“Aye,” they answered again.

“If this be so,” I went on, “will you swear to leave the matter between Odin and me, Olaf, to be settled according to the law of single combat, and give peace to the victor, with promise from all harm save at the hands of his foe?”

“Aye,” they answered, yet scarcely understanding what they said.

“Good!” I cried.  “Now, God Odin, I, Olaf, a man, challenge you to single combat.  Strike you first, you, Odin, whom I name Devil and Wolf of the skies, but no god.  Strike you first, bloody murderer, and kill me, if you can, who await your stroke!”

Then I folded my arms and stared at the statue’s stony eyes, which stared back at me, while all the people gasped.

For a full minute I waited thus, but all that happened was that a wren settled on the head of Odin and twittered there, then flew off to its nest in the thatch.

“Now,” I cried, “you have had your turn, and mine comes.”

I drew the Wanderer’s sword, and sprang at Odin.  My first stroke sunk up to the hilt in his hollow belly; my next cut the sceptre from his hand; my third—­a great one—­hewed the head from off him.  It came rattling down, and out of it crawled a viper, which reared itself up and hissed.  I set my heel upon the reptile’s head and crushed it, and slowly it writhed itself to death.

“Now, good folk,” I cried, “what say you of your god Odin?”

They answered nothing, for all of them were in flight.  Yes, even Leif fled, cursing me over his shoulder as he went.

Presently I was alone with the dead Steinar and the shattered god, and in that loneliness strange visions came to me, for I felt that I had done a mighty deed, one that made me happy.  Round the wall of the temple crept a figure; it was that of Freydisa, whose face was white and scared.

“You are a great man, Olaf,” she said; “but how will it end?”

“I do not know,” I answered.  “I have done what my heart told me, neither more nor less, and I bide the issue.  Odin shall have his chance, for here I stay till dark, and then, if I live, I leave this land.  Go, get me all the gold that is mine from the hall, and bring it here to me by moonrise, and with it some garments and my armour.  Bring me also my best horse.”

“You leave this land?” she said.  “That means that you leave me, who love you, to go forth as the Wanderer went—­following a dream to the South.  Well, it is best that you should go, for whatever they have promised you but now, it is sure that the priests will kill you, even if you escape the vengeance of the god.”  And she looked askance at the shattered statue which had sat in its place for so many generations that none knew who had set it there, or when.

“I have killed the god,” I answered, pointing to the crushed viper.

“Not quite, Olaf, for, see, its tail still moves.”