The Saga of Colm the Slave

by Mike Culpepper

  “You mean Marta Bjornsdottir?”

  “Yes,” said Geirrid, “She’s the one I think the best.”

  “Not much chance of that, since I mean to wed her myself.”

  “You!” Geirrid laughed and shook his head.

  “Yes, me!” Frosti was angry. “She will love me and I will marry her. Look at this!” He took the amber pendant from his purse and held it out on his palm. “When I give her this, she will be mine!”

  Geirrid looked at the pendant for a minute, then turned away and shrugged. “It’s not much without a chain.”

  “I’m going to thread a red leather cord through the top.” Frosti had taken a thin piece of leather and worked it smooth with a stone. Now he was polishing the cord with a piece of rusted iron to redden it. The rust came off on his hands and he knew that he needed to find a way to fix the color so that it wouldn’t stain Marta’s clothing or her skin.

  “Leather?” said Geirrid. An idea began to stir in his brain. “You need metal. Any kind would be better than leather. Silver would even be better though it doesn’t match the color of the pendant. No, leather would just look cheap, the gift of a lout.”

  Frosti was downcast. All the excitement of trying to prepare a gift for Marta died. He saw himself failing and seeming a fool in her eyes. He knew that other people often thought him simple. He put the pendant back in his purse. “Perhaps it would be best not to hang the pendant at all, just give it to her as is.”

  “Well, but then she couldn’t wear it and show it off to the other girls. Not much of a gift!” The boys lapsed into silence, looking out at the water. Geirrid waited until he judged the time was ripe. “You know,” he said slowly, “I might be able to find a silver chain.”

  Frosti perked up. “Would it be expensive? I can probably offer a few cloaks for it.” He thought that his mother might give him some of the woven cloth that was their farm’s main wealth.

  Geirrid said, “That depends. I have to get it myself first, but I think I can get it cheap. Anyway, you’re my friend, Frosti, I’ll give you a good price.” And he looked into the other boy’s face with all the sincerity he could manage.

  That night Geirrid spoke with Colm. “Father, can I look at your neck-charm?” Colm took the penny from around his neck and passed it to his son. Once again, he spoke of false metal and true and described how to tell if a coin was of value. Geirrid nodded and looked up at his father. “These are lessons worth learning.” He looked back down at the coin. “Does wearing this always remind you of these things?”

  “Always,” said Colm. He did not speak of the particular falsehoods that he had in mind nor of the way that the coin lay like a stone on his body.

  “Perhaps,” said Geirrid, “This is something I should wear.”

  “Take it,” said Colm. He watched as Geirrid hung the coin around his neck. “It is a valuable thing to always know the difference between truth and lies.”

  Geirrid turned the coin so that it glinted. “It is so shiny.”

  “Many things shine that are false metal,” said Colm. He felt proud of teaching this lesson to his son.

  The next day, Geirrid and Frosti met on the cliffs. Geirrid brought out a piece of blue cloth. It was fine silk, smooth as skin. Carefully he unwrapped the cloth, making a show of it, to reveal the penny. It shone in the sunlight. “Here’s the chain,” said Geirrid. “I’ll take the silver pendant off, though. I want to keep that.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “A gift from my father. He got it while raiding in Frisia,” said Geirrid. He paused. “You know the Frisians are very rich.”

  Frosti nodded. He knew nothing about Frisia. “Well, it’s very fine.”

  “Bring out your pendant so that we can see whether the chain will fit.” Frosti laid the amber pendant beside the penny. Geirrid laid the chain over the pendant. He moved it about, studying the jewellery. Finally, he shook his head. “It just doesn’t work.” He looked up at Frosti. “It’s just the wrong color. You see? This silver doesn’t go with the gold at all.” He shook his head again. “It just doesn’t work.”

  Frosti stared at the pendant and chain together, his expression bleak. “There’s no chance of winning Marta now.”

  “I’m sorry, my friend.” Geirrid put his hand over the penny, as though to pick it up, then caught himself. “Wait...” he murmured, “Maybe...”

  “What?” said Frosti. “What is it?” He felt a little surge of hope.

