The Saga of Colm the Slave

by Mike Culpepper

  There was a cape and a woman’s good dress and a pair of leather shoes. Colm thought of taking the dress for Gwyneth, but decided not. He pulled the chest toward the fire to look inside more closely. Something about the floor under the chest caught his eye. Everywhere else the floor was packed down but here, Colm thought, was some loose earth. He began digging at it with his sword, then became aware that someone was behind him.

  “Found something?” Grani Lopear dropped onto his knees next to Colm and began scrabbling in the dirt. A piece of cloth came into view. “Ha!”

  Grani pulled the cloth out of the hole and unfolded it. There were coins wrapped in the cloth: a few bits of copper – some more or less round, some shapeless scraps – a single silver English penny, and a halfpenny and a quarter that had been clipped from silver coins.

  Grani looked up at Colm and grinned. “I knew you were a fellow worth watching!” He grabbed the coins up in his hand. “I’ll add these to the lot for sharing out.” He gestured toward the chest. “Bring that outside. And the pot. Someone might want breakfast. Then we’ll take the pot and that tripod it hangs on.”

  I am quite the fellow, I am, thought Colm. Oh yes, I can find all the treasure a poor man can hide. He stopped himself thinking and grabbed the cooking gear. The hot metal tripod burned his hand but he only gripped it tighter as he dragged it from the hut.

  Outside the sun was high and men had begun to sweat as they piled up the Frisians’ belongings. Eystein started sending men back to the ship with armloads of loot. Grani walked about, gathering the coins and small valuables that had been discovered. A sense of urgency began to build and men began looking over their shoulders. They were afraid, thought Colm, afraid that the men out fishing might return, or that local forces might turn up, someone who could put up a fight. He hoisted the small chest onto his shoulder and headed back to the ship.

  The deck was heaped with stuff – household goods, stools, bloody clothing – when they shoved off and set sail for a safe place to share out the loot. They had taken only four slaves: three women and a boy of thirteen or fourteen. A slack expression and confused smile signalled that the boy was feeble-minded, probably the reason he was not out on the boats with the others. The women had ceased to weep and now stared at nothing with hollow eyes. One had a dress front stained with milk. Her baby had not been taken. Colm thought that there would not be a high price on these slaves.

  Some of the crew began casting sideways glances at the takings. There were very few valuable things and most of the men would not want to be burdened with piles of cheap cloth and much-mended furniture.

  Eystein caught the mood and made his way back to the tiller. Facing forward, he addressed his crew. “There’s a place a few hours from here – we could make it before dark – where we can sell these goods. Then we’ll add the money to the coins we already have and share them out. What do you say? Or should we sort out this stuff among us?” The men shouted No! They preferred the cash. “Good!” said Eystein, “That will leave us more room to take on loot from the next place.” The men cheered.

  A wooden palisade surrounded the trading place. Armed men stood behind it and stared at the ship. The ship’s crew, led by Grani Lopear, kept their hands on their weapons and watched the guards behind the palisade. The slaves had been sold – less than an ounce of silver for the four of them – and led away. Along the beach, Eystein and Bjorn and some other men dickered over the rest of the loot with a trader who was voyaging back to Norway. After a time, they returned to the ship with a small sack of coins.

  Eystein had the largest share, of course, since he owned the ship. Then others were called forward. Bjorn had invested in the voyage; he got a larger cut than some others. Colm’s name was called. Grani pointed him out to the rest of the crew. Colm had found money and killed a man to boot! There was a murmur of approval. Then Eystein gave Colm his share.

  There were three silver pennies in his hand. Colm could not read the writing on them but one that bore a man’s head and a cross was English. Another, with no picture and odd-looking runes, was a dirham from the East by way of Russia. These were full-weight coins, good silver. They were creased in the middle where they had been bent by men checking their quality. The third coin was probably meant to be a Frankish penny. It was too thick to be anything but poor metal but Colm made no complaint.

  After the sharing-out, they built a fire. Night was falling and there was a chill in the air. Eystein bought a barrel of beer and the men began to drink and brag over the deeds they had done that day.

