the girls must straightway go home, finding their way as well as they might in the dark. For her own part, she was compelled to remain in the cave because of the severe pain in her back.

“I spoke thus,” she said, “because I thought that the men might give way and let the girls go in peace if I undertook to remain with them. I was ready to make this sacrifice for the girls’ sake, since, whatever the men might do to me, it would be less horrible for me than for them. But instead of being accommodating, the men grew angry and addressed me in the most insulting terms and seized hold of me and threw me out of the cave, saying that they would speed me on my way with arrows if I did not instantly depart from the place. I spent the whole night wandering in the forest, in terror of wild beasts and bogies. When I reached home and told what had happened, people went to the cave and found it empty, with no trace of the men or the girls or the otter skins. For a long while after this I was sick and half crazed because of the treatment I had endured at the hands of these foul ruffians.”

Here the Widow Gudny ended her testimony, having spoken her last few sentences in a voice dimmed by weeping. Gudmund of Uvaberg now rose and said that he would present the case of the two young men. He was doubly qualified to do this, he said, partly because he was wiser than they, and so better able to choose his words, and partly because he had on more than one occasion heard the whole story of events, not only from Agne of Sleven and his nephew Slatte, but also from the mouths of the young women themselves. He therefore was as well informed about this matter as anyone, if not better; and as regards the testimony of the Widow Gudny, to which they had just been listening, he would say this, that much of it was according to the facts, but most of it contrary to them.

“Slatte and Agne both say,” he continued, “that they were sitting in their cave during the storm, which was so severe that they were barely able to keep their fire from blowing out, when they heard groans outside. Slatte crept out and saw three figures moving in the rain with their skirts wrapped round their heads. At first he feared them to be trolls; and the women supposed him to be one when they saw his head suddenly appear from the earth, so that they quaked and screamed with terror. Realizing from this that they must be mortals, he approached and calmed them. They accepted his invitation to join him in his cave and seated themselves round the fire. The girls were very fatigued, and were sniveling with distress; but there were no tears coming from the widow, and she showed little evidence of exhaustion. She kept her eyes fixed upon them incessantly as she sat drying herself before the fire; she wanted her back rubbed, and every part of her body warmed with otter skins; then, after she had drunk of their hot ale like a thirsty mare, she became merry and took off most of her clothes. She did this, she explained to them, so that she might feel the heat more, since heat was what she needed most.

“Now, Slatte and Agne are both young,” continued Gudmund, “but not more foolish than the run of men; and they knew well enough what thoughts tend to enter the minds of widows when their glance falls on a man. When, therefore, she suggested that the girls should go into a corner of the cave to sleep, but said that she herself would remain awake to see that no harm came to them, the men’s suspicions were aroused and they exchanged a knowing glance. Both Agne and Slatte have assured me that they would gladly have obliged the widow had she come to them unaccompanied, but that it seemed to them an unmanly and dishonorable thing for the two of them to share a widow when there were two fair young women also present who might well be as eager for pleasure as she was; for had they done so, they would have been laughed at by every right-thinking person to whose ears the story might have come. So they seated themselves beside the young women and spoke calmingly to them and helped them to warm their feet at the fire. By this time the girls were in better spirits, having swallowed food and drink and become warm; they scarcely dared, however, to glance at the men and were shy of speech. This increased the men’s respect for them, for it testified to their modesty and good upbringing; and their liking for them became so strong that eventually they decided to draw lots for them, so that there should be no quarreling over who was to have which, and so that all should be satisfied. But when they suggested this, the widow, who had been growing more and more restless because no attention was being paid to her, jumped to her feet shrieking wildly. She protested that the girls must go home at once or terrible things would happen. They were young, she said, and able to endure the hardships of the night; but for herself she must beg hospitality until morning, since she was too fatigued and racked with backache to undertake the journey. This suggestion astonished the men, who asked her whether it was her intention to kill the girls; for this, they swore, she would certainly do if she drove them out into the wild forest to face the darkness and rain and all the evil things that lurked there. Such cruelty and wickedness they had never before heard the like of, and they would not allow it, for they were determined to protect the girls from her mad caprices. Nor, they told her further, were they so careless of their own safety that they were prepared to allow such a murderous character as she to remain in their cave; for if they did so, they could not be sure what might not happen to them while they were asleep. So they commanded her to go; she looked, they say, as strong as an ox, so that there would be little danger for her in the forest, and if she should encounter a bear or a wolf, the animal would certainly flee at the sight of her. Seizing hold of her, therefore, they ejected her from the cave, throwing her clothes after her. The next morning they thought it best to move on; and the girls, when they heard of this decision, volunteered to accompany them, to help them carry their traps and skins. There are witnesses present here at the Thing who have heard this from the girls’ own mouths. These young women are now married to Agne and Slatte and are well contented, and have already borne their husbands children.

