CHAPTER II
THE SLAYING OF THE BEAR
Leaping from their horses, Ragnar and Steinar came to where I stood,
for already I had dismounted and was pointing to the ground, which
just here had been swept clear of snow by the wind.
"I see nothing," said Ragnar.
"But I do, brother," I answered; "who study the ways of wild things
while you think I am asleep. Look, that moss has been turned over; for
it is frozen underneath and pressed up into little mounds between the
bear's claws. Also that tiny pool has gathered in the slot of the paw;
it is its very shape. The other footprints do not show because of the
rock."
Then I went forward a few paces behind some bushes and called out:
"Here runs the track, sure enough, and, as I thought, the brute has a
split claw; the snow marks it well. Bid the thrall stay with the
horses and come you."
They obeyed, and there on the white snow which lay beyond the bush we
saw the track of the bear stamped as if in wax.
"A mighty beast," said Ragnar. "Never have I seen its like."
"Aye," exclaimed Steinar, "but an ill place to hunt it in," and he
looked doubtfully at the rough gorge, covered with undergrowth, that
some hundred yards farther on became dense birch forest. "I think it
would be well to ride back to Aar, and return to-morrow morning with
all whom we can gather. This is no task for three spears."
By this time I, Olaf, was springing from rock to rock up the gorge,
following the bear's track. For my brother's taunts rankled in me and
I was determined that I should kill this beast or die and thus show
Ragnar that I feared no bear. So I called back to them over my
shoulder:
"Aye, go home, it is wisest; but I go on for I have never yet seen one
of these white ice-bears alive."
"Now it is Olaf who taunts in his turn," said Ragnar with a laugh.
Then they both sprang after me, but always I kept ahead of them.
For the half of a mile or more they followed me out of the scrub into
the birch forest, where the snow, lying on the matted boughs of the
trees and especially of some firs that were mingled with the birch,
made the place gloomy in that low light. Always in front of me ran the
huge slots of the bear till at length they brought me to a little
forest glade, where some great whirling wind had torn up many trees
which had but a poor root-hold on a patch of almost soilless rock.
These trees lay in confusion, their tops, which had not yet rotted,
being filled with frozen snow. On the edge of them I paused, having
lost the track. Then I went forward again, casting wide as a hound
does, while behind came Ragnar and Steinar, walking straight past the
edge of the glade, and purposing to meet me at its head. This, indeed,
Ragnar did, but Steinar halted because of a crunching sound that
caught his ear, and then stepped to the right between two fallen
birches to discover its cause. Next moment, as he told me afterwards,
he stood frozen, for there behind the boughs of one of the trees was
the huge white bear, eating some animal that it had killed. The beast
saw him, and, mad with rage at being disturbed, for it was famished
after its long journey on the floe, reared itself up on its hind legs,
roaring till the air shook. High it towered, its hook-like claws
outstretched.
Steinar tried to spring back, but caught his foot, and fell. Well for
him was it that he did so, for otherwise the blow which the bear
struck would have crushed him to a pulp. The brute did not seem to
understand where he had gone--at any rate, it remained upreared and
beating at the air. Then a doubt took it, its huge paws sank until it
sat like a begging dog, sniffing the wind. At this moment Ragnar came
back shouting, and hurled his spear. It stuck in the beast's chest and
hung there. The bear began to feel for it with its paws, and, catching
the shaft, lifted it to its mouth and champed it, thus dragging the
steel from its hide.
Then it bethought it of Steinar, and, sinking down, discovered him,
and tore at the birch tree under which he had crept till the splinters
flew from its trunk. Just then I reached it, having seen all. By now
the bear had its teeth fixed in Steinar's shoulder, or, rather, in his
leathern garment, and was dragging him from under the tree. When it
saw me it reared itself up again, lifting Steinar and holding him to
its breast with one paw. I went mad at the sight, and charged it,
driving my spear deep into its throat. With its other paw it struck
the weapon from my hand, shivering the shaft. There it stood, towering
over us like a white pillar, and roared with pain and fury, Steinar
still pressed against it, Ragnar and I helpless.
