Snorri had also brought forces up to the whale carcass. There were only about ten riders, but more than twenty more were rowing up from the west. Snorri and Hallvard made plans. The boatmen would cross the bay and keep Skeggi’s forces from escaping that way. They would wreck the boats on the beach and attack any vessel that pushed away from shore. They would not rush the thieves’ house but let the horsemen ride around to the palisaded wall and attack it.
“I told my men to bring many arrows,” said Snorri.
“That was smart,” said Hallvard. “We can sit back and pick them off.”
Gunnar snorted to hear this. He was determined to return Skeggi’s blow, only he meant to use the edged side of his axe.
Hallvard told Snorri, “Skeggi used to work for Ketil Tree-Foot. Ketil let him go when Skeggi was still young. Colm said then that Skeggi would be a problem in the future.”
Snorri looked at Colm. “So you can forsee the future?”
Colm shrugged. “It doesn’t take much foresight to understand that unemployed young men may become a problem. Skeggi wasn’t a bad man then. We should have taken better care of him in this area. I blame myself for not speaking up sooner.”
Hallvard said, “It wasn’t your fault. These things happen.”
“Yes, but we should try to avoid them.”
Snorri said, “I’ll think about this for a while but I think Colm has a point.”
The boats drew up to the beach then and Snorri explained the plan to the oarsmen. It was late at night in mid-summer. The sun set for only a few hours at that time of year. They agreed to wait until first light, about two hours away. The oarsmen sat on the beach, talking and joking, waiting for dawn. The horsemen rode around to the palisade, but stayed well back.
Colm could make out the wall ahead in the gray dawn. It looked like a good site to defend. The sky began to lighten and Snorri told his men to make a lot of noise. He wanted the bandits to all come to the palisade, leaving the boats unguarded. When he judged that most of them had run up to the wall, he told those with bows to start shooting. Arrows flew at the palisade, some going between the sharpened stakes. A man screamed as an arrow found him. The bandits pulled back from the wall and the archers lifted their shots over it. Skeggi’s men began running back into the house. He turned and yelled at them to stand fast and hold the wall, but they were determined to run through the house and row away in the boats.
Gunnar kicked his horse into a gallop and rode straight at the wall where Skeggi was standing. The archers stopped shooting and watched. Gunnar reached up with his axe and hooked it on a stake. He pulled himself up with the axe and climbed onto the wall. Skeggi saw him coming and charged forward. Gunnar grasped a stake with his left hand and pulled it straight up, out of the wall, then he hurled it at Skeggi. The point struck him in the shoulder, although it didn’t pierce him very deeply. Skeggi stumbled and clutched at his shoulder. Gunnar jumped down on the ground. He brought his axe overhead in a mighty arc and split Skeggi open from shoulder to waist.
Meanwhile, Skeggi’s men had run out the back of the house to discover that their boats had been wrecked. Then the archers in boats began shooting at them. Two men fell and the others rushed back into the house and out toward the wall again. Skeggi’s body was still pouring blood and they halted, horrified, when they saw it. Gunnar went back over the palisade and ran to his horse. The archers let loose a volley that struck into the men swarming from the house. They milled in confusion for a few moments, then took cover inside.
“All right,” said Snorri, “Let’s clean out this rat’s nest.”
They took their time dismantling a section of the wall. Then they rode into the yard and readied their weapons. Snorri gave the men inside the house a good long look at the force lined up against them, then called on them to surrender. There were only eight or so and they soon walked out into the morning, their hands empty. One or two men started forward to kill them but Snorri stopped them. “I think we’ve shed enough blood,” he said. He looked over at Alf and Gunnar.
“There’s plenty of meat still on that whale,” said Alf.
“I’ve got what I came for.” Gunnar grinned and held up his bloody axe.
“All right,” said Snorri. He turned to Hallvard. “Do you agree?”
“Of course, so long as no harm comes to us from this. After all they haven’t killed anyone yet.” He gestured at the thieves huddled in the yard. “Let’s see what kind of men we have here and then decide what to do with them.”
