The Long Ships

CHAPTER SIX

HOW THEY ROWED TO THE DNIEPER

THEY rounded the tip of Gotland, headed eastwards, past the island of Ösel, and entered the mouth of the river Dvina. This river formed the beginning of the low road to Miklagard, which was that most used by Gothlanders. The high road, which the Swedes favored, went along the coast of the Dead Land,1 up the Vodor River to Ladoga, and thence through Novgorod to the Dnieper.

“Which is the better road no man has yet decided,” said Spof. “I myself cannot say, though I have traveled them both. For the labor of rowing against the current always makes the road one has chosen seem the worse, whichever that may be. But it is lucky for us that we are starting late and so will miss the spring tide.”

The men were in good heart as they entered the river, though they knew there was hard rowing ahead of them. After Orm had arranged matters so that each man should row for three days and rest for one, they proceeded upstream through the country of the Livonians and that of the Semgalls, occasionally passing small fishing villages sited on the banks, and beyond into a land deserted of men, with nothing to see save the river stretching away behind them and dense forest hugging them endlessly on both sides. The men felt awed by this country; and sometimes, when they had gone ashore for the night and were sitting around their fires, they heard a distant roaring that was like the voice of no animal they knew, and murmured to one another that this might, perhaps, be the Iron Forest, which the ancients spoke of, where Loki’s2 progeny still roamed the earth.

One day they met three ships moving down the river abreast, heavily laden and well manned, though with only six pairs of oars out to each ship. They were Gothlanders, on their way home. The men were lean and burned black by the sun, and they glanced curiously at Orm’s ship as it approached them. Some of them recognized Spof and shouted greetings to him; and words were flung across from ship to ship as they glided slowly past. They had come from Great Bulgaria, on the river Volga, and had rowed down the river to the Salt Sea,3 where they had traded with the Arabs. They were carrying a good cargo home, they said: fabrics, silver bowls, slave-girls, wine, and pepper; and three men in the second ship held up a naked young woman and dangled her over the side by her arms and hair, crying that she was for sale for twelve marks between friends. The woman shrieked and struggled, fearful lest she should fall into the water, and Orm’s men drew deep breaths at the sight of her; but when, nobody having made an offer, the men drew her in again, she screamed foul words and thrust her tongue out at them.

The Gotland chieftains asked Orm who he was, whither he was heading, and what cargo he had aboard.

“I am no merchant,” replied Orm. “I am going to Kiev to claim an inheritance.”

“It must be a great inheritance if it is worth the labor of such a voyage,” said the Gothlanders skeptically. “But if it is plunder you seek, seek it from others, for we always travel well prepared.”

With that the ships passed on and grew small down the river.

“That woman was not contemptible,” said Toke thoughtfully. “By her breasts, I adjudge her to be twenty at the most, though it is always difficult to be sure with a woman when she is hanging with her arms above her head. But only Gothlanders could ask twelve marks for a slave-girl, however young. None the less, I expected you, Olof, to make a bid for her.”

“I might have done,” said Olof Summerbird, “if I were not so placed as I am. But there is only one woman I long for, and I shall not forfeit my right to her maidenhood.”

Orm stood scowling darkly after the disappearing ships.

“I am surely fated to fight with Gothlanders before I die,” he said, “though I am a peaceful man. Their arrogance is great, and I am beginning to weary of always letting them have the last word.”

“Perhaps we could fight them on our way home,” said Toke, “if our other enterprise comes to nothing.”

But Spof said that if those were his intentions, Orm would have to find another helmsman, for he would not take part in any fight against his own people.

In the afternoon of the same day they had a further encounter. They heard the harsh creak of oars, and around the nearest bend there emerged a ship, rowing swiftly. They had all their oars out, and were rowing with all their strength. At the sight of Orm’s ship, they slackened their pace; the ship carried twenty-four pairs of oars, as Orm’s did, and was filled with armed men.