  Colm sat on a rock near the shore. The moon was huge on the horizon and the water shone and sparkled. Colm could see the thief in the moon quite clearly. He was bent over and carried a stick; the firewood that he had stolen was slung over his back. “Thief above, thieves below,” thought Colm. He gripped the silver pennies in his fist and thought, for a moment, of pitching them into the sea. A sound made him turn his head and he saw Bjorn walking slowly toward him.

  Bjorn sat heavily on a rock beside Colm and stared at the moon. For a time the men were silent. Then Bjorn said, “The thief rises.”

  Colm nodded. “We think the same thought.”

  Bjorn said, “Perhaps this will be a different thought: I am leaving off raiding and going back to Iceland.”

  “Oh! I would go with you!” Colm caught himself. “I want to go home.” Home! And so it was, that rundown farm on the faraway island, that was home!

  “Yes,” said Bjorn, “Home.” He shook his head. “I am a farmer, not a raider. I need to tend my farm.”

  “Yes!” Colm nodded.

  Bjorn looked over the water and sighed. “Thorolf offered me his daughter in marriage. This was a little after Aud died.”

  “I would have thought he’d look to Eystein for that.” Gerda had been betrothed to Eystein’s brother who was murdered.

  “Thorolf doesn’t like raiders. And, I think, it may be he has thoughts that Magnus’ family is not one to be close to. Anyway, linked by marriage or not, Magnus is committed to him since Thorolf represented him in the action at Althing.”

  Colm nodded. This was a lot of information. He resolved to keep Bjorn’s opinions to himself.

  Bjorn went on. “I didn’t want to marry again. I have grown children. I grieved for Aud. I was ready to become old. Then Eystein asked me to go raiding. I thought… I thought, perhaps I will be killed! And that seemed all right to me then.”

  The two men sat silently, watching the moon rise. Bjorn said suddenly, “I have never killed a man.”

  “That makes you no less,” said Colm. He thought of Gunnlaug who had sneered before he was killed and he thought of the old man in the village and the terrible look of sorrow on his face.

  “No,” Bjorn nodded, “I see it now for what it is. Thorolf has wisdom.” He sat quietly for a while. “I am going back and marry Gerda. She is young and foolish but perhaps I can manage to get her pregnant and that will cause her to grow up some.”

  “I want to go back, too,” said Colm again.

  “All right. That trader who bought the goods, we can get passage with him. I kept back an iron kettle and tripod to use on the trip and a small sack of grain, mostly oats. We can eat porridge all the way home.”

  “Here,” said Colm, “I’ll pay the rest when I can.” He held out the silver pennies to Bjorn, who nodded absently. Colm said, “I need to return Eystein’s sword.”

  “Why?” Bjorn was surprised. “You used it, you did your share. No, Eystein will be insulted if you return his gift.”

  “I don’t want to be in his debt.”

  “You owe him nothing. Anyway, sooner or later, he’s going to charge into some place and get a spear in his guts. Then we’ll hear no more of him.” Bjorn considered. “Let me do the talking. I’ll tell Eystein that I need you as a travelling companion.” Bjorn looked at him, “And I do, Colm. I need someone to help me home. Anyway, I’ll tell Eystein you have no option, that way no one will think the less of you.”
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br />   “I care nothing for what people think.” A freed slave has no reputation to lose.

  Bjorn smiled. “Even so, let me speak. Now,” he said, rising, “We should go talk to Eystein before he gets too drunk to listen. Here,” Bjorn held out his hand. “You’d best hang onto these. We’ll have other expenses, no doubt.” He dropped the silver pennies back into Colm’s hand. Then the two men walked back to the fire where the others were shouting and laughing.

  5.The Berserk Feud

  When Colm got back from raiding, it was almost winter and there was little to be done on the farm. The ewe and her daughter had just come into season and needed breeding and there was a decision to be made about whether to geld the young ram or not. “I waited for you to come back,” said Gwyneth. “I didn’t want to decide without you.”