“Now, I do not think,” concluded Gudmund, “that this business can properly be called woman-theft. The fact of the matter is that these men saved these young women’s lives, and that not once but twice; first when they took them into their cave and offered them warmth and shelter, and secondly when they prevented them from being driven out into the forest as the wicked widow would have done with them. The men are therefore willing to pay ordinary bride-money for them, but no more.”

Thus reasoned Gudmund, and his words were greeted with great acclamation by the Göings. The Virds, however, appeared to approve them somewhat less, and Askman and Glum would not relax their demand. Had the two men stolen the widow, they said, they could have had her cheaply; but virgins could not be considered as being in the same category as widows; nor would any wise man place much reliance on the defense that Gudmund had put up for them. They thought it only right that the Widow Gudny should receive compensation for the insults and injuries that had been done to her; they knew her well, and she had never shown herself to be as man-crazy as Gudmund had made her out to be. In this matter of her compensation, however, they would accept whatever sum might be offered, but they were not prepared to haggle over the young women.

Witnesses were then heard for both sides, both those who had heard the story from the young women’s lips, and those who had been addressed on the subject by the Widow Gudny on her return from the cave. Ugge and Sone agreed that this was a difficult case to judge; and the spirits of the assembly rose, for there appeared to be an excellent prospect of a four-handed combat, provided no unlucky chance intervened.

Ugge said that he felt half inclined to allow Sone to judge the case alone, because of his great wisdom and for their ancient friendship’s sake; but he could not persuade his chosen twelve to agree to this, and so Olof Summerbird was co-opted as third judge. This honor, he said, was one that gave him little joy, for much silver and several lives depended on the result of the case, so that whoever judged it would bring upon himself the hatred and abuse of many, however just his decision might be. At first he suggested, as a compromise, that the husbands should pay double bride-money instead of the treble portion that was demanded; but neither the Göings nor the Virds would have any of this. Gudmund said that Slatte was already in strained circumstances, it being impossible for those who lived by trapping otters and beavers to amass a fortune, because of the poor prices that were paid for skins nowadays; while Agne of Sleven had lost his whole inheritance through his father’s having been burned in his house. The most they could afford would be the ordinary bridal portion, and even that they would hardly be able to pay without assistance. The Vird representatives, on the other hand, thought that Glum and Askman were demanding no more than was reasonable.

“For,” they said, “we Virds have, ever since ancient times, held our women in great honor, and our neighbors must not be allowed to suppose that our virgins can be picked up cheap in any forest.”

Several thought that the best solution would be for the four parties concerned to fight it out; they thought that Askman and Glum, despite their disadvantage in age, would emerge with honor from the contest.

The matter was debated this way and that for a good while, but both Sone and Ugge were reluctant to declare that it should be decided by combat.

“Nobody can say,” said Ugge, “that either of the two stolen women has any guilt to bear in this business; and it would be a bad judgment that condemned them to the certain misfortune of having to lose either a husband or a father.”

“If we are to pass unanimous judgment on this case,” said Olof Summerbird, “we must first decide whether woman-theft has been committed or not. I know my opinion, but I should prefer that those who are older should speak before me.”

Ugge said that in his mind there was no doubt; that which had occurred must be regarded as woman-theft. “It is no excuse to say that the young women went with the men of their own free will,” he said. “For they did not do so until the following morning, by which time they had spent the night with them. This we know, for it has been admitted that the men drew lots for them. And every wise man knows that a young woman is always ready to go with a man whose couch she has shared, especially if he is the first with whom she has done this.”

