Then I laid my dear father's head upon my knees, and dried with the long yellow hair I was at that time still allowed to wear, the blood from his cheek, and told him all.
How my mother would not be carried from the burning Mead hall back into the dwelling house, but rather on to one of the ships of her father.
How from thence, when the battle and the flames threatened dwelling house and ships, she was borne by her women and the sailors into a boat, and therein rowed out upon the Fjord.
How in the boat she had forthwith given birth to a son, but died herself; and ere she died had laid her hand upon my head, and said--
"Not Liarson--not Scoundrelson--not Harthildsvengeance shall he be named--no; Fridgifa Sigskaldson."[6]
"She was right in that," said Halfred. "Thou hast aided the Sigskald to peace at last."
And how after she was dead the fearful battle and burning on shore scared the sailors and women still further out to sea.
And how the small boat was almost sunk by the fury of a storm from the west, and all the bondmen and women were washed overboard by the waves, save one rower, and a bond maiden, who hid the infant under the stern seat.
And how, at last, Christian priests, who were sailing out to convert the heathen people, picked up the half starved wanderers, and brought all three hither, to the island of the holy Columban; and cleansed both the two, and the infant, with the water of baptism.
And how the two, my foster parents, told me all that they knew about my father, and mother, up to the time of the burning of the Mead hall.
And how the two were never weary of lauding to me my father's glory in battle and song.
And how the monks of Saint Columban, as I grew, would have me taught to read and write; but I loved far better to go out with the hunters and shepherds of the monastery, and liked to draw targets on the parchment leaves for my little cross-bow.
And how, at length, they declared me unfit for books, when with my small bolt I had pierced through and through a costly picture which on the gold ground of a thumb broad margin represented the whole of the Passion, and promoted me with a sound thrashing to be herd boy of the monastery.
And how for many years, since my foster parents were dead, I had kept the sheep of the monastery; and my sole pleasure therein had been in fighting with the bears, the wolves, and the eagles, that attacked the lambs.