Orm shouted immediately to his rowers to continue strongly and steadily, and to the rest of his men to make ready for battle; and Toke, who was standing at the steering-oar, altered course so as to be able to grapple the other ship without being rammed, if there should be fighting.

“What men are you?” came the cry from the strange ship.

“Men from Skania and Smaland,” replied Orm. “And you?”

“East Gutes.”

The river was broad here, and the current weak. Toke shouted to the larboard rowers to pull, and told the starboard men to rest on their oars, so that the ship swung swiftly round toward the East Gutes until both the ships were gliding side by side downstream, so close that their oars were all but touching.

“We had you at our mercy then, if we had wished to ram you,” said Toke, pleased at the success of his maneuver. “And that even though you had the current with you. We have been in situations like this before.”

The East Gute, seeing their willingness to fight, spoke more humbly.

“Have you met Gothlanders on the river?” he asked.

“Three ships this morning,” replied Orm.

“Did you speak with them?”

“In friendliness. They were carrying a good cargo, and asked if we knew if there were any East Gutes near.”

“Did they speak of East Gutes? Were they afraid?”

“They said they found life tedious without them.”

“That is like them,” said the East Gute. “Three ships, you said? What freight have you aboard?”

“Arms and men. Is there anything you want from us?”

“If what you say is true,” said the other, “you carry the same cargo as we, and there is nothing for us to fight for. I have a suggestion to make. Come with me and let us surprise these Gothlanders. They carry booty worth winning, and we will share it like brothers.”

“What quarrel have you with them?” asked Spof.

“They have riches aboard and I have none. Is not that cause enough? The luck has been against us since we started for home. We came rich from the Volga, but the Meres were waiting for us at the portage by the weirs and ambushed us. We lost one of our ships and most of our cargo, and have no wish to return home empty-handed. Come now with me, if you are the men you look to be. Gothlanders are always worth attacking. I have heard at home that they are beginning to shoe their horses with silver shoes.”

“We have business elsewhere,” said Orm, “and urgent business at that. But I doubt not the Gothlanders will be glad to see you. Three against one is the sort of odds they like.”

“Do as you wish,” said the other sullenly. “It is as I have always heard, that Skanians are swinish bladders of men with no thought save for themselves, and never stretch out a hand to a stranger.”

“It is true that we seldom think of East Gutes except when forced to,” replied Orm. “But you have wasted our time for long enough. Farewell!”

Orm’s ship was gliding slightly behind that of the Gutes, and Toke now swung her round facing upstream. While he was swinging her, the Gute chieftain’s anger outgrew his patience, and of a sudden he flung his spear at Orm, crying as he did so: “Perhaps this will help you to remember us!”

Olof Summerbird was standing beside Orm, and he now performed a feat that many had heard tell of, but few had ever had the good fortune to behold. As the spear winged its way toward Orm, Olof took a step forwards, caught it in its flight just below the blade, turned it in his hand, and flung it back with such speed that few of those present realized immediately what had happened. The East Gute was not prepared for so swift a reply, and the spear took him in the shoulder, so that he staggered and sat down on his deck.

“That was a greeting from Finnveden,” shouted Olof, and his men roared with approval of his feat and nodded to one another, hugely proud of their chieftain’s performance. All the sailors rejoiced with them, though they doubted not that the East Gutes would now attack them. But the Gutes seemed to have lost their stomach for fighting and proceeded downstream without further words.

“Such a throw I have never before seen,” said Orm, “and I thank you for it.”

“I am as skillful with weapons as most men,” said Toke, “but I could never match that feat. And you may be sure of this, Olof Styrsson, that few men have received such a tribute from Toke Gray-Gullsson.”

“It is a gift one is born with,” said Olof, “though perhaps an unusual one. I could do it even as a boy, finding it easy, though I have never been able to teach it to anyone else.”

That evening Olof’s feat was much discussed around the campfires on the bank, and they speculated on what would happen when the Gutes caught up with the Gothlanders.

