The Saga of Colm the Slave

by Mike Culpepper

  Colm told them the story, beginning with his desire to keep Ljot and Styr from fighting one another. When he described Snorri’s speech and attitude, the other two men leaned forward and listened carefully. When Colm was finished, they sat back and looked at one another. “So that’s how he does it,” said Hallvard.

  “Easy to say, hard to imitate,” said Thorolf.

  “You have no difficulty with the Mavahlid business?” said Colm.

  “No. That is far out of my range. And, anyway, Snorri’s farm sits between us and Mavahlid.” Thorolf rubbed his beard. “There is a good fighter or two connected with Mavahlid, but Snorri has already neutralized them.”

  Hallvard said, “The fighters sided with Erik the Red. When Snorri helped Erik settle his dispute with Thorgest, they became beholden to him.”

  “So they won’t help the people at Mavahlid?”

  Thorolf shook his head. “There is no hope for them except to leave the country. Snorri’s followers far outnumber them.”

  “There is still Arnkel,” said Hallvard. Arnkel was chieftain at Bolstad. His land bordered Snorri’s and some of Snorri’s followers were threatening to go over to Arnkel, since he was closer to them.

  “Yes, there is Arnkel, until Snorri decides that it is time to take him on. Snorri is already making friends with anyone who might be Arnkel’s ally in a fight. He gives them gifts or does them favors so that they are in his debt.” Thorolf waved a hand at Colm.

  “I see,” said Colm. “Are you...”

  “So far I have steered clear of the entire business,” said Thorolf. “Personally, I like Arnkel. He is a fine man but I think he is outmatched here. I will avoid going into his debt. I think he will not live many more years.” Hallvard nodded in agreement.

  “So Snorri will isolate him and then kill him.”

  Thorolf nodded. “I think so. When there is no one left who will avenge Arnkel, then Snorri will attack him.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Well,” shrugged Thorolf, “It is better than a great feud with everyone killing one another.” Hallvard agreed. Thorolf said, “Arnkel should have looked to this problem long before now. A little more sense in his land-taking, a little more diplomacy in dealing with Snorri...” He shook his head.

  The three sat talking about politics deep into the night.

  Colm had a long talk with Ljot and Styr. He spoke to them of friendship and brotherhood. Then he took a sharp knife and cut each boy across his left thumb. He had the boys press their thumbs against each other’s forehead leaving a mark like that at a sacrifice. “Now,” said Colm, “You bear each other’s blood and are responsible for each others’ life.” The boys solemnly nodded. “No one else is closer to you. No one else’s words matter. If they taunt you, laugh at them, for they have only words and you have your brother.”

  “Laugh at them?” said Styr.

  Colm nodded. He recalled the berserk and the twins from Norway and told the boys about that. “You laughed at a berserk!” The boys’ eyes were wide.

  “Actually, all I had to do was grin at him,” said Colm. “That infuriated those who brought him here.” He spread his hands. “They all died. They were foolish and they died. So it is. Now, smile at fools and shrug them off. But if they are very difficult, grin at them. Laugh if you can’t help it, but remember that you may have to kill this fellow you laugh at, so reserve laughter as a last resort.”

  The boys nodded, their eyes even wider. After this, when faced with cutting remarks, Ljot and Styr would stop and consider whether to smile, to grin, or to laugh. They bore themselves quietly and with great dignity and the other boys began to fear them without knowing exactly why. Soon they had a fearsome reputation without ever drawing a sword. The chatter about them fighting one another died down, too, because no one now wanted the brothers’ enmity.

  Gunnora was pleased and she sent a reward over to the Trollfarm. After some thought, she sent it not to Colm, but to Gwyneth. Gwyneth received the gift, some fine cloth, in silence. She pondered for a while, then sent Gunnora back a gift of equal value. She did not want to be in the woman’s debt. Gunnora accepted the situation as it stood but she, and her sons, were now allied with Colm. Thorolf smiled and pulled his beard. “It is always good to have strong ties within the community,” he said. Hallvard agreed.