"He's sped!" gasped Ragnar.
I thought for a flash of time, and--oh! well do I remember that
moment: the huge beast foaming at the jaws and Steinar held to its
breast as a little girl holds a doll; the still, snow-laden trees, on
the top of one of which sat a small bird spreading its tail in jerks;
the red light of evening, and about us the great silences of the sky
above and of the lonely forest beneath. It all comes back to me--I can
see it now quite clearly; yes, even the bird flitting to another twig,
and there again spreading its tail to some invisible mate. Then I made
up my mind what to do.
"Not yet!" I cried. "Keep it in play," and, drawing my short and heavy
sword, I plunged through the birch boughs to get behind the bear.
Ragnar understood. He threw his cap into the brute's face, and then,
after it had growled at him awhile, just as it dropped its great jaws
to crunch Steinar, he found a bough and thrust it between them.
By now I was behind the bear, and, smiting at its right leg below the
knee, severed the tendon. Down it came, still hugging Steinar. I smote
again with all my strength, and cut into its spine above the tail,
paralysing it. It was a great blow, as it need to be to cleave the
thick hair and hide, and my sword broke in the backbone, so that, like
Ragnar, now I was weaponless. The forepart of the bear rolled about in
the snow, although its after half was still.
Then once more it seemed to bethink itself of Steinar, who lay
unmoving and senseless. Stretching out a paw, it dragged him towards
its champing jaws. Ragnar leapt upon its back and struck at it with
his knife, thereby only maddening it the more. I ran in and grasped
Steinar, whom the bear was again hugging to its breast. Seeing me, it
loosed Steinar, whom I dragged away and cast behind me, but in the
effort I slipped and fell forward. The bear smote at me, and its
mighty forearm--well for me that it was not its claws--struck me upon
the side of the head and sent me crashing into a tree-top to the left.
Five paces I flew before my body touched the boughs, and there I lay
quiet.
I suppose that Ragnar told me what passed after this while I was
senseless. At least, I know that the bear began to die, for my spear
had pierced some artery in its throat, and all the talk which
followed, as well as though I heard it with my ears. It roared and
roared, vomiting blood and stretching out its claws after Steinar as
Ragnar dragged him away. Then it laid its head flat upon the snow and
died. Ragnar looked at it and muttered:
"Dead!"
Then he walked to that top of the fallen tree in which I lay, and
again muttered: "Dead! Well, Valhalla holds no braver man than Olaf
the Skald."
Next he went to Steinar and once again exclaimed, "Dead!"
For so he looked, indeed, smothered in the blood of the bear and with
his garments half torn off him. Still, as the words passed Ragnar's
lips he sat up, rubbed his eyes and smiled as a child does when it
awakes.
"Are you much hurt?" asked Ragnar.
"I think not," he answered doubtfully, "save that I feel sore and my
head swims. I have had a bad dream." Then his eyes fell on the bear,
and he added: "Oh, I remember now; it was no dream. Where is Olaf?"
"Supping with Odin," answered Ragnar and pointed to me.
Steinar rose to his feet, staggered to where I lay, and stared at me
stretched there as white as the snow, with a smile upon my face and in
my hand a spray of some evergreen bush which I had grasped as I fell.
"Did he die to save me?" asked Steinar.
"Aye," answered Ragnar, "and never did man walk that bridge in better
fashion. You were right. Would that I had not mocked him."
"Would that I had died and not he," said Steinar with a sob. "It is
borne in upon my heart that it were better I had died."
"Then that may well be, for the heart does not lie at such a time.
Also it is true that he was worth both of us. There was something more
in him than there is in us, Steinar. Come, lift him to my back, and if
you are strong enough, go on to the horses and bid the thrall bring
one of them. I follow."