  “Then I’m glad to be here,” said Colm, “But what are your thoughts?” In truth, he would have supported any decision of Gwyneth’s and called it perfect; he could not question the choices she made in his absence – better he had been here to make them himself!

  “Well, sometimes I think one way, then I think the other.” She glanced at old Edgar who sat down the bench, studying his bowl as though to raise more skyr within it. Edgar had been a slave long enough to know that he should speak only when spoken to.

  “Do you have thoughts on this, Edgar?” The old man still seemed hesitant. “After all,” Colm nudged, “You have more experience in these matters.”

  Edgar cleared his throat and began a long discussion of the pros and cons. He was toothless and his words were sometimes difficult to understand but the choice was clear enough: a ram to impregnate the ewes would mean not having to ask for this service from another’s animal; on the other hand, every flock required a wether or two to protect it and show some sense to the ewes, who were taken up with lambs and milk, and the rams, whose brains were all balls. There was no question, this year, of slaughtering the animal for meat – that must await the time that there were so many sheep that this kind of decision would be a simple, everyday occurrence. Then something Edgar said caught Colm’s ear.

  “You say that Ketil has a good ram?”

  “He has a spotted brown. Both its parents were spotted, too. His dam bears twins two times in three and gives an extra week’s milk. His sire had many offspring, good wethers and breeders, too.”

  “You think we should breed to this ram?”

  “Oh, aye…” Edgar shrugged. Colm knew there was more to be said.

  “What else?”

  “Well, Ketil has some doubts about breeding to this ram. Last season, many births were strange, including a two-headed ewe.”

  “Is the ram cursed?”

  Edgar shrugged, “Who can say? But…” He shrugged again.

  Colm called up patience and wheedled old Edgar into speech.

  “Well,” said the old man, “The old ram, this one’s sire is gone. Oh, that was a feast! He was heavy with meat.” A trickle of saliva ran from Edgar’s mouth as he recalled feeding on whatever scraps were allowed him.

  “So all of Ketil’s sheep are from the one ram?”

  “Aye,” said Edgar, “And now this young one’s doing all the tupping.”

  “Ah!” said Colm. “You think he needs to breed out.”

  “Well, I believe Ketil thinks so. These things happen when there is no new blood. Or when the animal is cursed, of course.”

  “Of course.” Colm’s mind raced. “You think he might trade this ram for mine?”

  Edgar raised guileless eyes. “Well, now, that would be a good trade!” He shook his head. “You are a smart one to come up with that idea.”

  Colm smiled. “Gwyneth, is there more skyr? I see Edgar’s bowl is empty.”

  Laughing, Gwyneth went to fetch the old man some more food.

  Colm had been surprised, when he returned from raiding, to find Gwyneth at the Trollfarm. He had thought she would stay at Bjorn’s steading. And, at first, Gwyneth had lived there, working at chores around the place. But Gwyneth finally determined to stay in her own house and she was a free woman, free to go wherever she wished. She got Edgar to help at the Trollfarm and live with her after the sheep came down from summer pasture. There was not enough work at Bjorn’s farm during the winter for all his slaves and Edgar staying at the Trollfarm meant one less mouth for Bjorn to feed.

  So Colm was surprised to find Gwyneth and the old man at the Trollfarm when he returned. He wasn’t jealous. Edgar was far past the age to threaten any woman’s honor – not that Gwyneth would have been blamed if she had taken a lover – but he was also too old to defend a woman, as well.

  Colm had said so much to Gwyneth and she blazed back at him, “You think I am defenceless? No man enters this house unless I allow it!”

  Colm knew that Gwyneth had killed a man, two winters past, something they never spoke about. And he spotted the spear placed near the doorway, where the house was easiest to defend. And he noted the spearhead, sharper than a dagger, placed near Gwyneth’s workplace, where she spun what wool she had. Still, he recalled the broken Frisian women taken as slaves and knew how futile her defence would prove against a gang of raiders. But he loved her when she showed spirit and decided not to say anything that might cause her to feel weak.