  The next summer, at Althing, Snorri had the men at Mavahlid outlawed, They could find no allies and soon left Iceland. Their women abandoned the farm and Snorri moved some of his people into it.

  27. Thurid In Love

  Thurid began to think of marriage. She and some other girls had a backward-feast. They sat at a table with empty dishes with their aprons on wrong way. A serving-girl filled their bowls with skyr and they got up and backed away from the full dishes, so reversing the events of a meal. Then, after turning time around, they all sat staring into the fire, waiting for the vision of their future husband to appear now as history. No one saw anything, perhaps because they talked and giggled too much. “We should have spoken backwards,” said Thurid.

  “What do you know?” jeered the others. “You fell asleep!” And it was true that Thurid had taken a little nap by the warm fire but she didn’t see how that mattered. She could have seen her husband in her dreams, after all. Especially if she managed to dream backwards.

  It was warm and the days were long. Thurid found it hard to sleep with the sun shining all the time. She got up one morning, just before dawn, and made her way to the meadows above the Trollfarm. There were certain flowers that grew up the mountain and it was said if you washed your face in the dew that collected on them, your skin would shine with beauty. Far up the mountain, Thurid found some flowers that she thought were probably the ones that people meant. The plants were wet with dew and Thurid washed her face thoroughly. Light was growing now and the birds had begun to sing. The horses in the distance had woken and begun to graze. Thurid inhaled the fresh smell of the crushed flowers and the grass and the distant horses and breathed deeply, filling her lungs. She watched a mare nurse its colt and her heart swelled. She had no thoughts, no words, just deep nameless feelings that filled her utterly.

  Across the meadow was a small shelter made of turf and stone. As Thurid watched, a young man crawled out of the shelter and stretched in the sun. He was naked. A horse came over and thrust his muzzle against the man’s bare chest. The man laughed, Thurid heard him laugh out loud, then he slapped the horse’s flank and began running. The horse caught up to him and the two ran side by side for a second or so until the horse began to pull ahead, then the young man grabbed its mane and pulled himself onto the horse’s back and kicked it into a full gallop, his unbraided hair streaming behind him in the dawn light.

  Thurid watched until he rode over a rise and out of view. She had never seen such a glorious sight. She took a deep breath but now the sun was fully up and the flower scent all burned away with the dew. Only the grass and the horse smell remained. Thurid blinked in the bright sun and felt as though she had awakened from a dream. Slowly she walked back to the Trollfarm.

  All day long, Thurid walked about in a daze. Gwyneth watched her with some concern, picking up after her chores and making certain the chickens were properly watered and the morning’s milk strained and covered. It was midday before Thurid spoke. She said, “I have seen my husband today.”

  Gwyneth knew of the games the girls played and smiled a little. “Ah, and was he a one-eyed troll or a bow-legged dwarf?”

  “He was tall and young and golden and played with horses.”

  Gwyneth grew serious. She had an idea who Thurid meant. “Where did you have this vision?”

  “Up in the meadow. My husband is with the horses there.”

  “I see,” said Gwyneth. “Well, I think you saw Frosti who Colm has hired to look after the horses.”

  “He is beautiful,” said Thurid.

  “He is a farmhand...” began Gwyneth, but Thurid glared at her.

  “I will marry him,” said Thurid,
her lips pressed firmly together.

  Gwyneth was at a loss. “Let’s go speak to your other mother,” she said finally.

  Groa waved a hand. “This is nothing.” She said, “A passing fancy. There are better matches...”

  “This is the one for me!” said Thurid and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “He is the son of a slave!” said Groa.

  “Well,” said Thurid, “I am a slave’s daughter!” She nodded at Gwyneth. “Twiceover!”

  Neither Gwyneth nor Groa voiced their next thought, that Frosti had no father, for they foresaw Thurid’s response. They talked to her for a time but Thurid was more and more adamant. Anyway, neither had given much thought to this matter and had no rival match to offer. Finally, Groa turned to Gwyneth. “Just who is this man anyway?”

  “Well, you know Braga and Adals...”