Thus ended the fight with the great white bear.
Some four hours later, in the midst of a raging storm of wind and
rain, I was brought at last to the bridge that spanned the moat of the
Hall of Aar, laid like a corpse across the back of one of the horses.
They had been searching for us at Aar, but in that darkness had found
nothing. Only, at the head of the bridge was Freydisa, a torch in her
hand. She glanced at me by the light of the torch.
"As my heart foretold, so it is," she said. "Bring him in," then
turned and ran to the house.
They bore me up between the double ranks of stabled kine to where the
great fire of turf and wood burned at the head of the hall, and laid
me on a table.
"Is he dead?" asked Thorvald, my father, who had come home that night;
"and if so, how?"
"Aye, father," answered Ragnar, "and nobly. He dragged Steinar yonder
from under the paws of the great white bear and slew it with his
sword."
"A mighty deed," muttered my father. "Well, at least he comes home in
honour."
But my mother, whose favourite son I was, lifted up her voice and
wept. Then they took the clothes from off me, and, while all watched,
Freydisa, the skilled woman, examined my hurts. She felt my head and
looked into my eyes, and laying her ear upon my breast, listened for
the beating of my heart.
Presently she rose, and, turning, said slowly:
"Olaf is not dead, though near to death. His pulses flutter, the light
of life still burns in his eyes, and though the blood runs from his
ears, I think the skull is not broken."
When she heard these words, Thora, my mother, whose heart was weak,
fainted for joy, and my father, untwisting a gold ring from his arm,
threw it to Freydisa.
"First the cure," she said, thrusting it away with her foot.
"Moreover, when I work for love I take no pay."
Then they washed me, and, having dressed my hurts, laid me on a bed
near the fire that warmth might come back to me. But Freydisa would
not suffer them to give me anything save a little hot milk which she
poured down my throat.
For three days I lay like one dead; indeed, all save my mother held
Freydisa wrong and thought that I was dead. But on the fourth day I
opened my eyes and took food, and after that fell into a natural
sleep. On the morning of the sixth day I sat up and spoke many wild
and wandering words, so that they believed I should only live as a
madman.
"His mind is gone," said my mother, and wept.
"Nay," answered Freydisa, "he does but return from a land where they
speak another tongue. Thorvald, bring hither the bear-skin."
It was brought and hung on a frame of poles at the end of the niche in
which I slept, that, as was usual among northern people, opened out of
the hall. I stared at it for a long while. Then my memory came back
and I asked:
"Did the great beast kill Steinar?"
"No," answered my mother, who sat by me. "Steinar was sore hurt, but
escaped and now is well again."
"Let me see him with my own eyes," I said.
So he was brought, and I looked on him. "I am glad you live, my
brother," I said, "for know in this long sleep of mine I have dreamed
that you were dead"; and I stretched out my wasted arms towards him,
for I loved Steinar better than any other man.
He came and kissed me on the brow, saying:
"Aye, thanks to you, Olaf, I live to be your brother and your thrall
till the end."
"My brother always, not my thrall," I muttered, for I was growing
tired. Then I went to sleep again.
Three days later, when my strength began to return, I sent for Steinar
and said:
"Brother, Iduna the Fair, whom you have never seen, my betrothed, must
wonder how it fares with me, for the tale of this hurt of mine will
have reached Lesso. Now, as there are reasons why Ragnar cannot go,
and as I would send no mean man, I pray you to do me a favour. It is
that you will take a boat and sail to Lesso, carrying with you as a
present from me to Athalbrand's daughter the skin of that white bear,
which I trust will serve her and me as a bed-covering in winter for
many a year to come. Tell her, thanks be to the gods and to the skill
of Freydisa, my nurse, I live who all thought must die, and that I
trust to be strong and well for our marriage at the Spring feast which
draws on. Say also that through all my sickness I have dreamed of none
but her, as I trust that sometimes she may have dreamed of me."