Three men, including Skeggi, were dead. Four others were wounded, two seriously enough so that it was thought they would not survive. Colm walked over to one of them, a man who had taken an arrow in his guts. He recognized him immediately. “Adals!”
“Hello, Colm.” Adals grinned. “I’d get up and embrace you but I’m a little indisposed right now. Do you think you could give me a hand with this arrow?” Colm knelt beside the man and examined his wound. He smelt the blood on his fingers. “No need for that,” said Adals. “I know already that I will die, but it is bleeding that will kill me and it won’t be very long.”
Colm broke the arrow off so that only an inch or so protruded from the wound. Frosti dropped beside him. “Adals!”
“Well, Frosti, have you some magic herbs that will cure this wound or do you only treat horses?”
Frosti shook his head. “Nothing will cure this,” he said.
“No, I think not.” Adals grasped Frosti’s hand. “How are you? And how is my daughter?”
“We are well. I am married to Thurid Three-mothers and Freydis to Styr Egilsson. I have four children and Freydis has a daughter.”
“Ah, well, tell her not to name any of her children after me. I have not done well by this name.” He began to shake a little. “It is so cold. Is there a blanket?” Neither Frosti nor Colm moved. It was warm in the summer sun. “Listen, Frosti,” said Adals, “Tell Braga I am sorry to have left her that way. The truth is, I lacked the courage to face people and tell them what a failure I was at farming.” Adals’ voice was becoming weaker.
“Oh, no one is born a farmer.” Frosti was weeping.
“No. Well, once I had a success; I killed a man who had come here to do damage and that was something that won me praise. So I thought, perhaps I could be a fighter; Skeggi might get us a ship and we could all go raiding. But all we did was steal food from people’s plates. Whalemeat!” Adals groaned. Then he said, “Tell your mother...” But his voice had fallen so low that Colm could not make out the words. Then Adals was dead.
“What was it he said?” asked Frosti.
Colm shook his head. “Just tell Braga that his last thought was of her. Perhaps she will be pleased at that.”
Frosti looked down at the corpse of his step-father. “I suppose she had little enough pleasure of him otherwise.” He grimaced. “This might have been my end.”
“No, Frosti, I told you before, you are made of better stuff.” But Frosti only shook his head.
The sun climbed higher in the sky and Snorri and Hallvard began to assess the captured thieves. Colm saw that most of them were young, runaways from a father who beat them too often, perhaps, or a farmer who worked them too much or just foolish boys full of romantic notions of being a robber. Maybe, he thought, they were young enough to learn how to be a useful man. He looked at Skeggi’s ruined corpse and remembered him as the youth who had neglected his duties for the sake of a roll in the hay. Many a sixteen-year-old would have made the same choice! Still, Skeggi caused a problem that could have developed into a serious feud with many dead. So, Colm thought, how to deal with these matters? He was struck that Snorri had offered mercy to these young men. Perhaps that was the way a Christian godi should act. It helped that none of Skeggi’s gang had killed anyone.
When Hallvard asked if any of his followers would take on any of the gang, Frosti stepped forward immediately to accept one as a farmhand. Colm also took one of the robbers, a young man named Cran, to install on a secondary fa
rm that he had purchased from Svart’s widow. The man who ran it was steady and wise, Colm thought, and perhaps could bring this fellow around. Cran was a bit older than some of the others but Colm thought he looked intelligent enough to learn.
Colm asked Hallvard, “Did everything go as you hoped?” It seemed to him that both the young godis had done well, far better than he himself could have done.
“Yes. We all shared a useful experience. We outdid the men in the North Quarter, too.” Hallvard shook his head. “Of course, Snorri will get most of the credit.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Snorri seems wise enough. That was a good idea, to show mercy to these men. Still, I don’t want to bend my knee to him.” Hallvard shrugged. “For now, this is good enough.”
So everyone went home, well pleased with their work.