Sone hesitated for a considerable while before announcing his decision, but at length he said: “It is the duty of a judge to speak the truth, even if in so doing he speaks against his own people. This is woman-theft, and I do not think anyone can deny it. For when they ejected the widow from the cave, they forcibly separated the young women from their guardian and so stole them from her care.”

Many of the Göings complained loudly when they heard Sone speak thus, but none dared to say that he was wrong, because he had such a great name for wisdom.

“Thus far, at least, we are agreed,” said Olof Summerbird, “for I, too, judge this to be woman-theft. This being so, we must also agree that greater compensation is required than the ordinary bridal portion that Gudmund offers. But still we are far from reaching any satisfactory conclusion. For how shall we get the parties to accept our decision if the fathers will not accept, nor the husbands pay, double bride-money? It is my opinion that if either party has the right to maintain its demand, it is the Virds.”

Up to this moment Orm had been sitting silent in his place, but he now rose and asked what the Virds reckoned to be the value of a bridal portion, either in oxen or in skins, and what would be regarded as the equivalent in silver.

Ugge replied that the men of Värend had, from ancient times, reckoned the bridal portion in skins: thirty-six marten skins for a good farmer’s daughter in the prime of youth, fresh and strong and without fault or blemish; in which case, the skins must be good winter skins, with no arrow-holes; alternatively, thirty beaver skins, also of the first quality; in return for which, no dowry was required to accompany the bride save the clothes she wore and the shoes she walked in, together with a new linen shift for the bridal night, a horn comb, three needles with eyes, and a pair of scissors.

“Which,” he continued, “amounts to eighteen dozen marten skins, for two treble portions, or, alternatively, fifteen dozen beaver skins, if my reckoning is correct. That is a great quantity, and to calculate its equivalent in silver is a problem that would tax the brain of the most skillful arithmetician.”

Several of the representatives who were experienced in calculation endeavored to come to his assistance, among them Toke Gray-Gullsson, who was used to reckoning in skins and silver; and after they had taxed their brains for a good while, they declared unanimously that treble bride-money for two virgins would amount to seven and a quarter marks of silver, no more and no less.

“To reach that even figure,” explained Toke, “we have subtracted twopence three farthings for the shifts, which will not be needed in this instance.”

When Gudmund of Uvaberg heard this great sum named, he burst into a tremendous bellow of laughter.

“No, no!” he roared. “I could never agree to such a sum. Do you think me mad? Let them fight it out; whatever the result, it will be the cheapest way.”

And other voices from the assembly echoed his words: “Let them fight!”

Orm now rose and said that a thought had occurred to him which might perhaps help to deliver them from this quandary; for he was of that party which felt that it would be a pity to allow the matter to be settled by blows.

“Gudmund is right,” he said, “when he says that seven and a quarter marks of silver is a great sum, enough to alarm the richest man; and few there are who have ever held so much in their hands, save those who have gone a-viking against the Franks, or have been present when my lord Almansur of Andalusia shared out his booty, or have taken geld from King Ethelred of England, or served the great Emperor at Miklagard. But if we take a third of this sum, we find it to be two and one-third marks, plus one twelfth of a mark; and if we split this third into two parts, we have one and one-seventh marks, plus one twenty-fourth. Now, we have been told that Agne of Sleven and Slatte are prepared to pay ordinary bridal portions. That means that we have two sixths of a total sum accounted for. I have been thinking that it would be no dishonor to these men’s kinsmen and neighbors if they were to provide a like sum. I know Gudmund of Uvaberg and would not like to think him less openhanded than other men; and one and one-seventh marks, plus one twenty-fourth of a mark, are not a sum that it would ruin him to pay, even if he had to do so unaided. But I am sure that there are others besides him who are willing to help Slatte, and I do not doubt that it is the same with Agne’s kinsmen. If they are prepared to do this, we shall have four sixths of the total sum already promised and only the last third to find. As regards this final portion, I have been thinking that here among our chosen twelve there sit men who would be prepared to give something for good neighbor’s sake and for the sake of their own good names. I could wish that I were richer than I am; nevertheless, I am prepared to give my share; and if we can but find three or four others to do likewise, the last third of the sum will be paid and the business settled to the satisfaction of all.”

