CHAPTER IV
IDUNA WEARS THE NECKLACE
I lay sleeping in my bed at Aar, the sword of the Wanderer by my sideand his necklace beneath my pillow. In my sleep there came to me a verystrange and vivid dream. I dreamed that I was the Wanderer, no otherman, and here I, who write this history in these modern days, will saythat the dream was true.
Once in the far past I, who afterwards was born as Olaf, and who amnow--well, never mind my name--lived in the shape of that man who inOlaf's time was by tradition known as the Wanderer. Of that Wandererlife, however, for some reason which I cannot explain, I am able torecover but few memories. Other earlier lives come back to me much moreclearly, but at present the details of this particular existence escapeme. For the purpose of the history which I am setting down this matterslittle, since, although I know enough to be sure that the personsconcerned in the Olaf life were for the most part the same as thoseconcerned in the Wanderer life, their stories remain quite distinct.
Therefore, I propose to leave that of the Wanderer, so far as I knowit, untold, wild and romantic as it seems to have been. For he must havebeen a great man, this Wanderer, who in the early ages of the northernworld, drawn by the magnet of some previous Egyptian incarnation, brokeback to those southern lands with which his informing spirit was alreadyso familiar, and thence won home again to the place where he was born,only to die. In considering this dream which Olaf dreamed, let it beremembered, then, that although a thousand, or maybe fifteen hundred, ofour earthly years separated us from each other, the Wanderer, into whosetomb I broke at the goading of Iduna, and I, Olaf, were really the samebeing clothed in different shapes of flesh.
To return to my dream. I, Olaf, or, rather, my spirit, dwelling in theWanderer's body, that body which I had just seen lying in the grave,stood at night in a great columned building, which I knew to bethe temple of some god. At my feet lay a basin of clear water; themoonlight, which was almost as bright as that of day, showed me myreflection in the water. It was like to that of the Wanderer as I hadseen him lying in his oak coffin in the mound, only younger than he hadseemed to be in the coffin. Moreover, he wore the same armour that theman in the coffin wore, and at his side hung the red, cross-handledsword. There he stood in the temple alone, and looked across a plain,green with crops, on which sat two mighty images as high as tall pines,looked to a great river on whose banks grew trees such as I had neverbeheld: tall, straight trees, surmounted by a stiff crown of leaves.Beyond this river lay a white, flat-roofed city, and in it were othergreat columned temples.
The man in whom I, Olaf the Dane, seemed to dwell in my dream turned,and behind him saw a range of naked hills of brown rock, and in them themouth of a desolate valley where was no green thing. Presently he becameaware that he was no longer alone. At his side stood a woman. She wasa very beautiful woman, unlike anyone I, Olaf, had ever seen. Her shapewas tall and slender, her eyes were large, dark and soft as a deer's,her features were small and straight, save the mouth, of which the lipswere somewhat full. The face, which was dark-hued, like her hair andeyes, was sad, but wore a sweet and haunting smile. It was much such aface as that upon the statue of the goddess which we had found in theWanderer's tomb, and the dress she wore beneath her cloak was like tothe dress of the goddess. She was speaking earnestly.
"My love, my only love," she said, "you must begone this very night;indeed, the boat awaits you that shall take you down the river to thesea. All is discovered. My waiting-lady, the priestess, but now has toldme that my father, the king, purposes to seize and throw you into prisonto-morrow, and thereafter to put you on your trial for being belovedby a daughter of the royal blood, of which, as you are a foreign man,however noble you may be, the punishment is death. Moreover, if you arecondemned, your doom will be my own. There is but one way in which tosave my life, and that is by your flight, for if you fly it has beenwhispered to me that all will be forgotten."
Now, in my dream, he who wore the Wanderer's shape reasoned with her,saying at length that it was better they both should die, to live on inthe world of spirits, rather than part for ever. She hid her face on hisbreast and answered,
"I cannot die. I would stay to look upon the sun, not for my own sake,but because of our child that will be born. Nor can I fly with you,since then your boat will be stopped. But if you go alone, the guardswill let it pass. They have their commands."
After this for a while they wept in each other's arms, for their heartswere broken.
"Give me some token," he murmured; "let me wear something that you haveworn until my death."
She opened her cloak, and there upon her breast hung that necklace whichhad lain upon the breast of the Wanderer in his tomb, the necklace ofgold and inlaid shells and emerald beetles, only there were two rows ofshells and emeralds, not one. One row she unclasped and clasped it againround his neck, breaking the little gold threads that bound the twostrands together.
"Take this," she said, "and I will wear the half which is left of iteven in my grave, as you also shall wear your half in life and death.Now something comes upon me. It is that when the severed parts of thisnecklace are once more joined together, then we two shall meet againupon the earth."
"What chance is there that I shall return from my northern home, if everI win so far, back to this southern land?"
"None," she answered. "In this life we shall kiss no more. Yet there areother lives to come, or so I think and have learned through the wisdomof my people. Begone, begone, ere my heart breaks on yours; but neverlet this necklace of mine, which was that of those who were long beforeme, lie upon another woman's breast, for if so it will bring sorrow tothe giver, and to her to whom it is given no good fortune."
"How long must I wait before we meet again?" he asked.
"I do not know, but I think that when all that jewel once more growswarm above my immoral heart, this temple which they call eternal will bebut a time-eaten ruin. Hark, the priestess calls. Farewell, you man whohave come out of the north to be my glory and my shame. Farewell, untilthe purpose of our lives declares itself and the seed that we have sownin sorrow shall blossom into an everlasting flower. Farewell. Farewell!"
Then a woman appeared in the background beckoning, and all my dreamvanished away. Yet to my mind came the thought that it was to the ladywho gave the necklace that Death stood near, rather than to him to whomit was given. For surely death was written in her sad and longing eyes.