In the harbor of the Gotland Vi so many ships lay at anchor that Orm was at first doubtful whether it would be wise to sail in. But they took down the dragon-head, set up a shield of peace in its place, and rowed in without any ship opposing their passage. The town was very great, and full of seamen and rich merchants; and when Orm’s men came ashore, they found much to marvel at. There were houses built entirely of stone, and others erected for the sole purpose of drinking ale in; and the wealth of the town was such that whores walked the streets with rings of pure gold in their ears and spat at any man who had not a fistful of silver to offer for their services. But one thing in this town they marveled at most of all and refused to believe in till they had actually seen it. This was a man from the Saxons’ land who spent the whole of every day scraping the beards from the chins of the rich men of the town. For this he received a copper coin from every man he scraped, even when he had cut them so that they bled freely. Orm’s men thought this a more astonishing custom than any they had ever before seen or heard tell of, and one that would be unlikely to afford a man much pleasure.
Olof Summerbird was now in a more cheerful humor, and he and Orm went in search of a skillful helmsman. Few men remained on board, for all wanted to stretch their legs and refresh themselves. Toke, however, stayed behind to guard the ship.
“The ale these Gothlanders brew is so good,” he said, “that once, when I was a young man, I drank somewhat too deeply of it in this very harbor. As a result, I became miserable and killed a man, and only with difficulty managed to swim away with my life. These Gothlanders have a long memory, and it would be an ill thing if I were to be recognized and taken to task for such an old and trivial offense when we have important work ahead of us; so I shall remain on board. But I would advise such of you as go ashore to conduct yourselves peacefully, for they have little patience with strangers who cause disturbances.”
Some while later Orm and Olof came aboard with the helmsman they had chosen. He was a small, thickset, grizzled man called Spof. He had been many times in the East and knew all the routes, and would not agree to go with them until he had carefully inspected the whole ship. He said little, but nodded at most of what he saw. Finally he asked to be allowed to sample the ship’s ale. This was the ale that Orm had had specially brewed in the estuary before they had embarked, and nobody had yet found cause to complain of it. Spof tasted it and stood thinking.
“Is this all the ale you have?” he said.
“Is it not good enough?” said Orm.
“It is good enough to drink during the voyage,” said Spof, “and I shall not object to drinking it. Now, these men you have with you, are they meek and submissive, addicted to hard work and easily contented?”
“Easily contented?” said Orm. “That they are not; indeed, the only time they do not complain is when the seasickness is upon them. Nor did I choose them for the meekness of their nature; and as for hard work, I do not think they like it better than most men.”
Spof nodded thoughtfully.
“It is as I feared,” he said. “We shall arrive at the great portage in the worst of the summer heat, and you will need better portageale than this if all is to go well.”
“Portage-ale?” said Orm to Toke.
“We Gothlanders,” said Spof, “have sailed the rivers of Gardarike more often than other men and have penetrated them farthest. We know all their currents and hazards, even beyond the portage of the Meres, beyond which no man has voyaged in large ships save we. And it is thanks to our portage-ale that we have succeeded in making progress there, where all other men have been forced to turn back. This ale needs to be of extraordinary strength and flavor, so that it fortifies the spirit and cheers the heart; and it is to be given to the men only while they are hauling the ship across the portage. At no other time during the voyage must they be allowed to drink it. This device have we Gothlanders invented, and because of it we brew finer ale than any other people, for on the excellence of it our wealth depends.”
“Unless I am much mistaken,” said Orm, “this ale is not to be bought at a low price.”
“It is dearer than other ales,” replied Spof, “in proportion as it is superior to them; possibly a fraction more. But it is well worth its price, for without its help no ship can cross the portage into the hinterland of Gardarike.”
“How much shall we need?” asked Orm.
“Let me see,” said Spof. “Twenty-four oars; sixty-six men; Kiev. That will involve seven small portages, but they will not be difficult. It is the great portage to the Dnieper that presents the problem. I think that five of our largest barrels will suffice.”
“Now I understand,” said Orm, “why most men prefer to sail westwards.”
And when he had paid for the ale and had given Spof half of his hire-money for the voyage, he began to wish more strongly still that Are’s treasure had been buried in some river in west-oversea instead of in Gardarike. As he reckoned out the silver, he mumbled heavily that he would never reach Kiev save as a beggar, armed only with his staff, for he would certainly have pawned his ship and weapons to the Gothlanders long before he sighted its walls.
“Still, you seem to me to be a good man, Spof,” he said, “possessing both cunning and wisdom; and it may be that I shall not regret hiring you as my helmsman, though your price is high.”
“It is with me as with the portage-ale,” replied Spof, unoffended. “I am expensive, but I am worth my price.”
They remained at anchor in the Gotland Vi for three days, and Spof ordered the men to carpenter strong cradles to hold the ale-casks firmly in position, until everything was as he wanted it. The ale occupied a deal of room and weighted the ship heavily, but the men did not grumble at the extra labor it would cost them, for they had already sampled it in the town and knew its flavor. By the end of their first day ashore many of them had drunk up all their silver and besought Orm to advance them part of their hire-money for the voyage, but nobody succeeded in persuading him to comply with this request. Some of the men then tried to barter their skin jackets in exchange for ale, and others their helmets, and when the Gothlanders refused to accept them, fights were started, as the result of which law-men from the town came to the ship demanding stern compensation. Orm and Olof Summerbird sat arguing with them for half a day until they had reduced their original demands by half, though even that sum, Orm thought, was more than sufficiently large. Thereafter they let no man ashore without first divesting him of his weapons.
Sone’s sons were well supplied with silver of their own and drank deeply in the town, but found it difficult, none the less, to put their father’s prophecy wholly out of their minds. On the second day ten of them returned to the ship, carrying the eleventh, who was on the point of expiring. They had warned him, they said, to control his passions, but in spite of this he had crept up upon a young woman whom he had seen chopping cabbages behind a cottage and had managed, by persuasive use of his tongue and hands, to put her on her back. He had no sooner done this, however, than a crone had emerged from the house, picked up the chopper, and deposited it in his head, which they had not been able to prevent.
Toke examined the wound and said that the man had not long to live. He died during the night, and his brothers buried him sadly and drank to a lucky death voyage for him.
“It was his fate to die thus,” they said. “When the old man sees, he sees the truth.”
But although they mourned their brother and had nought but good to speak of him, it was noticeable that something of their melancholy had been lifted from them. For now, they reminded each other, there was bad luck in store for three of them only, so that a quarter of their troubles were past.
The next morning they put out to sea and steered northwards, with Spof at the helm. Orm said that how they might fare in the future was uncertain, but that he dearly cherished one hope at least: namely, that he would not soon find himself anchored in another harbor as ruinous to seafarers as the Gotland Vi.