“They cannot attack three good ships with only one,” said Toke, “however strong their itch for trouble. I think they will follow the Gothlanders out into the open sea, and hope they may become separated by bad weather. But the Gothlanders will not yield their cargo easily.”

“East Gutes are dangerous men,” said Orm. “We had some of them among us when I sailed to England with Thorkel the Tall. They are good fighters and regard themselves as the best in the world, which is perhaps the reason why they find it difficult to live peaceably with other men and take few pains over their behavior. They are merry when drunk, but otherwise take little pleasure in jests. But they are worst when they suspect that anyone is laughing at them behind their backs; rather than be mocked, they would run upon a spear-point. Therefore I think it best that we should keep good watch tonight, lest they should regret their continence and decide to return.”

But nothing further came of this encounter; and, cheered by this meeting with their countrymen, they rowed on into the limitless land.

They came to a place where the water boiled around great stones. There they hauled their ship on to the bank and emptied her. Then they dragged her up a trodden track past the weir and slid her back into the water. When they had brought the ship’s contents up by the same path and had replaced them in the ship, the men asked confidently if it was not now time for them to be given some of the good portage-ale. But Spof said that only novices at the work could suppose that they had yet earned it.

“This was not a portage,” he said, “but a lift. The ale will only be served after we have passed the portage.”

Several times they came to similar weirs, and to some where the climb was longer and steeper. But Spof always gave the same reply, so that they began to wonder what the appearance of the great portage might be.

Every evening, after they had gone ashore for the night, they fished in the river, always making fine catches. So they did not lack for food, though they had by now eaten most of what they had brought with them. In spite of this, however, they sat dejected around their fires as they cooked their fish, longing for fresh meat and agreeing with one another that too much fish made a man distempered. They began, too, to grow weary of the heavy rowing; but Spof comforted them, saying that things would soon be different.

“For you must know,” he said, “that the heavy rowing has not yet begun.”

Sone’s sons liked the fish less than anyone else and went out each evening to hunt. They took spears and bows and were cunning at discovering the tracks of animals and their watering-places. But although they were tireless and always came back late to the camp, it was a long time before they found anything. At last they sighted an elk, which they managed to corner and kill, and that night they did not return to the camp before dawn. They had lit a fire in the forest and eaten themselves full; and such meat as they brought back with them they were loath to part with.

After this they had better success with their hunting. Glad Ulf and Blackhair joined them on their sorties, and others also; and Orm regretted that he had not brought with him two or three of his great hounds, thinking that he could now be using them to good purpose.

One evening Blackhair came running back to the camp exhausted and breathless, shouting for men and ropes. There was now, he said, meat for all; and at this every man in the camp leaped quickly to his feet. They had driven five large animals into a bog, where they had killed them, and many men were needed to drag them out. All the men rushed joyfully to the spot, and they soon had the good meat on dry land. The animals looked like great bearded oxen, but oxen such as Orm had never before seen. Two of Toke’s men, however, said that these were wild oxen, such as were still sometimes to be found near Lake Asnen in Värend, where they were held sacred.

“Tomorrow we shall have a holiday,” said Orm, “and hold a feast.”

So they had a feast, at which no complaints were heard; and the wild oxen, which were praised by all for the flavor and good texture of their flesh, disappeared with what was left of the ale they had brought with them when they had started.

“It is no matter if we finish it,” said Orm, “for it is already beginning to grow sharp.”

“When we come to the town of the Polotjans,” said Spof, “we shall be able to buy mead. But do not let anyone tempt you to touch the portage-ale.”

When they had recovered from this meal and had continued on their course, they had the good fortune to be favored with a strong wind, so that for a whole day they were able to proceed by sail. They were now entering country where traces of man’s habitation could be seen on the banks.

“This is the country of the Polotjans,” said Spof. “But we shall not see any of them before we reach their town. Those who live in the wild country here never come near the river when word has come to them that ships are approaching, for fear lest they should be taken to serve at the oars and then be sold as slaves in a foreign land.”