"Aye, I'll go," answered Steinar, "fast as horses' legs and sails can
carry me," adding with his pleasant laugh: "Long have I desired to see
this Iduna of yours, and to learn whether she is as beautiful as you
say; also what it is in her that Ragnar hates."
"Be careful that you do not find her too beautiful," broke in
Freydisa, who, as ever, was at my side.
"How can I if she is for Olaf?" answered Steinar, smiling, as he left
the place to make ready for his journey to Lesso.
"What did you mean by those words, Freydisa?" I asked when he was
gone.
"Little or much," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "Iduna is
lovely, is she not, and Steinar is handsome, is he not, and of an age
when man seeks woman, and what is brotherhood when man seeks woman and
woman beguiles man?"
"Peace to your riddles, Freydisa. You forget that Iduna is my
betrothed and that Steinar was fostered with me. Why, I'd trust them
for a week at sea alone."
"Doubtless, Olaf, being young and foolish, as you are; also that is
your nature. Now here is the broth. Drink it, and I, whom some call a
wise woman and others a witch, say that to-morrow you may rise from
this bed and sit in the sun, if there is any."
"Freydisa," I said when I had swallowed the broth, "why do folk call
you a witch?"
"I think because I am a little less of a fool than other women, Olaf.
Also because it has not pleased me to marry, as it is held natural
that all women should do if they have the chance."
"Why are you wiser, and why have you not married, Freydisa?"
"I am wiser because I have questioned things more than most, and to
those who question answers come at last. And I am not married because
another woman took the only man I wanted before I met him. That was my
bad luck. Still, it taught me a great lesson, namely, how to wait and
meanwhile to acquire understanding."
"What understanding have you acquired, Freydisa? For instance, does it
tell you that our gods of wood and stone are true gods which rule the
world? Or are they but wood and stone, as sometimes I have thought?"
"Then think no more, Olaf, for such thoughts are dangerous. If Leif,
your uncle, Odin's high priest, heard them, what might he not say or
do? Remember that whether the gods live or no, certainly the priest
lives, and on the gods, and if the gods went, where would the priest
be? Also, as regards these gods--well, whatever they may or may not
be, at least they are the voices that in our day speak to us from that
land whence we came and whither we go. The world has known millions of
days, and each day has its god--or its voice--and all the voices speak
truth to those who can hear them. Meanwhile, you are a fool to have
sent Steinar bearing your gift to Iduna. Or perhaps you are very wise.
I cannot say as yet. When I learn I will tell you."
Then again she shrugged her shoulders and left me wondering what she
meant by her dark sayings. I can see her going now, a wooden bowl in
her hand, and in it a horn spoon of which the handle was cracked
longways, and thus in my mind ends all the scene of my sickness after
the slaying of the white bear.
The next thing that I remember is the coming of the men of Agger. This
cannot have been very long after Steinar went to Lesso, for he had not
yet returned. Being still weak from my great illness, I was seated in
the sun in the shelter of the house, wrapped up in a cloak of
deerskins--for the northern wind blew bitter. By me stood my father,
who was in a happy mood now he knew that I should live and be strong
again.
"Steinar should be back by now," I said to him. "I trust that he has
come by no ill."
"Oh no," answered my father carelessly. "For seven days the wind has
been high, and doubtless Athalbrand fears to let him sail from Lesso."
"Or perhaps Steinar finds Athalbrand's hall a pleasant place to bide
in," suggested Ragnar, who had joined us, a spear in his hand, for he
had come in from hunting. "There are good drink and bright eyes
there."
I was about to answer sharply, since Ragnar stung me with his bitter
talk of Steinar, of whom I knew him to be somewhat jealous, because he
thought I loved my foster-brother more than I did him, my brother.
