A gasp of wonderment went up from all who heard, and Steinar, lifting himself a little from the stone, stared at me, shook his head as if in dissent, then let it fall again, and listened.

"Hearken, friends," I said. "This man, my foster-brother, has committed a sin against me and my House. My House is dead--I alone remain; and on behalf of the dead and of myself I forgive him his sin, which, indeed, was less his than another's. Is there any man among you who at some time has not been led aside by woman, or who has not again and again desired to be so led aside? If such a one there be, let him say that he has no forgiveness in his heart for Steinar, the son of Hakon. Let him come forward and say it."

None stirred; even the women drooped their heads and were silent.

"Then, if this is so," I went on, "and you can forgive, as I do, how much more should a G.o.d forgive? What is a G.o.d? Is he not one greater than man, who must know all the weakness of man, which, for his own ends, he has bred into the flesh of man? How, then, can he do otherwise than be pitiful to what he has created? If this be so, how can the G.o.d refuse that which men are willing to grant, and what sacrifice can please him better than the foregoing of his own vengeance? Would a G.o.d wish to be outdone by a man? If I, Olaf, the man can forgive, who have been wronged, how much more can Odin the G.o.d forgive, who has suffered no wrong save that of the breaking of those laws which will ever be broken by men who are as it has pleased him to fashion them? On Odin's behalf, therefore, and speaking as he would speak, could he have voice among us, I demand that you set this victim free, leaving it to his own heart to punish him."

Now, some whom my simple words had touched, I suppose because there was truth in them, although in those days and in that land none understood such truths, and others, because they had known and loved the open-handed Steinar, who would have given the cloak from his back to the meanest of them, cried:

"Aye, let him go free. There has been enough of death through this Iduna."

But more stood silent, lost in doubt at this new doctrine. Only Leif, my uncle, did not stand silent. His dark face began to work as though a devil possessed him, as, indeed, I think one did. His eyes rolled; he champed his jaws like an angry hog, and screamed:

"Surely the lord Olaf is mad, for no sane man would talk thus. Man may forgive while it is within his power; but this traitor has been dedicated to Odin, and can a G.o.d forgive? Can a G.o.d spare when his nostrils are opened for the smell of blood? If so, of what use is it to be a G.o.d? How is he happier than a man if he must spare? Moreover, would ye bring the curse of Odin upon you all? I say to you--steal his sacrifice, and you yourselves shall be sacrificed, you, your wives, your children, aye, and even your cattle and the fruit of your fields."

When they heard this, the people groaned and shouted out:

"Let Steinar die! Kill him! Kill him that Odin may be fed!"

"Aye," answered Leif, "Steinar shall die. See, he dies!"

Then, with a leap like to that of a hungry wolf, he sprang upon the bound man and slew him.

I see it now. The rude temple, the glaring statue of the G.o.d, the gathered crowd, open mouthed and eyed, the spring sunshine shining quietly over all, and, running past the place, a ewe calling to the lamb that it had lost; I see the dying Steinar turn his white face, and smile a farewell to me with his fading eyes; I see Leif getting to his horrible rites that he might learn the omen, and lastly I see the red sword of the Wanderer appear suddenly between me and him, and in my hand. I think that my purpose was to cut him down. Only a thought arose within me.

This priest was not to blame. He did no more than he had been taught.

Who taught him? The G.o.d he served, through whom he gained honour and livelihood. So the G.o.d was to blame, the G.o.d that drank the blood of men, as a thrall drinks ale, to satisfy his filthy appet.i.te. Could such a monster be a G.o.d? Nay, he must be a devil, and why should free men serve devils? At least, I would not. I would cast him off, and let him avenge himself upon me if he could. I, Olaf, would match myself against this G.o.d--or devil.

I strode past Leif and the altar to where the statue of Odin sat within the temple.

"Hearken!" I said in such a voice that all lifted their eyes from the scene of butchery to me. "You believe in Odin, do you not?"

They answered "Aye."

"Then you believe that he can revenge himself upon one who rejects and affronts him?"

"Aye," they answered again.

"If this be so," I went on, "will you swear to leave the matter between Odin and me, Olaf, to be settled according to the law of single combat, and give peace to the victor, with promise from all harm save at the hands of his foe?"

"Aye," they answered, yet scarcely understanding what they said.

"Good!" I cried. "Now, G.o.d Odin, I, Olaf, a man, challenge you to single combat. Strike you first, you, Odin, whom I name Devil and Wolf of the skies, but no G.o.d. Strike you first, b.l.o.o.d.y murderer, and kill me, if you can, who await your stroke!"

Then I folded my arms and stared at the statue's stony eyes, which stared back at me, while all the people gasped.

For a full minute I waited thus, but all that happened was that a wren settled on the head of Odin and twittered there, then flew off to its nest in the thatch.

"Now," I cried, "you have had your turn, and mine comes."

