OWN on the strand the mallets of the shipmen beat a steady tune, and Swain Olaf's son tarried by the skalli door to watch the little black dots swarming about the bare sides of Deathbringer and his brother Gunni's dragon Seabroth. Already the winter sheds had been removed and the riggers were at work on the tall masts, while other men calked the bottom planks and spread paint where it was necessary.
To Swain, watching, came his mother, Asleif, a stately figure, such a woman as must have mothered warriors, but in her eyes the brooding shadow product of month-long vigils and the bearing of stark sorrows with dry eyes. There was that in her face this morning, too, which in another might have passed for fear—a dullness of foreboding.
"Why must you go viking-faring this year, Swain?" she asked. "We have more goods and lands than we have use for. In all the Orkneys only the Jarl is richer than we."
Swain laughed.
"Ask me why the whaups fly northward, mother. The viking-fever kindles in our blood. There is not a man on Gairsey does not hunger for oar rattle and the grip of a thirsty sword. No, no, the Spring planting is done; the fields lie fallow. What should we do if we bided idly at home?"
She gave him a curious glance.
"Take a maid to wife, perhaps."
Swain laughed again.
"A wife? What should I do with a wife? Women are—I'll say no more, for you are woman. But saving you I know none I'd give bower-room to."
"Nonetheless you should wed, Swain," persisted his mother. "Here are you and Gunni both growing out of your youth, always wildly aventuring, and if harm befalls you both our stock is ended."
"Humph!" grunted Swain, his eyes on the shapely longships below the skalli hill. "Let Gunni do it."
"No," returned Asleif. "Well you know Gunni will follow your lead, and none other. Also, it is for you, the elder, to provide an heir for our lands. It is not fitting that a family such as ours should end in a single ill-fought struggle."
Swain shook his head, frowning.
"You forget I still have a vengeance to achieve," he said.
"Say, rather, I remember that vengeance," Asleif retorted swiftly. "It is true that of the slayers of your father and your brother Valthiof you have slain Frakork, the witch, but Frakork's grandson, Olvir Rosta, escaped you, and who knows but he may surprize you in your sleep or when you lie in some friendly haven?"
"That is the reason why I want no wife to hamper my thoughts," rejoined Swain. "When I have found Olvir I will talk to you of this again."
"But if Olvir finds you first?"
"He will not," Swain promised her grimly.
"Or Gunni?"
"You are not yourself, mother," he answered. "Forget this black thought that haunts you. If Frakork lived I might think she had lain a spell upon you. Be at your ease. Olvir has fled so. far from my wrath that I have not heard trace of him since he was in Iceland. That is why I am off this morning to seek Jarl Rognvald and ask him what aid he will lend me in this cruise."
Asleif sighed.
"You were never one to take another's counsel, Swain," she said. "But there is little I have ever asked of you, nor have I hung upon your shield-arm in time of danger."
Swain turned to her with a great light blazing in his fierce blue eyes! Tall as she was, he was a head taller, and his mighty shoulders and stalwart limbs had made him famous for strength through all the countries of the North, so that kings spoke of his exploits at the ale-drinking and the common men called a sudden death "a Swain's bane."
"If I might find a woman like you, I would take her today; but well I know your like is not to be found in any land. Yet this I will say, for love of you: When the time comes I will wed, love or no love, so that your fears may be satisfied."
With this he left her, and went down to the shore, and boarded a small sailing-boat, in which he crossed the narrow waters of the Efjasund to the mainland of Hrossey. Hrossey he crossed by way of Rennadale and Steinsness to Jarl Rognvald's steading at Orphir. He walked into the skalli at candle-lighting, and the Jarl hailed him from the high table in the hall. Jarl Rognvald had much love for Swain, although in times past he had felt the weight of his wrath.
"You are come in a good hour, Swain," he greeted him, with twinkling eyes. "I have been expecting you ever since the southland traders began to sail in. It is in my mind that you are late astir this year."
"I never sail seaward in any year, Lord Jarl, until the Spring planting is done," returned Swain. "Viking plunder is not food."