Spof told them also that these Polotjans had no gods save snakes, who lived with them in their huts; but Orm looked at Spof and said that he had been to sea before and knew how much to believe of that story.

They came to the town of the Polotjans, which was called Polotsk and was of considerable size, with ramparts and stockades. Many men went naked there, though no women did so; for, a short while before, they had all been commanded to pay taxes, and the chieftain of the town had ordered that no man might wear clothes until he had paid what he owed the great Prince. Some of these looked more resentful than the rest; they had, they said, paid their tax, but must still go naked, because they had no clothes left after having pawned them to raise the money. In order to be ready for the cold season, they offered their wives for a good shirt, and their daughters for a pair of shoes, and found Orm’s men willing customers.

The chieftain of this town was of Swedish blood, and was called Faste; he received them hospitably and asked anxiously for news of events at home. He was aged, and had served the great Prince of Kiev for many years. He had Polotjan women in his house, and many children, and, when drunk, spoke their tongue in preference to his own. Orm bought from him mead and pork, and many other things also.

When they were ready to proceed, Faste came to bid them farewell and begged Orm to take with him his scribe, who was going to Kiev with a basket of heads. The great Prince, he explained, liked to be reminded that his town chieftains served him zealously, and was always pleased to receive evidence of their zeal in the shape of the heads of the more dangerous criminals. Lately it had become difficult to ensure a safe passage to Kiev, and he was reluctant to neglect so good an opportunity as this of sending his gift. The scribe was a young man, a native of Kiev; besides the heads, he carried a sheepskin on which were written the names of the former owners of the heads, together with an account of their misdeeds.

In view of the hospitality that Faste had shown him, Orm felt unable to deny him this request, though he was unwilling to comply with it. The heads awoke unpleasant memories in him, for he had received a present in that shape once before; he recalled, also, that his own head had been sold to King Sven, though the transaction had never been completed. Accordingly he regarded this basket as likely to bring bad luck with it, and all his men thought the same. It was, besides, noticeable in the summer heat that the heads were beginning to age, and before they had gone far the men began to complain of their stink. The scribe sat by his basket as though smelling nothing; he understood the Northmen’s tongue, however, and after a while suggested that the basket should be tied to a rope and allowed to trail in the water. This proposal won general approval; so the basket was tied firmly to a rope’s end and heaved overboard. They had, by this time, set sail again and were making good speed; and later that day Blackhair cried that the basket had detached itself and disappeared.

“The best course for you now, scribe,” said Toke, “is to jump overboard and fish for your treasure; for if you arrive without it, I fear things may go somewhat ill for you.”

The scribe, though vexed at this occurrence, appeared not to be greatly alarmed by it. The sheepskin, he explained, was more important than the heads; as long as he still had the former, he could manage without the latter. There were only nine of them, and he doubted not that he would be able to borrow substitutes from public officials in Kiev with whom he was friendly; for there were always plenty of malefactors in their custody awaiting execution.

“We are taught to be merciful, after the example of God,” he said, “and therefore think it good to help one another when we are in distress. And one head is as good as another.”

“Then you are Christians in this land?” said Orm.

“In Kiev,” replied the scribe, “for the great Prince has so commanded us, and we think it best to comply with his wishes.”

They reached a place where two rivers joined. Their course lay along the right-hand fork, which was called Ulla, and it was now that the hard rowing began. For here the current soon became stronger and the river narrower, and often they found themselves unable to make progress and had to haul the ship ashore and drag her forward along the bank. They had to toil long and strenuously, so that even the strongest among them felt it, and regretted the good days they had spent on the Dvina. At last they reached a place where Spof ordered them to bring the ship ashore, though they were making good progress and it was yet early in the day; for this, he said, was the great portage.