I drew the Wanderer's sword, and sprang at Odin. My first stroke sunk up to the hilt in his hollow belly; my next cut the sceptre from his hand; my third--a great one--hewed the head from off him. It came rattling down, and out of it crawled a viper, which reared itself up and hissed.

I set my heel upon the reptile's head and crushed it, and slowly it writhed itself to death.

"Now, good folk," I cried, "what say you of your G.o.d Odin?"

They answered nothing, for all of them were in flight. Yes, even Leif fled, cursing me over his shoulder as he went.

Presently I was alone with the dead Steinar and the shattered G.o.d, and in that loneliness strange visions came to me, for I felt that I had done a mighty deed, one that made me happy. Round the wall of the temple crept a figure; it was that of Freydisa, whose face was white and scared.

"You are a great man, Olaf," she said; "but how will it end?"

"I do not know," I answered. "I have done what my heart told me, neither more nor less, and I bide the issue. Odin shall have his chance, for here I stay till dark, and then, if I live, I leave this land. Go, get me all the gold that is mine from the hall, and bring it here to me by moonrise, and with it some garments and my armour. Bring me also my best horse."

"You leave this land?" she said. "That means that you leave me, who love you, to go forth as the Wanderer went--following a dream to the South.

Well, it is best that you should go, for whatever they have promised you but now, it is sure that the priests will kill you, even if you escape the vengeance of the G.o.d." And she looked askance at the shattered statue which had sat in its place for so many generations that none knew who had set it there, or when.

"I have killed the G.o.d," I answered, pointing to the crushed viper.

"Not quite, Olaf, for, see, its tail still moves."

Then she went, leaving me alone. I sat myself down by the murdered Steinar, and stared at him. Could he be really dead, I wondered, or did he live on elsewhere? My faith had taught me of a place called Valhalla where brave men went, but in that faith and its G.o.ds I believed no more.

This Valhalla was but a child's tale, invented by a b.l.o.o.d.y-minded folk who loved slaughter. Wherever Steinar and the others were, it was not in Valhalla. Then, perhaps, they slept like the beasts do after these have been butchered. Perhaps death was the end of all. It might be so, and yet I did not believe it. There were other G.o.ds besides Odin and his company, for what were those which we had found in the Wanderer's tomb?

I longed to know.

Yes, I would go south, as the Wanderer went, and search for them.

Perhaps there in the South I should learn the secret truth--and other things.

I grew weary of these thoughts of G.o.ds who could not be found, or who, if found, were but devils. My mind went back to my childhood's days, when Steinar and I played together on the meads, before any woman had come to wreck our lives. I remembered how we used to play until we were weary, and how at nights I would tell him tales that I had learned or woven, until at length we sank to sleep, our arms about each other's necks. My heart grew full of sorrow that in the end broke from my eyes in tears. Yes, I wept over Steinar, my brother Steinar, and kissed his cold and gory lips.

The evening gathered, the twilight grew, and, one by one, the stars sprang out in the quiet sky, till the moon appeared and gathered all their radiance to herself. I heard the sound of a woman's dress, and looked up, thinking to see Freydisa. But this woman was not Freydisa; it was Iduna! Yes, Iduna's self!

I rose to my feet and stood still. She also stood still, on the farther side of the stone of sacrifice whereon that which had been Steinar was stretched between us. Then came a struggle of silence, in which she won at last.

"Have you come to save him?" I asked. "If so, it is too late. Woman, behold your work."

She shook her beautiful head and answered, almost in a whisper:

"Nay, Olaf, I am come to beg a boon of you: that you will slay me, here and now."

"Am I a butcher--or a priest?" I muttered.

"Oh, slay me, slay me, Olaf!" she went on, throwing herself upon her knees before me, and rending open her blue robe that her young breast might take the sword. "Thus, perchance, I, who love life, may pay some of the price of sin, who, if I slew myself, would but multiply the debt, which in truth I dare not do."

Still I shook my head, and once more she spoke:

"Olaf, in this way or in that doubtless my end will find me, for, if you refuse this office, there are others of sterner stuff. The knife that smote Steinar is not blunted. Yet, before I die, who am come here but to die, I pray you hear the truth, that my memory may be somewhat less vile to you in the after years. Olaf, you think me the falsest of the false, yet I am not altogether so. Hark you now! At the time that Steinar sought me, some madness took him. So soon as we were alone together, his first words were: 'I am bewitched. I love you.'

"Olaf, I'll not deny that his worship stirred my blood, for he was goodly--well, and different to you, with your dreaming eyes and thoughts that are too deep for me. And yet, by my breath, I swear that I meant no harm. When we rode together to the ship, it was my purpose to return upon the morrow and be made your wife. But there upon the ship my father compelled me. It was his fancy that I should break with you and be wed to Steinar, who had become so great a lord and who pleased him better than you did, Olaf. And, as for Steinar--why, have I not told you that he was mad for me?"