36. Gerda’s Treasure
Gerda’s children had all left home now. Perhaps she was put out that none of them asked her to live with them but she became cranky and difficult. She yelled at her servants and had nothing good to say about anyone. She seemed angry all the time. She had gotten quite fat and found it difficult to move quickly. She spent a lot of time in the stove-room sitting before her loom, grumbling about this or that. About the only thing that gave her any pleasure was fondling the valuables she had put away in a locked casket that she kept in a compartment under the platform.
The casket was large and very fine, decorated with inlays of ivory and whalebone. Gerda would wait until she was alone, then take the chest from its hiding place and unlock it with a key that she always kept with her. Then she would stroke the fine cloth that was folded on top and reverently lift it, piece after piece, from the casket. Various pieces of jewellery were kept under the layers of cloth. Gerda would unwrap them, heft them in her hand, stroke them with her fingers, and hold them up to the light. She especially loved to look at the beautiful necklace of glass that Ingveld had given her. After a time, she would replace each item and refold the cloth on top. She would lock the casket, lower it into place, and cover the hiding place. This was a ritual Gerda performed every week or so.
Gerda had not given any of her treasures to Marta. “Time enough for her to have them after I am dead,” she said. Perhaps she resented not being able to live with Marta and run her life or perhaps she just had too much pleasure from her treasures to part with anything.
One day, Gerda was alone in her stove-room, caressing the necklace of glass when a serving-girl suddenly entered. Gerda leapt to her feet and yelled at her. The servants were all frightened of Gerda and usually kept away from the stove-room when Gerda was in there, but this time one of them thought the room was empty and brought in a pail of drinking water. When Gerda shouted, the startled girl jumped and spilled the water into the stofa and put out the fire. Gerda turned red with anger and rose from her seat. She started to yell, then her face seemed to swell up and flush red, then shrink and turn white. She grabbed at her chest and fell forward off the platform.
The serving-girls approached her warily. One finally touched her and found that she was dead. They fluttered about, confused as to what to do. It was as though they were afraid that Gerda might rise from the ground and berate them if they did the wrong thing. Finally they ceased babbling and flapping their hands and sent for the nearest priest. He was an Armenian, one of the foreign priests that had come to Iceland. He had a thick accent and people weren’t always certain of his words. He prayed over Gerda and anointed her while the servants watched. Later, they told everyone of the magic rites that he performed.
Gerda’s death was the first suffered by a Christian in the region after the new religion was adopted. Soon, there were others. Mar died in his sleep. Groa stayed on the farm. She hired a manager and, after a time, began sleeping with him. Marta Bjornsdottir died in childbirth. There was some question as to whether her stillborn baby would go to Heaven since it had not been baptized. Some priests said that it would not and people grumbled that the child might as well have been exposed for all the priests cared. Ljot spoke to them and tried to satisfy them that God looked after all, but there are always those who complain about the gods. Some other children died, here and there, from falls or illness or drowning, but these had all been baptized so no one thought that they would be denied a place in Paradise. Even so, it seemed to Colm that the hope of eternal life caused people as much worry as the bleak finality of death had caused pagans.
37. Frosti Tries To Save A Horse
Early in the winter, the second after Skeggi’s death, Frosti noticed that one of his horses had failed to come down to winter pasture. He strapped cleats to his shoes and climbed up through the snow into the high meadow. He heard his horse whinny and called back to let it know that he was coming. Frosti located the horse, a young mare, shoulder-deep in a pocket of drift. He tried to lead and pull the horse free but it only thrashed about in the powdered snow. So Frosti climbed into the snowpit beside the mare and put his arms under her and lifted with all his strength. The mare struggled as Frosti heaved and she managed a purchase on the rim of the pit. The horse scraped and scrambled until she was suddenly able to pull up out of the snow. Her thrashing hind hoof caught Frosti, hard, in the belly.
