Some four hours later, in the midst of a raging storm of wind and rain,I was brought at last to the bridge that spanned the moat of the Hall ofAar, laid like a corpse across the back of one of the horses. They hadbeen searching for us at Aar, but in that darkness had found nothing.Only, at the head of the bridge was Freydisa, a torch in her hand. Sheglanced at me by the light of the torch.
"As my heart foretold, so it is," she said. "Bring him in," then turnedand ran to the house.
They bore me up between the double ranks of stabled kine to where thegreat fire of turf and wood burned at the head of the hall, and laid meon a table.
"Is he dead?" asked Thorvald, my father, who had come home that night;"and if so, how?"
"Aye, father," answered Ragnar, "and nobly. He dragged Steinar yonderfrom under the paws of the great white bear and slew it with his sword."
"A mighty deed," muttered my father. "Well, at least he comes home inhonour."
But my mother, whose favourite son I was, lifted up her voice andwept. Then they took the clothes from off me, and, while all watched,Freydisa, the skilled woman, examined my hurts. She felt my head andlooked into my eyes, and laying her ear upon my breast, listened for thebeating of my heart.
Presently she rose, and, turning, said slowly:
"Olaf is not dead, though near to death. His pulses flutter, the lightof life still burns in his eyes, and though the blood runs from hisears, I think the skull is not broken."
When she heard these words, Thora, my mother, whose heart was weak,fainted for joy, and my father, untwisting a gold ring from his arm,threw it to Freydisa.
"First the cure," she said, thrusting it away with her foot. "Moreover,when I work for love I take no pay."
Then they washed me, and, having dressed my hurts, laid me on a bednear the fire that warmth might come back to me. But Freydisa would notsuffer them to give me anything save a little hot milk which she poureddown my throat.