Just then, however, three men appeared through trees that grew about
the hall, and came towards the bridge, whereon Ragnar's great
wolfhounds, knowing them for strangers, set up a furious baying and
sprang forward to tear them. By the time the beasts were caught and
quelled, these men, aged persons of presence, had crossed the bridge
and were greeting us.
"This is the hall of Thorvald of Aar, is it not? And a certain Steinar
dwells here with him, does he not?" asked their spokesman.
"It is, and I am Thorvald," answered my father. "Also Steinar has
dwelt here from his birth up, but is now away from home on a visit to
the lord Athalbrand of Lesso. Who are you, and what would you of
Steinar, my fosterling"
"When you have told us the story of Steinar we will tell you who we
are and what we seek," answered the man, adding: "Fear not, we mean
him no harm, but rather good if he is the man we think."
"Wife," called my father, "come hither. Here are men who would know
the story of Steinar, and say that they mean him good."
So my mother came, and the men bowed to her.
"The story of Steinar is short, sirs," she said. "His mother,
Steingerdi, who was my cousin and the friend of my childhood, married
the great chief Hakon, of Agger, two and twenty summers gone. A year
later, just before Steinar was born, she fled to me here, asking
shelter of my lord. Her tale was that she had quarrelled with Hakon
because another woman had crept into her place. Finding that this tale
was true, and that Hakon had treated her ill indeed, we gave her
shelter, and here her son Steinar was born, in giving birth to whom
she died--of a broken heart, as I think, for she was mad with grief
and jealousy. I nursed him with my son Olaf yonder, and as, although
he had news of his birth, Hakon never claimed him, with us he has
dwelt as a son ever since. That is all the tale. Now what would you
with Steinar?"
"This Lady. The lord Hakon and the three sons whom that other woman
you tell of bore him ere she died--for after Steingerdi's death he
married her--were drowned in making harbour on the night of the great
gale eighteen days ago."
"That is the day when the bear nearly killed Steinar," I interrupted.
"Well for him, then, young sir, that he escaped this bear, for now, as
it seems to us, he is the lord of all Hakon's lands and people, being
the only male left living of his issue. This, by the wish of the head
men of Agger, where is Hakon's hall, we have come to tell him, if he
still lives, since by report he is a goodly man and brave--one well
fitted to sit in Hakon's place.
"Is the heritage great?" asked my father.
"Aye, very great, Lord. In all Jutland there was no richer man than
Hakon."
"By Odin!" exclaimed my father, "it seems that Steinar is in Fortune's
favour. Well, men of Agger, enter and rest you. After you have eaten
we will talk further of these matters."
It was just then that, appearing between the trees on the road that
ran to Fladstrand and to the sea, I saw a company mounted upon horses.
In front was a young woman, wrapped in a coat of furs, talking eagerly
to a man who rode by her. Behind, clad in armour, with a battle-axe
girt about him, rode another man, big and fork-bearded, who stared
about him gloomily, and behind him again ten or twelve thralls and
seamen.
One glance was enough for me. Then I sprang up, crying:
"Iduna's self, and with her my brother Steinar, the lord Athalbrand
and his folk. A happy sight indeed!" And I would have run forward to
meet them.
"Yes, yes," said my mother; "but await them here, I pray you. You are
not yet strong, my son." And she flung her arms about me and held me.
Presently they were at the bridge, and Steinar, springing from his
horse, lifted Iduna from her saddle, a sight at which I saw my mother
frown. Then I would no longer be restrained, but ran forward, crying
greetings as I came, and, seizing Iduna's hand, I kissed it. Indeed, I
would have kissed her cheek also, but she shrank back, saying:
"Not before all these folk, Olaf."
"As you will," I answered, though just then a chill struck me, which,
I thought to myself, came doubtless from the cold wind. "It will be
the sweeter afterwards," I added as gaily as I could.
"Yes," she said hurriedly. "But, Olaf, how white and thin you are. I
had hoped to find you well again, though, not knowing how it fared
with you, I came to see with my own eyes."