When Orm had concluded and had seated himself again, the representatives of the three tribes glanced at one another, and several of them were heard to murmur approval. Sone the Sharp-Sighted was the first to voice his thoughts.

“It is good to hear that wisdom will not wholly depart from the border country when Ugge and I die,” he said. “Orm of Gröning, despite your youth you have spoken words of wisdom. I will not content myself with saying that your suggestion is good; I shall even offer to pay a part of the last third of the sum myself. This may surprise some of you, for you all know how many children I have to support; but there are certain advantages in having a large family. Even if I contribute as much as a quarter of this third, I shall be able to afford it; for I shall collect the sum from my sixteen grown sons, who spend most of their time wandering about the forest. So that if I take two skins from each of them, I shall be able to pay my share and have a few left over for myself; and I am prepared to do this to help Agne of Sleven, because his mother was second cousin to my fourth wife. But let no man sit here with his tongue tied; let all who wish to join with me in this speak freely and so win honor before the whole assembly.”

Toke Gray-Gullsson rose at once and said that it was not his custom to be closefisted when other people were being open-handed.

“And I say this,” he said, “though I am only a skin-merchant who has, alas, all too often been skinned himself. I possess no great wealth, and am never likely to attain to any; many of you who sit here know that well, for you have got good money from me for skins of little quality. But at least I have enough to join with Orm and Sone in contributing toward this excellent cause; so whatever they give, I shall give the same.”

Ugge the Inarticulate now began to stutter and stammer, as he always did when anything excited him. At last, he managed to say that this solution would bring honor to both the Göings and the Virds, and that he himself was prepared to contribute as much as those who had spoken before him.

Two of the Göing representatives, Black Grim and Thorkel Hare-Ear, now cried that the Virds must not be allowed to outdo them in generosity, and that they, too, wished to give a share; and Olof Summerbird said that he saw no reason why other men should have all the honor, and that he therefore proposed to offer twice as much as anyone else.

“And if you take my advice,” he added, “you will gather in the contributions at once, for money melts forth most freely when the flame of giving is still warm. Here is my helmet to collect it in; and you, Toke Gray-Gullsson, being a merchant, will be able to weigh each man’s contribution, to make sure that it is correct.”

Toke sent a slave to fetch his scales, and more and more of the representatives, both Virds and Göings, rose to make their offers; for they saw that they might now win honor cheaply, for the more people contributed, the smaller each man’s gift would have to be. But Olof Summerbird reminded them that nobody had yet heard Gudmund of Uvaberg say how much he and the other kinsmen of Slatte and Agne were prepared to give.

Gudmund rose to his feet with an uncertain expression on his face and said that it was a matter that needed much consideration, for a sixth of the whole sum was a great amount for himself and his kinsmen to find between them.

“No man can call me mean,” he said, “but I am, alas, only a poor farmer, and Orm of Gröning is mistaken in suggesting to you that I am anything else. There is little silver to be found in my house, and I think the same is true of Slatte’s other kinsmen. Such a burden would be too heavy for us to bear. If, however, we were asked to find one half of the sixth, I think we might manage to scrape it together. Here among us sit so many great and famous men, with their belts distended with silver, that they would hardly notice it if they gave another half-sixth, in addition to the third that has already been promised. Do this, and your honor will be increased yet more; and I shall be saved from destitution.”

But at this the judges and representatives and the whole assembly seated at their backs hooted and howled with laughter; for it was well known to all of them that Gudmund’s wealth was only surpassed by his meanness. When he found that he could win no support for his suggestion, he at length yielded; and two men, acting as spokesmen for Agne’s kinsmen, promised that their due share would be paid.

“It would be best,” said Sone to Gudmund, “if you, too, could gather in your share now, since you have, I doubt not, many kinsmen and friends among the assembly here; and I myself will collect the sum due from Agne’s kinsmen.”

By this time Toke’s silver-scales had arrived and he was attempting to calculate how much each man would have to pay.

