The Path of the King | Page 9

in
Hightown. The King made a great festival in the Gods' House, the dark
hall near the Howe of the Dead, where no one ventured except in high
noon. Cattle were slain in honour of Thor, the God who watched over
forays, and likewise a great boar for Frey. The blood was caught up in
the sacred bowls, from which the people were sprinkled, and smeared
on the altar of blackened fir. Then came the oath-taking, when
Ironbeard and his Bearsarks swore brotherhood in battle upon the ship's
bulwarks, and the shield's rim, and the horse's shoulder, and the brand's
edge. There followed the mixing of blood in the same footprint, a rite
to which Biorn was admitted, and a lesser oath for all the people on the
great gold ring which lay on the altar. But most solemn of all was the
vow the King made to his folk, warriors and franklins alike, when he
swore by the dew, the eagle's path, and the valour of Thor.
Then it was Biorn's turn. He was presented to the High Gods as the
prince and heir.
Old Arnwulf hammered on his left arm a torque of rough gold, which
he must wear always, in life and in death.
"I bring ye the boy, Biorn Thorwaldson When the Gods call for
Thorwald it will be his part to lead the launchings and the seafarings
and be first when blows are going. Do ye accept him, people of
Hightown?"
There was a swelling cry of assent and a beating of hafts on shields.
Biorn's heart was lifted with pride, but out of a corner of his eye he saw
his father's face. It was very grave, and his gaze was on vacancy.

Though it was a time of bustle, there was no joy in it, as there had been
at other hostings. The folk were too hungry, the need was too desperate,
and there was something else, a shadow of fate, which lay over
Hightown. In the dark of night men had seen the bale-fires burning on
the Howe of the Dead. A grey seal had been heard speaking with
tongues off Siggness, and speaking ill words, said the fishermen who
saw the beast. A white reindeer had appeared on Sunfell, and the hunter
who followed it had not been seen again. By day, too, there was a
brooding of hawks on the tide's edge, which was strange at that season.
Worst portent of all, the floods of August were followed by high
north-east winds that swept the clouds before them, so that all day the
sky was a scurrying sea of vapour, and at night the moon showed wild
grey shapes moving ever to the west. The dullest could not mistake
their meaning; these were the dark horses, and their riders, the Helmed
Maidens, mustering for the battle to which Hightown was faring.
As Biorn stared one night at the thronged heavens, he found Leif by his
elbow. In front of the dark company of the sky a white cloud was
scudding, tinged with the pale moon. Leif quoted from the speech of
the Giant-wife Rimegerd to Helgi in the song:
"Three nines of maiden, ride, But one rides before them, A white maid
helmed: >From their manes the steeds shake Dew into the deep dales,
Hail upon the high woods."
"It bodes well," said Biorn. "They ride to choose those whom we slay.
There will be high doings ere Yule."
"Not so well," said Leif. "They come from the Norland, and it is our
folk they go to choose. I fear me Hightown will soon be full of widow
women."
At last came the day of sailing. The six galleys of war were brought
down from their sheds, and on the rollers for the launching he-goats
were bound so that the keels slid blood-stained into the sea. This was
the 'roller-reddening,' a custom bequeathed from their forefathers,
though the old men of the place muttered darkly that the ritual had been
departed from, and that in the great days it was the blood not of goats,
but of captive foemen that had reddened the galleys and the tide.
The thralls sat at the thwarts, for there was no breeze that day in the
narrow firth. Then came the chief warriors in short fur jackets, splendid
in glittering helms and byrnies, and each with his thrall bearing his

battle-axe. Followed the fighting commonalty with axe and spear. Last
came Ironbeard, stern as ever, and Biorn with his heart torn between
eagerness and regret. Only the children, the women, and the old men
were left in Hightown, and they stood on the shingle watching till the
last galley had passed out of sight beyond Siggness, and was swallowed
up in the brume that cloaked the