From behind the sanctuary two armed men led the horse for the sacrifice that should be feasted on thereafter; and it was a splendid colt, black and faultless, so that to me it seemed a grievous thing that its life should thus be spilt for naught.  Yet I was the only one there who deemed it wasted.

Then Ingvar chanted words to which I would not listen, lest my heart should seem to echo them, so taking part in the heathen prayer.  Over the horse he signed Thor’s hammer, and slew it with Thor’s weapon, and the two men flayed and divided it skilfully, laying certain portions before the jarl, the godar.

He sprinkled the blood upon doorway and statue, and then again chanting, laid those portions upon the altar fire, and the black smoke rose up from them, while all the host watched for what omens might follow.

The smoke rose, wavered, and went up, and then some breath of wind took it and drifted it gently into the open temple, winding it round the head of Thor’s image and filling all the little building.  And at that the men shouted again.

Then Ingvar turned slowly towards the shrine, and drawing his sword, lifted up the broad shining blade as if in salute, crying as he turned the point north and east and south and west: 

“Skoal, ye mighty Ones!”

And at once, as one man all the host, save myself only, lifted their weapons in salute, crying in a voice that rolled back from the trees like an answering war shout: 

“Skoal to the mighty Ones!”

But as for me, I stirred not, save that as by nature, and because I fixed my thoughts on the One Sacrifice of our own faith, I signed myself with the sign of the cross, only knowing this, that Thor and Odin I would not worship.

Suddenly, even as the echo of the shout died away, and while the weapons were yet upraised, the thick cloud of smoke rolled back and down, wrapping round Ingvar the godar as he stood between shrine and altar, and across the reek glared the sightless eyes of the idol again, cold and heedless.

Now of all omens that was the worst, for it must needs betoken that the sacrifice was not pleasing; and at that a low groan as of fear went round the host.  Then back started Ingvar, and I saw his face through the smoke, looking white as ashes.  For a long time, as it seemed to me, there was silence, until the smoke rose up straight again and was lost in the treetops.  Even the ravens, scared maybe by the great shout, were gone, and all was very still.

At last Ingvar turned slowly to us and faced our crew.

“The sacrifice is yours,” he said, “and if it is not accepted the fault is yours also.  We are clear of blame who have bided at home.”

Then Halfden answered for his men and himself: 

“I know not what blame is to us.”

But from close behind me Rorik lifted his voice: 

“No blame to the crew—­but here is one, a stranger, who does no honour to the gods, neither lifting sword or hailing them as is right, even before Thor’s image.”