“Thirteen men have promised to contribute,” he said, “and each of them is giving the same amount, except Olof Summerbird, who is giving a double portion. That makes fourteen lots that we have to calculate. What one fourteenth of one third of seven and a quarter marks of silver comes to is not easy to say; I do not think the wisest arithmetician of Gotland would be able to tell us at once. But a man who is shrewd can find a way out of most difficulties, and if we work it out in skins the problem becomes easier. That way, each lot will be one fourteenth of six dozen marten skins, which is one seventh of three dozen; and each lot must be reckoned to the nearest skin, for one always loses a little in weighing, as I know from experience. By this reckoning, each man should give the equivalent in silver of six marten skins, a small price to pay for such an honor. Here are the scales and weights, and anyone who wants to do so is welcome to test them before I begin the weighing.”

Men who knew about such things now tested the scales carefully; for merchants’ scales were often cunningly adjusted, so that the test was well worth making. But the weights could only be tested by touch; and, when two men expressed doubts regarding their accuracy, Toke immediately replied that he would gladly fight any man to prove that they were correct.

“It is part of a merchant’s trade,” he said, “to fight for his weights; and anyone who is afraid to do so must be regarded as unreliable and should not be dealt with.”

“There shall be no fighting about weights,” said Ugge sternly. “All the silver that is collected in the helmet shall be given at once to Glum and Askman; and what good would it do Toke to weigh falsely, when his own silver is to be weighed with the rest?”

All those who had promised to contribute now took silver from their belts and had it weighed. Some gave small silver rings, others twists of silver thread, and others yet handed over silver that had been chopped up into small squares. Most, however, gave their contribution in the form of silver coins, and these were from many different countries and the farthermost parts of the earth, some of them having been struck in lands so remote that no man knew their name. Orm paid in Andalusian coin, of which he still possessed a quantity, and Olof Summerbird in beautifully engraven Byzantine pieces that bore the head of the great Emperor John Zimisces.

When all the contributions had been collected, Toke poured them into a small cloth bag and weighed them all together; and the scales showed that his calculations had been correct, for they made up a third of the sum required. But there was also a small surplus.

“This is too little to divide up and give back to all of you,” said Toke, “for I cannot measure such small amounts on my scales.”

“What shall be done with it?” asked Ugge. “It seems unnecessary that Glum and Askman should receive more than they demanded.”

“Let us give it to the Widow Gudny,” said Orm. “Then she, too, will have some compensation for the distress and disappointment that has been caused to her.”

All agreed that this was an excellent solution; and soon Sone and Gudmund came back with their respective sixths, which they had collected from their kinsmen and friends in the assembly. Sone’s sixth was weighed and found correct; but Gudmund’s was deficient, though he produced a pile of skins and two copper kettles to add to his silver. He bewailed the deficiency loudly, saying that he was prepared to swear upon oath that this was all that he could raise, and begging that some rich man of the chosen twelve should lend him the money that was lacking. But this nobody was willing to do, for everyone knew that lending money to Gudmund was like casting it into the sea.

At length Sone the Sharp-Sighted said: “You are a stubborn man, Gudmund, as we all know well; but all men can be persuaded to change their attitudes by some means or other, and I think you are no exception to this rule. I seem to remember that Orm of Gröning managed to persuade you to do so not long after he had arrived in the border country, when you were unwilling to sell him hops and cattle fodder at a fair price. I fancy that a well entered into the story; but I forget exactly what happened, for I am beginning to grow old. While, therefore, you, Gudmund, think how you may find the rest of your share of the silver, perhaps Orm will tell us the story of how he prevailed upon you. It would be interesting to know the method he used.”

This suggestion was enthusiastically received by the assembly, so Orm rose and said that the story of what had happened was short and simple. But before he could go further, Gudmund leaped to his feet and roared that he did not wish it to be repeated.

“We made this matter up a good while ago, Orm and I,” he declared, “and it is not a story worth listening to. Wait but a short while, for I have just remembered another man whom I might ask, and I think he will be able to supply what is lacking.”

With that, he lumbered hastily away toward his camp. As he disappeared, many shouted that they wished, nevertheless, to hear the story of how Orm had persuaded him. But Orm said that they would have to get somebody else to tell it to them.

“For what Gudmund says is true,” he said, “that we made this matter up long ago; and why should I provoke him to no purpose, when he has already gone to fetch his silver to avoid having this story repeated? It was only to make him do this that Sone, in his wisdom, referred to the incident.”

