excitement he would slip outside into the darkness, and hear far up in the
frosty sky the whistle of the swans as they flew southward, and fancy them
the shield-maids of Odin on their way to some lost battle.

His father, Thorwald Thorwaldson, was king over all the firths and wicks
between Coldness in the south and Flatness and the mountain Rauma in the
north, and inland over the Uplanders as far as the highest springs of the
rivers. He was king by more than blood, for he was the tallest and
strongest man in all the land, and the cunningest in battle. He was for
ordinary somewhat grave and silent, a dark man with hair and beard the
colour of molten iron, whence came his by-name. Yet in a fight no Bearsark
could vie with him for fury, and his sword Tyrfing was famed in a thousand
songs. On high days the tale of his descent would be sung in the hall--not
by Leif, who was low-born and of no account, but by one or other of the
chiefs of the Shield-ring. Biorn was happy on such occasions, for he
himself came into the songs, since it was right to honour the gentle lady,
the Queen. He heard how on the distaff side he was sprung from proud
western earls, Thorwolf the Black, and Halfdan and Hallward Skullsplitter.
But on the spear side he was of still loftier kin, for Odin was first in
his pedigree, and after him the Volsung chiefs, and Gothfred the Proud,
and--that no magnificence might be wanting--one Karlamagnus, whom Biorn had
never heard of before, but who seemed from his doings to have been a
puissant king.

On such occasions there would follow a braggingmatch among the warriors,
for a recital of the past was meant as an augury for the future. The time
was towards the close of the Wicking-tide, and the world was becoming hard
for simple folk. There were endless bickerings with the Tronds in the north
and the men of More in the south, and a certain Shockhead, an upsetting
king in Norland, was making trouble with his neighbours. Likewise there was