  “Well, perhaps if the chain and pendant matched...” Geirrid kept his hand over the penny. “I don’t know.”

  Frosti caught the idea. “You mean if I were to give Marta the silver pendant?” Then his face fell. “Oh, but it must be very valuable.”

  Geirrid slowly nodded. “Yes. And the runes are well-carved, too. You can take a close look and see how fine they are.” He took his hand away so that the shiny penny leapt into sight.

  Frosti leaned close to look at the coin. Geirrid turned it slightly with his finger so that it caught the sun and flashed in Frosti’s eyes. Frosti started back. “It is so bright,” he whispered.

  “That’s how you know that it’s fine silver. Good metal always shines like that.”

  “Suppose...” Frosti began, then he stopped and thought. Geirrid waited silently. “Well,” said Frosti after a bit, “I wonder just how much that silver pendant is worth.”

  “It’s hard to say,” said Geirrid, “And it was a gift from my father, you know, and a father’s gift is always of great value.”

  Frosti, who never knew his father, agreed. “But I wonder anyway, how many cloaks it would take to buy such a thing.”

  “Cloaks? Who can say?” Geirrid pondered the question. “Well, a mark of silver will buy, say, four cows.”

  “That’s not a mark!”

  “No, of course not. But, I’m saying, my father paid two full ounces for a good cow from Ketil Treefoot.”

  “All right. That’s not an ounce, either.”

  Geirrid picked up the penny and hefted it. “Hm. With the chain, I’d say this is, oh, half an ounce.”

  “I think less!” Frosti reached out a hand and Geirrid dropped the penny in it. The false metal was heavier than silver and the coin was much thicker than a true penny so Frosti was surprised at the weight. “Not half,” he muttered, though he seemed unsure.

  “So the silver alone is worth, oh, perhaps ten or even twelve cloaks of good cloth.” Geirrid emphasized the word “good”. Braga’s weaving was not thought to be particularly fine. He shrugged, “But then there is the fine carving on the pendant, the work on the chain, and of course the fact that it is a father’s gift.”

  Frosti nodded dumbly, staring at the item in his hand. After a while he said, “I have two cloaks.”

  “Oh,” said Geirrid, “Two.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Frosti said, “And I have this.” He held out the amber pendant.

  Geirrid prodded the amber with his finger but did not take it from Frosti’s palm. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Amber. Well...”

  “It has gold wire, too.”

  “Not much, though. I suppose it doesn’t weigh much.”

  Frosti felt the amber in his hand. It seemed weightless as thistledown, something that might blow away in the smallest breeze. “No, but gold is worth eight times silver.”

  “So is that pendant an eighth of the weight of the fine carved silver necklace?”

  Frosti had the amber in one hand, the penny in the other. He knew the answer. Finally he said, “Suppose I offered you the amber for the silver necklace?”

  “Oh, no,” said Geirrid, “That wouldn’t be right.”

  “Suppose I offered the amber and a cloak?”

  Geirrid looked away off the cliffs and considered. “Well, I don’t know. Suppose the amber and three cloaks?”

  “I only have two.”

  Geirrid turned to Frosti and looked into his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “All ri
ght, then! The amber and two cloaks, my friend!”

  So they struck their deal.

  When Frosti got home, he was bursting with excitement. He got his mother’s attention and told her, “I have traded the amber for a valuable silver pendant that has a chain! Marta will be mine now!”

  Braga’s heart sank. “Let me see.” She held out her hand and Frosti carefully placed the penny in it. “I don’t know,” said Braga, “Let’s see what Adals has to say about this.” But she already suspected that the penny was worthless.

  Adals knew a little about coins. “This is poor metal,” he said. “It is too thick to be a good penny...”

  “A penny?” said Frosti. “It’s a carved silver pendant!”

  “No,” said Adals, “It’s a bad coin.”

  Frosti was mortified. Then he realized: “So I shouldn’t give it to Marta?”

  “No,” said Braga gently, “Best not.”

  Frosti sat in silence, then his jaw set with anger as he recalled how Geirrid had cheated him. “I am a fool!” he said, and realizing this, he became angrier still.