Before anyone could say more, Gudmund returned, puffing, from his camp with the missing money. Toke weighed it and found it correct; so two thirds of the bride-money due from Slatte and Agne was handed over by Ugge to Glum and Askman, whereupon these two admitted the men who had stolen their daughters to be good and blameless sons-in-law. The remaining third, which was to be paid by Slatte and Agne themselves, they were to receive at the end of the winter, so that the young men might be able to collect the necessary amount in skins.

But as soon as this matter was settled, Olof Summerbird said that he would now like to hear the story that had been promised them of how Orm had persuaded Gudmund to change his mind. All the representatives cried assent to this, and Ugge himself supported the suggestion.

“Instructive stories,” he said, “are always worth hearing, and this is one that is new to me. It may be that Gudmund would prefer that we should not hear it, but you must remember, Gudmund, that you have caused us all a great deal of inconvenience by your attitude toward this case, and that we have paid a third of the money demanded of your kinsmen, though you were wealthy enough to have given it yourself. Seeing that you have been saved so much silver, you can put up with the shame of hearing this story repeated. If, though, you would prefer to tell it yourself, by all means do so; and Orm Tostesson will doubtless be able to refresh your memory if any details should escape you.”

Gudmund now flew into a fury and began to roar. This was an old habit with him when he was angry, and because of it he had come to be known as the Thunderer. He sank his head down between his shoulders and shook throughout his whole body and brandished his fists before his face and roared like a werewolf. It was his hope that people might suppose from this that he was about to go berserk, and in his younger days he had often succeeded in frightening men by this means; but nobody was deceived by it any longer, and the more he roared, the louder the assembly laughed. Suddenly he fell silent and glared around him.

“I am a dangerous man,” he said, “and no man provokes me without regretting it.”

“When a representative breaks the peace of the Thing,” said Toke, “by threat or abuse, drunken talk or malicious accusation, he shall be required to pay a fine of—I forget the sum, but doubtless there are men here who can remind me.”

“He shall be expelled from the precincts of the Thing by the judges and representatives,” said Sone. “And if he should resist or attempt to return, he shall pay with his beard. Such is the ancient law.”

“Only twice in my life have I known a representative to be deprived of his beard,” said Ugge reflectively. “And neither of them was able to endure life for much longer, after suffering such shame.”

Many now began to be incensed with Gudmund, not because he had howled at them, which nobody bothered much about, but because the honor that they had won by their openhandedness had cost them so much silver; and they now blamed Gudmund for this. So they roared furiously at him to depart from the Thing, swearing that otherwise they would take his beard from him. Gudmund had a very fine beard, long and luxuriant, of which he evidently took great care; he therefore yielded to their clamor and left the Thing rather than risk exposing his beard to danger. But as he departed, he was heard to mumble: “No man provokes me without living to regret it.”

Orm was now commanded to tell the story of his first meeting with Gudmund and how he had persuaded him to change his mind by holding him over his own well. This hugely delighted the assembly; but Orm himself was not greatly pleased at having to repeat the tale and, when he had finished, said that he would now have to be prepared for some attempt by Gudmund at revenge.

So this difficult case of woman-theft was successfully concluded. Many had won honor through it, but it was the general opinion that Olof Summerbird and Orm of Gröning deserved the most praise for the way they had spoken.

Ever since the opening of the Thing, Orm had been expecting to hear some accusation from the Finnvedings about the way he had treated Östen of Öre, or some reference to the two heads that had been thrown across the brook on the first evening. But as nobody mentioned either matter, he decided to find out for himself whether they felt bound as a tribe to avenge the insult inflicted upon one of their members. Accordingly, on the evening of this the third day of the Thing, he went alone to the Finnveding camp, having first requested and obtained safe-conduct to do so, in order that he might discuss the matter privately with Olof Summerbird.

The latter received him in a manner befitting a chieftain. He had sheepskins spread out for Orm to sit on, offered him fried sausage, sour milk, and white bread, and commanded his servant to bring forth his feasting-cup. This was a tall clay cup with handles, narrow-necked, and terminating in a leaden stopper. It was placed carefully on flat ground between them, together with two silver mugs.