Frosti sank into the snow, doubled over with pain, then straightened up as the mare nuzzled him from the edge of the pit. He grabbed her mane and she pulled back, drawing Frosti into the shallow snow where there was footing. Frosti knew that he could not lie out in the open very long. If he did not get back to the house before dark then he would freeze to death during the night. He pulled himself erect and threw his arm around the horse’s neck. Half walking, half skidding and sliding, Frosti and the mare made their way back down the mountain.
Frosti left the horse with the rest of the herd in the winter pasture. He made his way slowly back to the house, pulling himself along the stone fence. When he got to the yard he could only walk a little way before he fell to his knees. Then he began to crawl.
A farmhand caught sight of him and gave a shout. Men grabbed Frosti and carried him to his doorway. Thurid was already there, the latest baby in her arms, six children milling about her feet. Frosti usually loved seeing his children swarm to see him come home. They were so young; they had few thoughts but only the immediate feelings that bloomed on their faces. They could not deceive him the way adults could. He felt he understood his children as well as he did his horses and loved them for being simple. Now, in his pain, Frosti ignored them. Men laid him on a bench. They pulled back his shirt and all could see a great purple bruise forming under the skin. It grew as they watched.
Thurid let out a wail and called for Braga who knelt beside her son. Braga sent men to fetch those who might be able to help Frosti – people who knew something about healing, Colm, and, after a moment’s thought, Ljot.
When Colm arrived, two healers were standing over Frosti. They had applied snow to his midriff but stood now shaking their heads. Everyone could see this was a serious matter. Frosti was able to speak a little and he greeted Colm with a smile. “A horse’s hoof caught me...”
Thurid was distraught and wrung her hands. “Kill it!” she yelled. “Which one was it? Kill that animal.”
But Frosti pretended that he didn’t remember which animal it was. “Don’t kill any horses, Colm.” He lay quiet for a moment. “You know, I never much liked that part of the sacrifices.”
Ljot arrived. He saw Frosti’s condition and immediately draped his stole across his shoulders. He walked over toward Frosti but Braga dropped on her knees before him. “A miracle, Father! Please, a miracle!”
“Pray,” said Ljot. He knelt by Frosti and made the sign of the cross. “I think I should hear your confession,” he said.
Frosti nodded. “I agree. I don’t think I’ll see the spring. Or next week for that matter.”
So Ljot heard Frosti’s confession and administered the Last Rites. Braga knelt, praying loudly, and Thurid and the baby in her arms both wailed. The other children c
ried and watched wide-eyed as their father died.
“There was no miracle,” said Braga.
“The miracle is that Frosti’s soul was saved and he will be waiting for you in Paradise,” said Ljot. Braga set her mouth and did not answer.
This was the first Christian death Colm had witnessed. He asked Gwyneth about it for she had taken strongly to the new religion and he thought she understood it better than he did. “What were the words that Ljot was saying over Frosti?”
“A spell to keep him from Hell,” said Gwyneth.
“Keep him from Hell?”
“We all die, then receive life everlasting in Heaven or eternal torment in Hell.”
Colm shook his head. “This new religion is harsher than I thought.”
“It is not so new to you.”
“I remember nothing about this from when I was a boy, though I did try to pray a few times when I was younger.”
“God heard you and heeded your prayers,” said Gwyneth.
Colm wondered if that were true. “How is it that this young man holds the power over all eternity for us?” he said.
Gwyneth smiled. “The young hold power over us in all things now. Or so it seems, once we become old.”
And Colm considered that he and Gwyneth were past sixty. Most godis and priests were younger.
38. Colm’s Confession
After Frosti’s death, Colm spent a long time thinking about sin and salvation. Sometimes he felt his sins lying on his belly like an undigested meal, other times it seemed a great hollow emptiness lay beneath his heart. Colm had seen a toad swallow a poisonous insect then vomit up its entire stomach to get rid of it. Colm’s sins were poison, he thought, and he wished he could vomit them out. Finally he decided to talk to Ljot about these matters. “There are some things on my mind,” he began.
The Saga of Colm the Slave Page 27