The ground here was scattered with various kinds of timber, left by travelers ascending or descending—broken planks, rollers, and a type of rough runner. Some of them were still usable, and the men axed others from fallen trees. They drew the ship up on the bank and after a great deal of carpentry managed to fasten runners down both sides of the keel. While they were thus occupied, some men were seen to come out of the forest a little farther up the river and stand there uncertainly watching them. Spof appeared pleased when he saw them; he waved to them, held up a tankard, and shouted the two words that he knew of their language: “oxen” and “silver.” The men came nearer and were offered drink, which they accepted; and Orm was now able to make use of Faste’s scribe, who was able to interpret between him and the strangers. They had oxen they were prepared to hire out, but only ten, though Spof wanted more. These oxen, the men explained, were grazing deep in the forest where robbers and tax-collectors would be less likely to find them, but they would be back with them in three days. They asked only a small price for the use of them, and begged that they might be paid in sailcloth instead of silver, as their women liked the striped woof; but in the event of any ox dying, they wanted to be given good compensation. Orm found their demands reasonable, and thought them the first honest people he had dealt with on this voyage.

All the men now set busily to work chopping and carpentering, and in a short time they had built a broad wagon, with strong rounds of oak to serve as wheels. Upon this they piled the portageale and made it fast, together with most of the other things from the ship.

The strangers then returned with the oxen as they had promised; and when everything was ready, two oxen were harnessed to the wagon and the rest to the ship.

“If we had six more oxen,” said Spof, “all would be well; as things are, we shall have to help with the dragging ourselves. But we must be thankful that we have got any help at all, for to drag a ship up the great portage without oxen is the worst task that a man could be faced with.”

When the dragging began, some of the men walked ahead to lift fallen trees out of the way and smooth the track. Then came the wagon. They guided the oxen cautiously, lest anything should give way; and when the wheels began to smoke, they greased the axles with pork and pitch. Then came the ship, with many men harnessed to the ropes beside the oxen. Where the track led downhill, or over grassland and moss, the oxen were able to manage without assistance; but where it led uphill, the men had to lend all their strength, and where the going was rough, rollers had to be placed beneath the runners. The ox-drivers spoke to their beasts the whole time, and sometimes sang to them, so that they dragged willingly, but when Orm’s men spoke to them, using the words they used to address oxen at home, they received no response, because these oxen could not understand what they were saying. This surprised the men greatly; it showed, they said, that oxen were far wiser beasts than they had hitherto supposed, for here was evidence that they possessed a characteristic in common with men—namely, that they could not understand the speech of foreigners.

The men grew weary with the heat and toil and the business of changing the rollers; but they kept bravely on, for it was a great incentive to them to see the wagon with the portage-ale moving ahead of them, and they did all they could to keep pace with it. As soon as they pitched camp for the night, they all cried loudly for portage-ale; but Spof said that this first day’s work had been light, and that Faste’s mead was reward enough for it. They drank of this, grumbling, and soon fell asleep; but the next day’s work proved more arduous, as Spof had told them it would. Before the afternoon was far advanced, many of the men began to flag; but Orm and Toke cheered them with words of encouragement, sometimes lending a hand themselves with the dragging so that the men might be stimulated by their example. When evening came on this day, Spof at last said that the time had come for the portage-ale to be opened. They breached a cask and gave a good measure to every man; and although they had all tasted the same brew in the Gotland Vi, they declared unanimously that they had not until this moment appreciated its quality to the full, and that the labor they had undergone had been well worth while. Orm ordered that the ox-drivers, too, should have their share; they accepted this offer willingly, and at once became drunk and sang noisily, for they were only accustomed to thin mead.

On the third day they soon came to a lake, long and narrow between asses’-backs, and here their task was lightened. The wagon and the oxen proceeded by land, but they launched the ship into the lake, with her runners still on her keel, and, favored by a mild breeze, sailed down the water, encamping at length on the farther shore. On a hill not far from their camping-ground lay a village with rich pastures below it; here they saw fat cattle being driven in from their grazing, though it was yet a good while before evening. The village, which appeared to be large, was curiously fortified, for, though it was surrounded by a high rampart of earth and stone, this was broken in places by a stockade of rough logs which did not look difficult to scale.

