“Olaf, I’ll not deny that his worship stirred my blood, for he was goodly—­well, and different to you, with your dreaming eyes and thoughts that are too deep for me.  And yet, by my breath, I swear that I meant no harm.  When we rode together to the ship, it was my purpose to return upon the morrow and be made your wife.  But there upon the ship my father compelled me.  It was his fancy that I should break with you and be wed to Steinar, who had become so great a lord and who pleased him better than you did, Olaf.  And, as for Steinar—­why, have I not told you that he was mad for me?”

“Steinar’s tale was otherwise, Iduna.  He said that you went first, and that he followed.”

“Were those his words, Olaf?  For, if so, how can I give the dead the lie, and one who died through me?  It seems unholy.  Yet in this matter Steinar had no reason left to him and, whether you believe me or no, I tell the truth.  Oh! hear me out, for who knows when they will come to take me, who have walked into this nest of foes that I may be taken?  Pray as I would, the ship was run out, and we sailed for Lesso.  There, in my father’s hall, upon my knees, I entreated him to hold his hand.  I told him what was true:  that, of you twain, it was you I loved, not Steinar.  I told him that if he forced this marriage, war would come of it that might mean all our deaths.  But these things moved him nothing.  Then I told him that such a deed of shame would mean the loss of Steinar’s lordship, so that by it he would gain no profit.  At last he listened, for this touched him near.  You know the rest.  Thorvald, your father, and Ragnar, who ever hated me, pressed on the war despite all our offerings of peace.  So the ships met, and Hela had her fill.”

“Aye, Iduna, whatever else is false, this is true, that Hela had her fill.”

“Olaf, I have but one thing more to say.  It is this:  Only once did those dead lips touch mine, and then it was against my will.  Aye, although it is shameful, you must learn the truth.  My father held me, Olaf, while I took the betrothal kiss, because I must.  But, as you know, there was no marriage.”

“Aye, I know that,” I said, “because Steinar told me so.”

“And, save for that one kiss, Olaf, I am still the maid whom once you loved so well.”

Now I stared at her.  Could this woman lie so blackly over dead Steinar’s corpse?  When all was said and done, was it not possible that she spoke the truth, and that we had been but playthings in the hands of an evil Fate?  Save for some trifling error, which might be forgiven to one who, as she said, loved the worship that was her beauty’s due, what if she were innocent, after all?

Perhaps my face showed the thoughts that were passing through my mind.  At the least, she who knew me well found skill to read them.  She crept towards me, still on her knees; she cast her arms about me, and, resting her weight upon me, drew herself to her feet.