  “Wait,” said Braga. “All is not lost. We need to plan.” She turned to Adals. “How certain are you that your horse will win?”

  “As certain as any man could be. He has never lost a fight.” Adals had fought the stallion a few times in other districts. Although he had won some money, it all seemed to melt away by the time he got home.

  Braga nodded. “All right. Then we will bet all we have on him.” She turned to Adals. “I will hold the money for now.”

  Adals hesitated but then he agreed. He took out his small hoard and emptied his purse, too. Braga took charge of the money. She knew that when she added her own savings there would only be a few marks of silver. “I will sell what cloth I have, too,” said Braga.

  “I also gave Geirrid two cloaks.” Frosti hung his head in shame.

  Everyone was silent for a moment. “Well, it can’t be helped now,” said Braga. “We will wager what we have and then see where we are.” She did not mention the ring that she had.

  Frosti said, “I will speak with Geirrid.”

  “Do not threaten him,” said Braga. “We cannot afford to pay for a killing as well as finance your wooing of this girl.”

  “I will speak with Colm,” said Adals. Then the three plotted and planned deep into the evening.

  The next day, Adals rode out early and found Colm in the upper meadows.

  Colm held out his hands in greeting. “Well met, neighbor. How goes it for you at Helgafeld?”

  Adals said, “Not so well, for it appears Frosti was robbed.”

  “Robbed? Well then, we must get together a group of men and...” He stopped, for Adals was shaking his head.

  Adals said, “It was Geirrid who robbed him.” He told Colm what had occurred.

  Colm’s face turned red, then white. He was angered and embarrassed and he was ashamed. He thought what to do. “I will go to Geirrid and see what he has to say. But, whatever happens, I will make up any loss to you.”

  “It’s not so simple. Frosti meant to impress a young woman with the gift of that amber. Money is not the same.”

  Colm nodded. “I understand. Even so, I will speak to Geirrid now.”

  The men parted and Colm rode back to the Trollfarm, his mind in a turmoil. He was still on the ridge above the farm when he spotted Geirrid riding along the river. He galloped down and intercepted him.

  “Hello, father!” Geirrid smiled at him, a great wide smile.

  Colm almost struck his son then. “Tell me, Geirrid, what did you do with that bad penny I gave you?”

  “Why, I sold it. I got quite a price, too. I did well in that bargain. You should be proud!”

  Colm choked in amazement. Finally he said, “Where is the amber pendant? We must return it to Frosti.”

  “Oh, we can’t do that,” said Geirrid. “I just sold it to Orm Ketilsson. Altogether, with the cloaks I got from Frosti, I must have gotten almost two ounces of silver for that worthless coin.”

  “You must go and try to get the pendant back from Orm.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be honorable to back out of a deal in that way.”

  “You must go back. Offer to buy it. Offer him a mark of silver for it.”

  Geirrid shook his head. “It’s no use. There’s a girl he wants to give it to. Nothing will induce him to part with it.”

  “All right,” said Colm, “Then I must swallow my pride and go myself and beg this boy to sell me back the thing my son has cheated another boy out of.” His face was red with anger.

  Geirrid was taken aback. His head rocked as though his father had slapped him. “There was no cheating! There was only good bargaining! I did well and Frosti was foolish, that’s all.”

  “This is about honor and you need to understand what honor means!”

  Geirrid hung his head. “I do not think Orm will return the piece, but I will go and ask.”

  Colm said, “I will go with you. And I will speak with Ketil, too.”

  The two rode in silence to Ketil’s farm.

  Geirrid greeted Orm and took him to one side. “My father believes that I should get the pendant back from you. I will return what you paid for it.”

  “No,” said Orm, “I am satisfied with our bargain.”

  “I will pay extra. My father is unhappy about this. I got that amber piece in exchange for something of his. Now I need to undo the trades that I have made to satisfy him.”

  Orm shrugged. “What happens between you and your father is nothing to me.”

  Meanwhile, Colm spoke to Ketil. “We have had dealings in the past.”

  “Yes, and I am satisfied with them. Do you have a problem with any transaction between us?”

  “No. This is about our sons. Geirrid has sold a piece to Orm that I need to have returned.”