The men were in good spirits, for this was the lightest day’s work they had had for a long while, and the sight of the cattle awakened in them a longing for fresh meat. Neither Orm nor Olof was prepared to pay out any more silver for food, reckoning this to be an unnecessary expenditure after all they had already been put to; but many of the men, unable to control their longing, determined, none the less, to go and fetch their supper. Faste’s scribe said that the people who lived in these parts were wild men of the Dregovite tribe, who had not as yet paid their taxes, so that the men might act as they chose toward them. Spof said that the previous time he had been here, seven years before, this village was in the process of being built; but they had seen no cattle on that occasion, and so had not disturbed the inhabitants. Orm told the men that they must not kill anyone in the village without due cause, and must not take more cattle than would be enough to meet their needs. They promised, and set out toward the village. Sone’s sons were the most anxious to go, for, ever since they had rowed in to the river Ulla, they had had no opportunity to go hunting, because of the incessant work to which they had been subjected.

Shortly afterwards the men who had been coming by land with the wagon arrived at the camp. When the ox-drivers learned from the scribe that men had gone to the village to get cattle, they fell to the ground shaking with laughter. Orm and the others wondered what they could find in this news to be amused at, and the scribe tried to get them to explain the cause of their mirth, but in vain. They would only reply that the cause would in a short while become evident, and then began again to shriek with laughter.

Suddenly shouts and screams were heard from the direction of the village, and the whole company of cattle-raiders emerged, running down the hill as fast as their legs would carry them. They whirled their arms above their heads and yelled fearfully, though nothing else was in sight, and two or three of them fell to the ground and remained there, rolling from side to side. The rest ran down to the lake and jumped into the water.

Everyone in the camp stared at them in amazement.

“Have they devils or ghosts after them?” said Orm.

“I think bees,” said Toke.

It was evident that he was right, and all the men now began to laugh as loudly as the ox-drivers, who had known about this from the beginning.

The refugees from the bees had to sit in the lake for a good while longer, with only their noses showing above the surface, until at length the bees tired of their sport and flew home again. The men returned slowly to the camp, greatly dejected, with swollen faces, and sat with few words in their mouths, thinking they had lost much honor in fleeing thus from bees. The worst of the business, though, was that three men were lying dead on the hill, where they had fallen: two of Olof Summerbird’s men and one of Sone’s sons. They grieved at this, for the dead had all been good men, and Orm ordered that portage-ale should be drunk again that evening, to honor their memory and to cheer the stung survivors.

The ox-drivers now told them about the Dregovites, the scribe translating what they said.

These Dregovites, they said, were more cunning than other men and had found a means to live peacefully in their villages. They had many swarms of bees which lived in the tree trunks that formed part of their fortifications, and which, as soon as any stranger touched the trunks or tried to climb over them, came out and stung him. It was fortunate for the men, they continued, that they had tried to invade the village during daylight, for if they had made the attempt by night, they would have suffered far worse. The bees could only guard the village by day, since they slept during the night; accordingly, the wise Dregovites had also equipped themselves with bears, which they trapped when young and trained and gave good treatment. If robbers came in the night, the bears were released and mauled the invaders, after which they returned to their masters to receive honey-cakes in reward for their services. Because of this, nobody dared to enter the villages of the Dregovites, not even the important men who collected taxes for the great Prince.

The next day they remained in this place and buried the dead. Some of the men wanted to throw fire into the village as a revenge, but Orm strictly forbade this, because no man had raised his hand against the dead men, who had only themselves to blame for their fate. Those who had been worst stung were in a sorry plight, for they were too ill to move; but the ox-drivers went up to the village and, standing at a distance from it, shouted to the inhabitants. A short while later they returned to the camp bringing with them three old women. These old women looked at the men who had been stung and placed a salve on their swellings, consisting of snake’s fat, woman’s milk, and honey, blended with the juices of healing herbs, which soon made the sick men feel better. Orm gave the women ale and silver; they drank eagerly, being careful to leave no drop in their cups, and thanked him humbly for the silver. The scribe spoke with them; they gazed curiously at him, curtsied, and returned to their village.

