"Aye, brother, this!" and from under my cloak I produced the Wanderer's
sword.

"A wondrous weapon," said Ragnar when he had examined it, "though
somewhat heavy for its length, and of bronze, after the fashion of those
that are buried in the grave mounds. It has seen much wear also, and,
I should say, has loosed many a spirit. Look at the gold work of the
handle. Truly a wondrous weapon, worth all the necklaces in the world.
But tell us your story."

So I told them, and when I came to the images that we had found standing
on the coffin, Iduna, who was paying little heed, stopped from her
fondling of the necklace and asked where they were.

"Freydisa has them," I answered. "Show them the Wanderer's gods,
Freydisa."

"So Freydisa was with you, was she?" said Iduna.

Then she glanced at the gods, laughed a little at their fashion and
raiment, and again fell to fingering the necklace, which was more to her
than any gods.

Afterwards Freydisa asked me what was the dream of which I had spoken,
and I told it to her, every word.

"It is a strange story," said Freydisa. "What do you make of it, Olaf?"

"Nothing save that it was a dream. And yet those three broken wires