  “Oh?”

  “He got it from another boy for too low a price. It needs to be returned.”

  Ketil shrugged. “What is that to us? Go to the other boy and take it up with him.”

  Geirrid joined them. “It is no use. Orm will not sell the amber back to me.”

  Ketil called Orm over. “How much are we talking about here?”

  Orm said, “I gave him a few cloaks and some silver and copper, altogether about two ounces worth I think. But now he offers me a mark for it.”

  Ketil’s eyes lit up. He turned to Colm. “So how much is it really worth?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t even seen it. But my honor is very valuable indeed.”

  “Four times the price, eh?”

  Colm saw the greed in the man’s eyes and knew that any offer he made would only be a starting point for negotiations. “Name a price. I will tell you if it is too much.”

  Ketil tugged his beard, calculating, but Orm broke in. “No! I mean to give this to Marta and win her for my own!”

  Ketil was surprised, though Orm had spoken to him and his wife about courting Marta. Neither parent had thought Orm’s suit had much chance of success but Orm’s mother, Ingunn, had counselled him in much the same manner as Braga had counselled her son: “Flatter her, speak sweetly, and give her gifts.” Now Ketil saw that Geirrid would not be his son’s rival and thought Orm might have a chance to woo Marta after all. It would be a fine thing to have a future godi’s sister as a daughter-in-law. Here was wealth and power and status!

  Ketil said, “Honor dictates that this bargain is a done deed. But you are my friend and I must hear your best offer.”

  Colm considered carefully. Even knowing that Ketil would raise his offer, he had to be generous enough to stir the man’s avarice. “I will give you a mark of gold. And you will have my friendship forever.”

  A mark of gold! This was a handsome sum and Ketil understood the implied threat that, if he refused, Colm might no longer be his friend. Colm was a killer of men and not one to have opposed to you! Still, he weighed the offer. Finally, he turned to Orm. “Is that eno
ugh to keep your honor in this bargain?”

  “No!” said Orm. “Marta is worth a thousand marks of gold!”

  Ketil turned to Colm. “Well,” he said, “There it is. The amber is not for sale.” He was a little disappointed because a mark of gold was worth having. Still, he thought, if the story were told properly and got back to Gerda and Thorolf, Marta’s grandfather, it would show to his credit.

  Colm and Geirrid rode slowly back to the Trollfarm. “A mark of gold is a great deal of money,” said Geirrid.

  “It is less than what Adals would have to pay in wergild should Frosti kill someone close to me.” He reined in and faced Geirrid. “Of course, I would refuse it and there would be a feud between our families.” Geirrid was dumbfounded. For the first time, he began to understand the possible consequences of his actions. Colm kicked his horse back into a walk. “There is nothing I would not do for my son.”

  Adals had arranged for a horse-fighting ring to be set up near the main river. Gunnar had a good horse that he had bought in another district and some other farmers had horses they wanted to try against one another. A nearby farm prepared and served the food and drink that Adals and the other farmers provided. People gave small gifts of money to the local farm in return. This farm was also providing a mare on heat to provoke the stallions. The best stallion would mount her and, if the coupling was successful, the farm would gain the colt as well.

  It was late summer, the time of Frey, and hot. People were tired of work and ready for some entertainment before settling into the labor of harvest. There were horse fights all over Iceland at this time of year.

  Colm and Gwyneth drove up in a wagon and greeted friends and neighbors. Geirrid had not arrived yet, something that pleased Colm. He hoped his son stayed away altogether. The sword that Eystein had given him swung heavy at his side.

  Gwyneth moved among the women, talking to this friend and that. She cast her eyes toward the places where the young people milled about, laughing and yelling at one another. She saw Marta and Orm Ketilsson in deep conversation. The girl’s eyes shone with excitement and her smile was bright. Gwyneth was glad and disappointed. She was gladdened by the sight of the young girl’s happiness and recalled her own fifteen-year-old self and the excitement she felt at having young men glance her way. But she was disappointed that the person receiving Marta’s smiles was not Geirrid. But that was not to be and now she hoped only that there would be no trouble.