"That is good of you," I muttered as I turned to grasp Steinar's hand,
adding: "I know well who it was that brought you here."
"Nay, nay," she said. "I came of myself. But my father waits you,
Olaf."
So I went to where the lord Athalbrand Fork-beard was dismounting, and
greeted him, lifting my cap.
"What!" grumbled Athalbrand, who seemed to be in an ill temper, "are
you Olaf? I should scarcely have known you again, lad, for you look
more like a wisp of hay tied on a stick than a man. Now that the flesh
is off you I see you lack bone, unlike some others," and he glanced at
the broad-shouldered Steinar. "Greeting to you, Thorvald. We are come
here through a sea that nearly drowned us, somewhat before the
appointed time, because--well, because, on the whole, I thought it
best to come. I pray Odin that you are more glad to see us than I am
to see you."
"If so, friend Athalbrand, why did you not stop away?" asked my
father, firing up, then adding quickly: "Nay, no offence; you are
welcome here, whatever your humour, and you too, my daughter that is
to be, and you, Steinar, my fosterling, who, as it chances, are come
in a good hour."
"How's that, Lord?" asked Steinar absently, for he was looking at
Iduna.
"Thus, Steinar: These men"--and he pointed to the three messengers--
"have but just arrived from Agger with the news that your father,
Hakon, and your half-brothers are all drowned. They say also that the
folk of Agger have named you Hakon's heir, as, indeed, you are by
right of blood."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Steinar, bewildered. "Well, as I never saw my
father or my brothers, and they treated me but ill, I cannot weep for
them."
"Hakon!" broke in Athalbrand. "Why, I knew him well, for in my youth
we were comrades in war. He was the wealthiest man in Jutland in
cattle, lands, thralls and stored gold. Young friend, your luck is
great," and he stared first at Steinar, then at Iduna, pulling his
forked beard and muttering words to himself that I could not catch.
"Steinar gets the fortune he deserves," I exclaimed, embracing him.
"Not for nothing did I save you from the bear, Steinar. Come, wish my
foster-brother joy, Iduna."
"Aye, that I do with all my heart," she said. "Joy and long life to
you, and with them rule and greatness, Steinar, Lord of Agger," and
she curtsied to him, her blue eyes fixed upon his face.
But Steinar turned away, making no answer. Only Ragnar, who stood by,
burst into a loud laugh. Then, putting his arm through mine, he led me
into the hall, saying:
"This wind is over cold for you, Olaf. Nay, trouble not about Iduna.
Steinar, Lord of Agger, will care for her, I think."
That night there was a feast at Aar, and I sat at it with Iduna by my
side. Beautiful she was indeed in her garment of blue, over which
streamed her yellow hair, bright as the gold rings that tinkled on her
rounded arms. She was kind to me also, and bade me tell her the story
of the slaying of the bear, which I did as best I could, though
afterwards Ragnar told it otherwise, and more fully. Only Steinar said
little or nothing, for he seemed to be lost in dreams.
I thought that this was because he felt sad at the news of the death
of his father and brethren, since, although he had never known them,
blood still calls to blood; and so, I believe, did most there present.
At any rate my father and mother tried to cheer him and in the end
bade the men of Agger draw near to tell him the tale of his heritage.
They obeyed, and set out all their case, of which the sum was that
Steinar must now be one of the wealthiest and most powerful men of the
northern lands.
"It seems that we should all take off our caps to you, young lord,"
said Athalbrand when he heard this tale of rule and riches. "Why did
you not ask me for my fair daughter?" he added with a half-drunken
laugh, for all the liquor he had swallowed had got a hold of his
brain. Recovering himself, he went on: "It is my will, Thorvald, that
Iduna and this snipe of an Olaf of yours should be wed as soon as
possible. I say that they shall be wed as soon as possible, since
otherwise I know not what may happen."
Then his head fell forward on the table and he sank to sleep.