  Gwyneth had spun the wool she gathered from the three sheep they owned and traded the thread for a hen and now the yard was full of chickens. There was a dog, too, from somewhere, always ready to growl or bark a warning at any and every intruder on the place, so Gwyneth named him Gagarr. Colm had been surprised when he returned to the Trollfarm, to see it looking like a real farm with life everywhere. Some hay had been harvested though much of the crop had been left to rot in the cold rain of autumn. Colm cut it down so that it would not choke the new grass in the spring. He saw that far more had been harvested than old Edgar could manage alone and Colm supposed that Gwyneth had picked up men’s tools and done work that, strictly speaking, was forbidden her. Not that women were ever punished for unlawfully doing men’s work or handling weapons. It would take a courageous man to ever bring such an action and risk the wrath of all women everywhere for the rest of his days! So Colm said nothing about the matter. This was another of those things that both knew but neither mentioned.

  Ketil came by to examine Colm’s ram. The animal gratified his owner by bleating and butting against the fence that kept him from the ewes that he could smell. Ketil said, “Well, he seems lively enough. I suppose he’s up to the job.”

  The ewes were well along in heat now and Colm wanted to breed them soon, but he wished to avoid seeming anxious or in a hurry. He thought Ketil was willing to trade even up but if he sniffed out an advantage, he would take it and demand that the deal be sweetened. Now Ketil said, “Of course, my ram is a proven breeder.”

  Colm nodded. “Yes. How are his lambs anyway?” He knew very well that several were deformed and hadn’t survived long past their birth. Ketil chewed on an answer and Colm added, “Just how old is he?”

  “Only four. Well, this will be his fifth breeding.”

  Colm nodded thoughtfully as though calculating how many years the ram had left. “Hmm…” He already knew how old Ketil’s ram was, and its complete pedigree, too. Edgar was a fount of knowledge.

  “Ah, well, this ram seems well enough,” said Ketil. He sighed a great sigh. “I’ll take a chance and swap mine for yours.”

  “Well…” Colm acted reluctant. “He does have five more years of breeding in him than yours.” He glanced sideways at Ketil, watching for a sign that there was an advantage here that he could work.

  “Four,” said Ketil firmly, “And my ram is proven.”

  Colm sighed, paused, nodded. “I suppose this is a trade then.”

  They slapped palms and agreed to meet the next day, halfway between their farms, and exchange rams. Both men were secretly pleased though neither let any sign of it show.

  The new ram proved energetic and responsive, going straight to his work on being introd
uced to the ewes. Colm and Gwyneth watched him perform for a time, then felt a pressing need to go back inside the house. Old Edgar had already determined that this was a time for privacy and gone off on some errand or other.

  Soon it was time for the Autumn Sacrifice. Colm was a bit nervous – this would be his first attendance as a free man and he was uncertain how to act. Also, this was his second harvest at the Trollfarm and his rent was due. The first harvest was not of much account – some hay, that was all – and the second wasn’t much better since Colm had been raiding and unable to work the place. Still, the flock increased from one to three sheep and there was a little wool, all spun into thread now by Gwyneth, and hay enough for the winter. Oh, and Gwyneth’s chickens, more every time he looked, and eggs, though Gwyneth traded most of the excess for cow’s milk and the tools she required to handle the wool. She had card and comb, distaff and spindle, and lacked only a loom to begin weaving. Colm kept an eye out for proper sized wood to make one. Anyway Colm was apprehensive when he approached Bjorn and Thorolf about the rent.

  “Not much of an increase this season,” said Thorolf.

  “No.” Colm agreed.

  “My fault,” said Bjorn, “For taking the man away from his farm.”

  Thorolf shrugged, “Fault is easy to find and one can’t spend blame. Well, there are some chickens, I believe?”

  “Yes,” said Colm, “A little wool, some hay, two lambs… Oh! And these.” He pulled the three pennies, his raiding loot, from his purse and held them out. “I think this one’s bad metal.” He pointed to the thick Frankish coin. “But the other two seem good silver.”