The Saga of Colm the Slave

by Mike Culpepper

  Ljot nodded. “Would you like to talk about them?”

  “I have done some bad things in my life.”

  “All men are sinners. Shall I hear your confession?”

  Colm looked at the bright young man before him. He remembered advising him on how to avoid a feud with his brother. It was hard not to see Ljot still as a child. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Perhaps you would like to talk to one of the other priests. Who usually hears your confession?”

  Colm had gone through the motions of confession once or twice but he had never trusted any priest with the memories of the sins that haunted him. He had been silent so long and become so used to being silent that his jaws would stick and his tongue freeze if he tried to speak of these matters. Colm grasped the coin of lies that he wore around his neck.

  “Is that a cross?” asked Ljot.

  “No. It is a coin, something I got years ago. It speaks to me of truth and lies.”

  “May I see it?” Colm leaned forward and Ljot took the coin into his hand without removing it from Colm’s neck. “I see. It is false coin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I got it raiding.” He paused. “I killed a man then. He did me no harm, just a poor man who got in the way of my robbery.” Ljot nodded but did not speak. Colm went on, “I think this coin has grown heavier over the years with the wrong things I have done...” He choked then and could not go on.

  Ljot hefted the coin. “Many men bear heavier burdens than you, I think. Still, it is not for anyone else to judge the weight of your sin. God will forgive you for that killing if you ask him.”

  “I may have wronged my son.”

  Ljot nodded. “I think you had good intentions. You were trying to avoid bloodshed. You did not sin by protecting him.” He meant when Colm sent Geirrid away, after he had cheated Frosti. Ljot looked at Colm and waited for more. But Colm could no longer speak. His throat had closed completely and no word could issue from his lips. Finally he nodded. Ljot dropped the coin and sat back. “So is there something else?” Colm sat in silence for a time, then, finally, shook his head. “Then, you must pay a penance.” He named an amount of silver and Colm nodded. “All right,” said Ljot, “You are absolved.” He made the sign of the cross on Colm’s forehead. “Go and sin no more.”

  Colm slipped the coin back under his shirt, feeling it hang about his neck like a noose.

  “Do all those with unabsolved sins go to Hell?”

  “Perhaps.” Ljot cared little for theology; he was more interested in seeing people live righteous lives.

  “What of those who died pagan?”

  “Ah!” Ljot thought that he understood Colm’s worry now. This was a great problem for all those whose parents and kin-folk had not converted. “The righteous among them will be saved. People will not be tormented because of their ignorance of Christ. God is not unjust.”

  Colm was uncertain about this. “What about those who were Christian but were taken by raiders and never saw this land become Christian?”

  “Someone you knew?”

  “A man who was a good friend to me. He never did harm to anyone. I would not like to think he is in eternal torment.”

  “Then pray for his soul.”

  “Pray?”

  “Yes. God hears your prayers.”

  “All right. Suppose I made a donation as well? Besides my penance fee.”

  “That, too, would be useful. I, and other priests, will pray for the relief of this man’s soul. What was his name?”

  “Edgar. He was English, one of Bjorn’s slaves. Can God identify him from that?”

  “Of course. God knows all.”

  Then why does He need my prayers to remind Him of this soul, thought Colm. He said, “Then I would like to start the prayers immediately. I would not have this man suffer another day in Hell.”

  Ljot smiled. “It will be so.”

  39. Thurid Re-Marries

  Thurid and Gwyneth often met at church on Sunday and would drive back in their wagons to one or the other of their houses and talk. Two summers after Frosti’s death, Thurid said, “Mother, I am thinking of re-marrying.”

  “Well, you are a grown woman, married once already. This choice is yours alone.”

  Thurid nodded. “I think I will marry Cran.”

  Gwyneth was amazed. The thought struck her that Cran was an ex-robber and that Thurid was a wealthy widow. She said, “He is younger than you.”

  “A few years, not so much.” She looked Gwyneth in the eye. “I suppose you think he is after my wealth.”

  “I think it possible,” admitted Gwyneth.

  “Well, as to that, I will ask Hallvard and Ljot and Colm about a marriage contract that will keep everyone from being concerned about such matters. Anyway, if wealth is what he wants, well, I want a companion. I need a man in my house. He is welcome to what I have.”

  Gwyneth said, “Daughter, your decision will not be questioned by me.”

  Later, she told Colm, “Cran is like the seed sowed on hard soil, but now he has found fertile ground.”

  Thurid is that, all right, thought Colm, and his mouth quirked a little but he did not allow himself to actually smile enough so that Gwyneth would notice.

  So Cran and Thurid were married. Cran was not a spendthrift and he had taken to farming. After a time, people ceased to be concerned that Thurid might be exploited. Anyway, she began to have children by Cran and so that marriage seemed solid enough.

  Between her two husbands, Thurid had ten children altogether that lived and she began to get stout. After Thurid went a few years without a new pregnancy, she believed that she was done with child-bearing. Of course, many a woman has received a late surprise.