  “Adals is of no account! He has abandone d his family!”

  “Well, as for that,” said Gwyneth, “He is not Frosti’s father.”

  “All right! I know that,” said Groa, “But who is this man?”

  Gwyneth turned her palms up. “He seems decent enough. He knows horses. I have heard no ill of him.” She thought, except that sometimes he is not very bright. But she did not say that.

  The two older women sat there with the girl in silence for a time. Then Gwyneth said, “I will speak to Colm about this.”

  Groa nodded. “And I must talk to Mar.” She turned to Thurid. “He is your father, after all.” Thurid did not reply.

  Gwyneth thought she needed to head off problems. “Colm can speak to Frosti and arrange a meeting for you. But you should not see him again until then.” Thurid was silent. Gwyneth turned to Groa. “Of course, we need to speak to Braga as well.” She said to Thurid, “If you will have a good marriage with this man, then you need his mother’s agreement.”

  Thurid looked troubled for the first time during the entire conversation, then she nodded. “I will leave it in your hands, my mothers. I will not go up into the meadows for now.” And so they struck a bargain.

  Colm said, “Have you thought of marriage?”

  Frosti shrugged. “I am happy enough without it. Oh, I sometimes think...” His voice trailed off.

  Colm could imagine the thoughts of this young man as he lay alone in the meadow. “But then you consider that a family would require care and attention, and that you would not be so free as now.”

  Frosti nodded. “Yes. Sometimes I see other young men and their wives and I so enjoy not being married!” He hung his head. “I am ashamed.” Then he looked up. “And I would not want to be like Adals and abandon my family.”

  “No,” said Colm, “But I do not think you need to worry on that score. You seem to me a responsible man. If you looked after a family as well as you look after these horses, all would praise you.”

  Frosti looked at the horses in the meadow as though imagining them his wife and children. “So,” he said at last, “Does this mean you have a match picked out for me?”

  “No,” said Colm, “It means a girl has picked you out.”

  “Me? Who would choose me?”

  “Thurid. She says you are beautiful.”

  “Ah, Thurid. I never thought of her... I never thought...” What Frosti had thought was that if he married anyone, it would be a newly-freed slave, perhaps a cast-off concubine who had lost her looks. He thought his wife would be very like his mother.

  “Well,” said Colm, “This is all very unusual. Your mother knows nothing of this yet, but would you like to meet Thurid?” Colm held up a hand. “No one wants to pressure you. In fact, there are some who oppose this match.”

  “And how do you feel about it?” Frosti looked Colm in the eye.

  “I feel that you should not be made to do anything you do not wish. I will support you either way and help you all I can, whether married to Thurid or not.”

  “So if I wish to marry her, you will speak for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then,” said Frosti, “Suppose I ride over and talk to my mother. Then, perhaps, Thurid and I may meet.”

  “Suppose that you go see your mother and then stop by the Trollfarm on the way back. It is not only Thurid you need to speak to, but also Gwyneth and Groa and Mar.”

  “I can speak to Mar,” said Frosti, “But women can be difficult to talk with.”

  Colm sighed. “That is true for every man. But it is a task you must face often in your life.”

  Frosti nodded. He saddled one of the horses and rode over to Orm’s farm to see his mother, Braga. Near the farm he ran into Orm, who was clearing a field.

  “Good day,” said Orm. He was wary and reserved. He had not spoken to Frosti since he was married and still recalled him as a suitor of Marta.

  Frosti dismounted. “Good day. I have come to have a few words with my mother. I promise I will not keep her long from her chores.”

  “Well, that is for Marta to say. Go on down to the farm.” Orm thought for a minute. “Wait, I’ll ride down with you.”

  So they rode down to the farm together. Frosti got Marta’s permission to speak to his mother. Braga was out by the cowshed, setting cheeses to drain. “This is a surprise,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes,” said Frosti, “But there is something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Is it Adals?” Braga clutched at her apron. She had not heard from her husband in months and did not know if he was alive or dead. In fact, she did not know which she wished him to be. Sometimes she felt one way, sometimes another.

