When the high gables of his hall rose insight, Hadding ordered, “Go you in. Bring me a tent and whatever else I need. I will house in this field.”

The men obeyed. Eirik Jarl was quick to rally around. Before long Hadding was on the road with a goodly troop.

Never did he enter a home. Always battling wild weather, he fared about Denmark, among the islands, over them, across northern Jutland, wherever he had holdings. From these he chose the finest coal-black cattle that grazed them. Over land and water were they brought, and herded up through Scania, while still he gathered more.

In Bralund was a grove-hallowed to Freyr. Within it stood the image of the god, carved man-sized, painted and gilded. Astride a golden boar, he brandished his yard, as long as his arm, for begetting, growth, and ongoing life.

“What will you here?” asked Eyjolf.

“What I must,” said Hadding.

“How do you know what that is?”

“Maybe from a forgotten dream. I only know that I know.”

Word went around. From all over the shire, and farther, men came. They set up their booths as if for a Thing; but when the time fell, they, stood hushed.

Fires burned before the god. Men led the black kine forth, one by one. Some grew frightened and struggled, bawling, but those were strong hands on the ropes. As each drew nigh, Eyjolf stunned it with a hammer and Hadding cut its throat. Blood gushed into bowls. Wisemen dipped switches carved with runes and sprinkled the onlookers. Yeomen standing by hauled the carcasses off, hacked meat from bones, and threw it into the seething kettles. Deep voices chanted olden staves.

Then at last other men rolled casks of ale and mead forward. The feast began. It was mighty and mirthful. Hadding smiled through the blood that reddened him. He had lifted the evil spell. That night he slept under Eyjolf’s roof. Later he made his friend the jarl of all Scania.

He had sent gold and silver to those who suffered because of him, the lawful amends for every loss and death with a gift laid thereto. More could a king not do. The Danes spoke well of him again.

Each year after this he gave black cattle to Freyr. The wont spread beyond Denmark and long outlived him.

XVIII

After so much ill hap, Hadding could not soon renew his war in Svithjod. He stayed home the following year. There was enough to do, faring about on the king’s work and seeing to his own holdings. Yet he grew ever more restless.

Thus he was twice glad to greet Ivar Bardsson in the springtime after that. He always made wayfarers welcome and listened closely to what they told of their homelands and travels.