After a while some men appeared from the village, bringing with them three pigs and two young oxen. The scribe went to greet them, but they brushed him aside, walked up to Orm and Olof Summerbird, and began to talk eagerly. The scribe stood listening, and then, of a sudden, uttered a yell and fled into the forest. Nobody could understand the villagers except the ox-drivers, and these knew but few words of the Northmen’s tongue; but by gestures they managed to explain that the villagers wished to make Orm a gift of the pigs and oxen if he would hand the scribe over to them; for they wished to give him to their bears, because they disliked any man connected with the great Prince. Orm found himself unable to accede to this request; however, he gave them ale and bought their beasts with silver, so that they parted on amiable terms. Later that afternoon several more old women came to the camp with great cheeses, which they gave to the men in exchange for a good draught of ale. The men, who had already begun to roast the meat, thought that everything was turning out better than could have been expected. The only pity, they said, was that old women had come instead of young ones; but these the Dregovites would not allow out of the village.

Toward evening the scribe slunk back into the camp from his hiding-place, tempted by the odor of the roasting meat. He begged Orm to lose no time in getting away from these wild people. The great Prince, he said, would be informed of their behavior.

They proceeded on their way and at length came to a lake larger than that which they had just left; then, on the seventh day of their portage, they reached a river that Spof called the Beaver River and the ox-drivers Berezina. There was great rejoicing among the men when they saw this river, and here they drank the last of the portage-ale, for the worst hardships of the voyage were now past.

“But now,” said Orm, “we have no ale to help us on our homeward journey.”

“That is true,” said Spof, “but we shall only need it on the way out. For it is with men as with horses; once their heads are turned homewards, they move willingly and do not need the spur.”

The ox-drivers were now paid off, and received more than they had demanded; for it was so with Orm that he often felt mean toward merchants, who for the most part seemed to him to be no better than robbers and often worse, but never toward men who had served him well. Besides which, he now felt that he was a good deal nearer to the Bulgar gold. The ox-drivers thanked him for his generosity and, before departing, took Spof and Toke to a village, where they spoke to good men who were willing to hire out oxen for the return journey. Orm ordered his men to dig a hiding-place, where they hid the rollers and runners until they should need them again, having worn out three sets of runners during the long land drag. The wagon he took with him, thinking that it might prove useful when they reached the weirs.

They sailed down the river, past fishermen’s shacks and beavers’ huts and dams, rejoicing that the going was now light. The river ran black and shining between broad-leaved trees, rich with foliage, and the men thought that the fish from this river tasted more wholesome than those they had caught in the Dvina. Only a few men were needed at the oars; the rest sat in peace and contentment, telling one another stories and wondering whether the whole voyage might not be completed without any fighting.

The river broadened more and more, and at last they came out into the Dnieper. Orm and Toke agreed that even the biggest rivers in Andalusia could not be compared with this; and Olof Summerbird said that, of all the rivers in the world, only the Danube was greater. But Spof thought that the Volga was the biggest of them all, and had many stories to tell of the voyages he had made on its waters.

They met four ships laboring upstream, heavy-laden, and spoke with them. They were manned by merchants from Birka, who were on their way home from Krim. They were very tired, and said that trade had been good but the homeward journey bad. They had been engaged in fighting at the weirs and had lost many men; for the Patzinaks had come west, waging war against all men, and were trying to stop all traffic on the river. It would be unwise, they said, for anyone to travel beyond Kiev before the Patzinaks had left the river and returned again to their eastern grazing-grounds.

This news gave Orm much to think about, and when they had parted from the merchants he sat for a long time pondering deeply.

1. Balagard; that is, the southern coast of Finland.

2. Loki was the spirit of evil and mischief in Norse mythology; it was he who contrived the death of Balder.

3. The Caspian Sea.