  “No,” said Frosti, “Though I suppose this might matter to him a little anyway. There is a girl who wants to speak with me. I think she means marriage.”

  “What? Is she pregnant?”

  “No, not that I know of. I have never spoken to her. It is Thurid Three-Mothers. It seems she has taken a liking to me.”

  “Oh, my. Thurid.” Braga thought this a good match. “Well, then, you must speak to her, see if this will work between you.”

  “All right, Mother, but I wished to speak to you first.” Braga smiled. She loved her son and Frosti found her one of the few people he could understand. So Frosti rode back to the Trollfarm.

  Marta had eavesdropped on the conversation. “He is thinking of marrying Thurid!” she said.

  “Well,” said Orm, “What of it?”

  “I never thought he would marry so well!”

  “Thurid is daughter to a slave,” said Orm, “Just like Frosti.”

  “And she does not know her father,” nodded Marta, “Just like Frosti. Well...” She shrugged, “So be it.” Orm nodded.

  Frosti stopped by a hotspring on the way and bathed. Then he dipped into a cold stream to wash the sulfur smell from his skin. He combed his hair until it shone and tied it back with a horse hair that he wound around his forehead. He chewed mint to freshen his breath and wiped his armpits with certain flowers. He looked at his ragged clothes but could think of nothing to do about that. He picked a bouquet of flowers and rode on to the Trollfarm. It occurred to him that he was acting like a suitor, not just a fellow wanting to chat with a girl, and he began to wonder what Thurid was like.

  Gwyneth came out into the farmyard to greet Frosti. She gave him a narrow searching glance that so discomfitted him that he handed her the flowers he had meant for Thurid. He thrust them at Gwyneth as though to ward her off. “For you,” he mumbled. Or something like that. He found it difficult to speak in a normal voice.

  Gwyneth took the flowers. She recognized that Frosti was nervous and uncertain. She looked at his patched clothes and thin legs and suddenly saw Colm standing before her as he had once appeared a quarter-century before. Her gaze softened and she led Frosti into the house.

  Mar and Groa were there already and Groa eyed Frosti up and down as though he was a slab of meat she was about to butcher. Frosti sat down next to Colm and they all spent an uncomfortable few minutes together before Thurid swept in.

 
“Oh,” she said, “You must be Frosti.” Frosti agreed that he was Frosti all right and tried to greet Thurid but she was already pulling him out the door. “Come with me. I have something to show you!” And they were gone, leaving the bewildered old folks to contemplate one another in silence.

  Thurid took Frosti around the farm, pointing out the buildings and the new puppies, one of whom would be named Gagarr after a long-departed dog that once was owned by her mother, Gwyneth. Frosti stumbled along in her bright wake until she led him over to a wall and sat him down. She hopped up beside him and said, “Now. Tell me all about yourself.”

  After a time, Colm and Mar came outside and called Thurid indoors. They sat down beside Frosti.

  “Well?” said Colm. “How did you two get on?”

  “I think we got on well,” said Frosti. “I believe she intends on marrying me.”

  “And what do you think of that?” asked Mar.

  “I think... Well, I think I shall be married,” said Frosti.

  Mar sighed. “Yes. I think that is the way Thurid will have it.” The three of them sat and nodded agreement, together in the sunlight, then fell to talking about farming.

  In the house, Thurid sat with her mothers and chattered about how wonderful Frosti was, and how nice-looking, and what a fine conversationalist. In fact, Frosti had little conversation, except about horses, but Thurid drank in every word he had to say on the subject.

  After a time, Thurid began to slow down and Gwyneth glanced over at Groa. She had already made up her mind what to say, but she wanted to know Groa was in agreement first. Groa sat in silence, looking down at the floor. Finally, she looked up and said, “He is a little older than you.”

  “I don’t care,” said Thurid. “Anyway, he won’t dominate the marriage.”

  “No,” said Groa, “I suppose not.” She sighed. “Well then, I think we should go speak to Braga.” Gwyneth nodded.