But that winter brought death in another form.Storms never ceased, and in the New Year the land lay in the stricture of a black frost which froze the beasts in the byres and made Biorn shiver all the night through, though in ordinary winter weather he was hardy enough to dive in the ice-holes.The stock of meal fell low, and when spring tarried famine drew very near.Such a spring no man living remembered.The snow lay deep on the shore till far into May.And when the winds broke they were cold sunless gales which nipped the young life in the earth.The ploughing was backward, and the seed-time was a month too late.The new-born lambs died on the fells and there fell a wasting sickness among the cattle.Few salmon ran up the streams, and the sea-fish seemed to have gone on a journey.Even in summer, the pleasant time, food was scarce, for the grass in the pastures was poor and the cows gave little milk, and the children died.It foreboded a black harvest-time and a blacker winter.
With these misfortunes a fever rose in the blood of the men of Hightown.
Such things had happened before for the Norland was never more than one stage distant from famine; and in the old days there had been but a single remedy.Food and wealth must be won from a foray overseas.It was years since Ironbeard had ridden Egir's road to the rich lowlands, and the Bearsarks were growing soft from idleness.Ironbeard himself was willing, for his hall was hateful to him since the Queen's death.Moreover, there was no other way.Food must be found for the winter or the folk would perish.
So a hosting was decreed at harvest-tide, for few men would be needed to win the blasted crops; and there began a jointing of shields and a burnishing of weapons, and the getting ready of the big ships.Also there was a great sortilege-making.Whither to steer, that was the question.
There were the rich coasts of England, but they were well guarded, and many of the Norland race were along the wardens.The isles of the Gael were in like case, and, though they were the easier prey, there was less to be had from them.There were soon two parties in the hall, one urging Ironbeard to follow the old track of his kin westward, another looking south to the Frankish shore.The King himself, after the sacrifice of a black heifer, cast the sacred twigs, and they seemed to point to Frankland.Old Arnwulf was deputed on a certain day to hallow three ravens and take their guidance, but, though he said three times the Ravens' spell, he got no clear counsel from the wise birds.Last of all, the weird-wife Katla came from Sigg, and for the space of three days sat in the hall with her head shrouded, taking no meat or drink.When at last she spoke she prophesied ill.She saw a red cloud and it descended on the heads of the warriors, yea of the King himself.As for Hightown she saw it frozen deep in snow like Jotunheim, and rime lay on it like a place long dead.But she bade Ironbeard go to Frankland, for it was so written."A great kingdom waits,"she said--"not for you, but for the seed of your loins." And Biorn shuddered, for they were the words spoken in her hut on that unforgotten midsummer night.
The boy was in an agony lest he should be left behind.But his father decreed that he should go."These are times when manhood must come fast,"he said."He can bide within the Shield-ring when blows are going.He will be safe enough if it holds.If it breaks, he will sup like the rest of us with Odin."Then came days of bustle and preparation.Biorn was agog with excitement and yet solemnised, for there was strange work afoot 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.