“You conduct yourself like a chieftain,” said Orm, “here, as at the Thing.”

“It is a bad thing to sit talking without ale to drink,” said Olof Summerbird; “and when chieftain entertains chieftain, they should have something better to swallow than water from the brook. You are a man who has traveled widely, as I have, and perhaps you have tasted this drink before, though it is seldom offered to guests here in the north.”

He took the stopper from the cup and poured a liquid from it into the two mugs. Orm nodded as he saw its color.

“This is wine,” he said, “the Roman drink. I have tasted it in Andalusia, where many people drank it secretly, though it was forbidden them by their prophet; and once again, on a later occasion, at the court of King Ethelred in England.”

“In Constantinople, which we call Miklagard,” said Olof Summerbird, “it is drunk by everyone, morning and evening, especially by the priests, who thin it with water and drink twice as much as anyone else. They hold it to be a sacred drink, but I think that ale is better. I pledge you welcome.”

They both drank.

“Its sweetness is soothing to the throat when a man has eaten fat sausage with salt in it,” said Orm, “though I agree with you about ale being the better drink. But it is time for me to tell you why I have come to speak with you, though I think you know the reason already. I wish to know whether the two heads that were thrown to me across the brook were sent by your kinsman Östen. They belonged to two Christian priests who had become your slaves. I also wish to know whether this Östen still seeks my life. If he does so, it is without cause, for I spared his life and gave him his freedom when he was in my power, the time he treacherously gained entry to my house to get my head, which he had promised to King Sven. You know that I am a baptized man and a follower of Christ; and I know that you regard Christians as evil men, because of the way you saw them act in Miklagard. But I promise you that I am not that sort of Christian; and here at this Thing I have learned that you, too, are a man who hates evil and villainy. It is because I know this that I have come to you this evening; otherwise I would have been foolish to cross the brook.”

“How you could have become a Christian,” said Olof Summer-bird, “is more than I can understand. Nor can I make much of your little bald priest; for I hear that he helps all members of the Thing who come to him with ailments, and refuses reward for his labor. So I hold you both to be good men, as though you had never been tainted with Christianity. Nevertheless, you must admit, Orm, that you and your priest laid a cruel burden on my kinsman Östen when you forced him to receive baptism. The shame of that has driven him mad; though it may be that the ax-blow he received on his head also had something to do with it. He has become folk-shy and spends most of his time wandering in the forest or lying in his room groaning to himself. He refused to come to the Thing; but he bought these two slave-priests from their owners, paying a big price for them, and straightway hewed off their heads and sent them here by his servant, that he might give them to you and your little priest as a reminder and a greeting. He has, indeed, been well punished for his attempt against your life, for he has been baptized and has lost all the wares you took from him, and his understanding too; but though he is my kinsman, I will not say that he has got more than he deserved, for he was too rich a man, and too nobly born, to be a party to such a bargain as he made with King Sven. I have told him as much myself and have said that I shall not order any feud against you to avenge him; but it is certain that he will gladly kill you if he gets the chance. For he believes that he will become brave and merry again, as he was before, once he has killed you and your little priest.”

“I thank you for this information,” said Orm. “Now I know how I stand. There is nothing I can do about the two priests whose heads he took, and I shall not seek revenge for their death. But I shall be on my guard, in case his madness drives him to make some further attempt against me.”

Olof Summerbird nodded and refilled their mugs with wine.

It was now quite still in the camp, and there was no sound to be heard save the breathing of sleeping men. A light breeze stirred the trees, and the aspen leaves rustled. They pledged each other again, and as Orm drank, he heard a branch crack in the wood behind him. As he leaned forward to replace his mug on the ground, he heard a sudden gasp at his ear, as of a man fighting for his breath. Olof Summerbird sat up alertly and gave a cry, and Orm turned half around, saw a movement in the woods, and crouched closer to the ground.

“It is a lucky thing I am sharp of hearing and moved quickly,” he said afterwards, “for the spear flew so close to me that it scarred the back of my neck.”

