this feast it was the custom to sacrifice some beast to Odin and to lay
flowers and other offerings upon the altars of certain other gods that
they might be pleased to grant a fruitful season. On this day, however,
the sacrifice was to be of no beast, but of a man--Steinar the traitor.

That night I, Olaf, by the help of Freydisa, the priestess of the god,
won entrance to the dungeon where Steinar lay awaiting his doom. This
was not easy to do. Indeed, I remember that it was only after I had
sworn a great oath to Leif and the other priests that I would attempt no
rescue of the victim, nor aid him to escape from his prison, that I
was admitted there, while armed men stood without to see that I did not
break my word. For my love of Steinar was known, and in this matter none
trusted me.

That dungeon was a dreadful place. I see it now. In the floor of the
temple was a trap-door, which, when lifted, revealed a flight of steps.
At the foot of these steps was another massive door of oak, bolted
and barred. It was opened and closed behind me, who found myself in a
darksome den built of rough stone, to which air came only through an
opening in the roof, so small that not even a child could pass it. In
the far corner of this hole, bound to the wall by an iron chain fastened
round his middle, Steinar lay upon a bed of rushes, while on a stool
beside him stood food and water. When I entered, bearing a lamp, Steinar
sat up blinking his eyes, for the light, feeble as it was, hurt them,
and I saw that his face was white and drawn, and the hand he held to
shade his eyes was wasted. I looked at him and my heart swelled with
pity, so that I could not speak.

"Why have you come here, Olaf?" asked Steinar when he knew me. "Is it to
take my life? If so, never were you more welcome."