  40. Gwyneth’s End

  Thurid and Gwyneth often met at Church. One Sunday, about fourteen years after Iceland became Christian, they were driving back from services and Gwyneth collapsed in her seat, the holy book still clutched in her lifeless hands. It was as sudden as that. One moment alive, dead the next. Colm pondered this for quite some time and thought there was a fact of great importance here but he could not find the proper words to express it, nor could he find much solace in religion. It is all over, he thought, all my life is done. Gwyneth was buried with her book in her hands.

  Braga came to see him. She got right to the point. “You need a housekeeper,” she said. “I need a house.”

  “You still have grandchildren at Helgafeld,” said Colm.

  “Not much longer. Only one is left there now.” Braga’s daughter, Freydis, had Gunnora Twist-Face to deal with. One mother or mother-in-law was enough for any house. Her grand-daughter Ingveld had died of a sickness that struck down several people at her farm. Her grandson Magnus was a successful farmer with children of his own. Braga could have gone to live with him or with her other married grandson or with the grand-daughter that was soon to wed, but she decided that she would be uncomfortable, living in a grandchild’s house. Only one of Frosti’s children remained at Helgafeld, an eleven-year-old boy who seemed intelligent and would soon go to Thorsness to begin training for the priesthood.

  “Well,” said Colm, “It’s true enough that I need help. Come to the Trollfarm and keep house.”

  Braga nodded. “All right. Will you want me to share your bed?”

  “No,” said Colm, “I am past all that now.”

  “Good,” said Braga. “So am I.”

  41. Colm Reflects

  Colm sat nodding over his chess board. It was very warm in the stove-room and he felt drowsy, but if he had less of a fire then his bones began to ache with cold. A servant girl brought him a cup of broth and he drank it down. It seemed all that he ate any more was broth and skyr. He still had most of his teeth, too, but chewing seemed much of a bother. He watched the girl moving about the room and thought how pretty she was. All the young girls were so pretty! And they were so very young! Sometimes Colm saw them flirting with the young men and smiled to himself to watch the young people so excited to be
alive. Well, his remaining days were few and Colm was not unhappy about that. He thought he had done all a man could do, or at least all that the man he was could do and he was not much interested in doing more. He was wealthy now and had land and livestock and a hoard of silver. He reminded himself again to go see Hallvard and work out how his property would be divided on his death. It would be irresponsible to die without a will. People would quarrel over his property and there would be trouble. That would be a fine legacy!

  Thurid would be alright -- she and Cran had the Helgafeld farm -- and other properties he owned would fall to the people who farmed them -- that had to be made clear -- but there was still the Trollfarm that belonged to him alone. And that was a problem. A freedman's property would revert to his former master when he died. Bjorn was long dead, of course, but still, Colm's farm was open to anyone who might seize it. Hallvard would fight for it, and Cran and Styr would back him. Orm might, but he was being courted by Snorri godi who might neutralize him if it came to a feud. Snorri was the man who might try to take the Trollfarm. But beforehand, he would make an ally of every man who might oppose him. Perhaps Snorri's overtures to Orm were a signal of his intentions. Colm had to think how to stop this fight from happening. Perhaps he ought to just gift the Trollfarm to Snorri. Or to the Church.

  The Church would have its share in any case, of course, enough so that prayers for Edgar’s soul would continue. Colm had not arranged such prayers for Gwyneth or Geirrid or himself. In fact, he had little to do with religion and had not been confessed since Ljot had heard him. But the penance he did for Edgar was meant to buy them all a measure of mercy from the harsh judgement of God.

  Once, Colm had seen little beyond himself and the clothes on his back. Then his world had expanded to include a farm and the concerns of his neighbors. He had become important to the community and had been an advisor to chieftains. When important decisions had been made, he had been there. Now his world had shrunk to what it had been when he was a slave. Sometimes he thought of those days and Gwyneth, in her youth. He called up her face as it had been then or, at least, as he repainted it in memory. He recalled the soft touch of her hand on his arm as she tried to sway his decision about something, he couldn’t remember what, but he could feel that gentle hand as though it were touching him now.

  Colm hung his face over the chessmen that Geirrid had given him. The amber glowed in the firelight and Colm thought he felt warmth rise from the pieces against his face. He wondered, as he sometimes did, about Geirrid and whether he had found the center of the world. Several Icelanders had been to Novgorod or Miklagard and returned but none had reported seeing him. But the world was large and there were many places a man might go that were unknown in Iceland.

  Great changes had happened in the world in the last while. Icelanders had taken part in many of them while Colm stayed home. Canute was king in England now but the Danes had lost control of Norway after Olaf the Large had taken power away from their vassals. The Irish had driven the Norse out of their country, except for those who had married there, of course, but they were Irish themselves now, Colm supposed. He seldom thought of Ireland any more and had little desire to visit that island. But then, he had no desire to travel anywhere. “I have not travelled much,” he said aloud.

  “Nor I.” Colm raised his head to see Snorri godi sitting opposite him. “Except to Norway once,” said Snorri, “But then I became godi and this land seemed most important to me.”

  “I am a poor host,” said Colm. “I did not notice you come in. I must have been asleep.”