There was a howl from the woods, and a man rushed out at them whirling a sword. It was Östen of Öre, and they could see at once that he was mad, for his eyes stared stiffly out of his head like a ghost’s, and there was froth on his lips. Orm had no time to seize his sword or get to his feet. Flinging himself sideways, he managed to grip the madman’s leg and throw him across his body at the same time as he received a slash across the hip from his sword. Then he heard a blow and a groan, and as he got to his feet he saw Olof Summerbird standing sword in hand, and östen lying still on the ground. His kinsman had hewed him in the neck, and he was already dead.

Men came running toward them, awakened by the noise. Olof Summerbird looked with a pale face at the dead man.

“I have killed him,” he said, “though he was my kinsman. But I do not intend that any guest of mine shall be attacked, even by a madman. Besides which, his spear broke my feasting-cup; and whoever had done that, I would have killed him.”

The cup lay in fragments, and he was much grieved at its loss, for such a one he would not easily find again.

He ordered his men to carry the dead man to the marsh and sink him there, driving pointed stakes through his body; for if this is not done, madmen walk again and are the most fearful of earthbound spirits.

Orm had come out of this adventure with a scar on his neck and a wound in his hip; but the latter was not dangerous, for the sword-blade had struck his knife and eating-spoon, which he wore on his belt. He was accordingly able to walk back to his camp; and as he said farewell to Olof Summerbird, they took each other by the hand.

“You have lost your cup,” said Orm, “which is a pity. But you are the richer by a friend, if that is any consolation to you. And I should be happy if I could think that I had won as much.”

“You have,” replied Olof Summerbird. “And this is no small prize that you and I have won.”

From this time the friendship between them was very great.

On the last day of the Thing, it was agreed that peace should reign throughout the border country until the time of the next Thing. So this Thing at the Kraka Stone ended, though many thought that it had been disappointing, and nothing to boast of, because no good combat had been fought during it.

Father Willibald went to the Vird camp to look for the magister and say farewell to him, but the woman Katla had already taken him away. Orm wanted Toke to come back to Gröning with him, but Toke refused, saying that he had to buy his skins. But they promised to entertain each other honorably in the near future and always to keep their friendship firm.

All now rode off toward their respective homes; and Orm felt much relieved that he was rid of both the magister and his enemy, östen of öre. When Christmas came, Toke and his Andalusian wife Mirah visited Gröning; and all that Orm and Toke had to tell each other was as nothing compared with what Ylva and Mirah had to say to each other.

At the beginning of spring Rapp’s wife, Torgunn, bore her man a boy. Rapp was much pleased at this; but when he reckoned the months backwards, he felt somewhat suspicious, for the date of conception was not far from that time when the magister had read over Torgunn’s injured knee. All the house-folk, men and women alike, praised the child and his resemblance to his father; this comforted Rapp, but did not completely allay his fears. The only man whose word he wholly relied upon was Orm; so he went to him and begged him to examine the child and say whom he thought it most resembled. Orm looked at the child closely for a long while; then he said: “There is a great difference between him and you, and nobody can fail to see it. The child has two eyes, and you have only one. But it would be churlish of you to resent this, for you, too, had two eyes when you came into the world. Apart from this disparity, I have never seen a child that more resembled its father.”

Rapp was calmed by this assurance and became exceedingly proud of his son. He wanted Father Willibald to christen him Almansur, but the priest refused to give the child a heathen name, and he had to be content with calling him Orm instead. Orm himself carried the child to the christening.

A fortnight after this child was born, Ylva gave birth to her second son. He was black-haired and dark-skinned, and yelled little, but gazed about with serious eyes; and when the sword’s point was offered to him, he licked it even more avidly than Harald Ormsson had done. All agreed that he was born to be a warrior, and in this they prophesied rightly. Ylva thought that he resembled Gold-Harald, King Harald’s nephew, in so far as she could remember this great Viking from her childhood days; but Asa would have none of this, insisting that he bore a marked likeness to Sven Rat-Nose, who had been similarly dark of skin. But he could not be christened Sven, and they already had one child called Harald; so in the end Orm gave him the name of Blackhair. He behaved very quietly and solemnly during the christening, and bit Father Willibald in the thumb. He became his parents’ favorite child, and in time the greatest warrior on the border; and many years later, after many things had happened, there was in the court of King Canute the Mighty of Denmark and England no chieftain of greater renown than the King’s cousin Blackhair Ormsson.