  “I admit that I took a little nap myself,” said Snorri. “It is warm here, and pleasant.”

  Colm called for refreshments. Snorri often came by to play chess and the servants knew what to bring him.

  “I also visited Norway,” said Colm, “Though I never left the harbor. And I saw a bit of Frisia on a raid once, but that’s not exactly what I meant by travel.”

  “No,” agreed Snorri.

  “So,” said Colm, “You think travelling about the world is not so important?”

  “I think this is world enough for me. It is all that I can handle most days. Why should I seek more problems?”

  Colm nodded. He noticed the lines in Snorri’s face and the grey in his hair. It struck him that Snorri was only a year or two older than Geirrid. “There are important matters to take care of here,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Snorri, “What could be more important than making a community where people can work together and raise their families in peace and prosperity?”

  “Well,” said Colm, “One important matter to consider is that poor chess move you tried last time you were here. I don’t recall that working out very well for you.”

  Snorri smiled, “It may be our memories differ. But I have been giving some thought to these problems and have a few moves to try that might disturb your peace.”

  So the two men bent over the board and began a game.

  HERE ENDS

  THE SAGA OF COLM THE SLAVE

  CHRONOLOGY

  943—Colm born in Ireland

  945—Gwyneth born in Wales

  953—Colm taken by raiders

  955—Bjorn takes his household, including the slaves Colm and Gwyneth, to Iceland

  960—Death of Hastein

  961—Halldor dies and Colm freed in summer; Aud dies; Colm and Gwyneth marry

  962—Colm goes raiding

  963—Berserk feud

  964—Birth of Gudbrand

  965—Birth of Hallvard

  967—Birth of Geirrid

  968—Colm pays off Bjorn, is led into Althing

  970—Thorolf paid off; Colm fosters Gudbrand

  971—Thurid rescued

  975—Gudbrand dies

  976—Ljot and Styr born

  977—Gisli the Outlaw killed, his nephew Snorri becomes godi

  979—Bjorn dies

  980—Deaths of Egil Bloodhead and his cousin, Thorgils

  982—Ingveld dies

  983— Erik the Red returns to Iceland; Geirrid goes trading

  984—Orm and Marta marry

  986—Geirrid returns

  987—Thurid marries

  995—Albert’s mission to Iceland; Asgrim killed

  998—Thangbrand’s mission

  999—Iceland converts to Christianity

  1000—Thorolf dies and Hallvard becomes godi

  1001—Fight with Skeggi and the robbers

  1003—Frosti dies

  1005—Thurid marries Cran

  1013—Gwyneth dies

  1014—Norse driven out of Ireland for good

  1015—Olaf the Large, later canonized as St.Olaf, becomes King of Norway

  1016—Canute King of England

  AFTERWORD

  This work is fiction though certain historic events are mentioned within the narrative. I have tried to stay close to the evidence of archaeology and the written legacy of the Sagas. A few items are invented – the bloody thumbprint at Sacrifice, for instance, though I think this does not violate the spirit of what we are told happened at these events.

  No attempt has been made to spell Norse words properly. The word godi has a "dh" symbol instead of a "d", for instance, but I do not trust e-readers to not garble the symbols.

  Settlers began coming to Iceland around 874. They came from Norway and from Norse holdings in the British Isles, especially the Hebrides, and they brought their British and Irish slaves with them. These first settlers took land as they saw fit wherever they wished. By 930 most of the land was spoken for and Iceland was closed to new land-taking.

  The new country was governed by people who were related to one another through blood or marriage. This worked well for the first generation of settlers, but their children began to quarrel with one another and people sought a new organizing principle. So the frontier society introduced a code of law and the Althing. The chieftains or godis held power not through control of a bounded division of land but through th
e allegiance of free men who accepted their rule. A man could shift his allegiance from one godi to another if he desired, thus the godord was a fluid concept rather than a geographic fact. In 960, when Colm’s saga begins, the Icelandic system was new and subject to tinkering and adjustment until the end of the century. The conversion of Iceland was the last major change in the country’s governance for more than two hundred years until the system collapsed and Iceland became a possession of the Norwegian crown.

  I have purposely avoided giving an exact geographic location for the Trollfarm and other places. In my mind’s eye, I see most of Thorolf’s godord consisting of people who live in west Iceland east of Hvamm Fjord and south of the Laxardale. In this area Unn the Deep-Minded granted farms to some of the slaves that she freed after they helped her escape Scotland. But the location is fictional and the geography a bit off.

  Snorri the godi is the most important historic personage that we meet in the book. His story is told mainly in Eyrbyggja Saga, the work that inspired Sir Walter Scott to invent the English historical novel. For my own purposes, I have transposed the Mavahlid dispute until after the Althing showdown with Erik the Red, though the sagas say it happened before.

  The missions of Thangbrand, the Icelander Stefnir, and a Frankish priest named Friedthek are described in the Sagas. Albert’s story is based on events that occured during these earlier missions, though not exactly as described. Likewise, the expedition led by Snorri against the robbers happened a little differently than presented here. Snorri did show mercy to the captured men, though – for other reasons, perhaps, than the one given here.