The Saga of Colm the Slave (9 page)

“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.”

“Ah.” Thorolf took the Arab dirham and
bent it between his thumb and forefinger. He examined the crease.
“Looks good,” he said. “Suppose this penny and two chickens for the
year?”

Colm nodded, relieved at not having to
pay more and embarrassed at paying so little. A good farm should
pay six pence or more in rent and more to buy it over time.

Bjorn cleared his throat. “That sounds
right.” He was also owed a tenth. He would take the same amount
named by Thorolf so as not to put his chieftain in the wrong. He
reached for the Frankish coin.

“No,” said Colm, “Take the good penny.
I’ll keep this one as a souvenir.” And to remind me of truth and
counterfeit, he thought. So the three men slapped hands and,
business done, set to drink and talk.

Colm was only a freedman but he had a
certain status in the community. Magnus honoured him for avenging
his son and others were interested in hearing about his raiding
adventure. He spoke with Ketil for a time and, though neither man
bragged about the ram he had gotten from the other, both had
pregnant ewes and were satisfied with the trade. Gwyneth, too,
found women she could talk to, though she had harder going than
Colm, for women tend to be very serious about status. But both felt
good about their reception at the feast. Colm made hearty toasts to
the gods, especially Frey, who brought abundance, and Gwyneth also
made silent pledges to Frey and Freya as well, praying that she
would soon be with child. Both drank a little too much but neither
was sick or foolish or embarrassed. It was a successful feast for
them.

Winter drew on. The wolf ate the sun and
daylight lasted only a few hours. Cold darkness waited outside, a
great emptiness, and the three at the Trollfarm spent hours huddled
near the smoky firepit, doing small chores and talking of this or
that. There was some gossip, of course, and they knew some tales
remembered from the places they had been born and others that they
learned from the Norse. So they talked and told stories until they
had said everything they had to say several times over.

One morning, Gwyneth rose, went into the
yard, and killed a cockerel. She pitched the bird into a stewpot
and set it cooking. “The sun is coming back,” she announced. “The
days are getting longer.” And Colm and Edgar breathed in the
cooking aroma and felt warm and glad.

They ate the chicken, sucking the bones
clean before they threw them to the dog. They laughed and told all
their tales again and defied Winter and were happy to be alive in
the cold season of death.

The days did get longer and the ewes’
wool began to tug away as the lambing time approached. Three lambs
birthed successfully! Again, Colm’s first ewe had twins. He loved
that sheep almost as much as he loved Gwyneth! Gwyneth had named
the ewe, something in her own tongue. She never called its name in
front of other people but Colm heard her muttering to it once as
she pulled wool from its fleece. Colm never asked her about it
since he thought this might be woman’s magic and something he
should not know. He left this to Gwyneth and never called the sheep
by name himself.

So the spring came on, the first green
showing, the air warming as the sun grew stronger, and Colm was
pleased and thought himself a lucky man. Then he shuddered and
caught himself for the elves delight in turning a man’s brag into a
curse. At least he hadn’t said it aloud, he thought, and glanced
over his shoulder to make certain no grinning spirit was watching
him.

Colm was in a somber mood as he went
into his house. He found fault with everything and soon angered
Gwyneth. They quarrelled and it was a while before they managed to
make it up, Edgar finding something to do in the sheepfold where he
spent the night. There was something coming, Colm knew, something
ominous, and he cursed himself for lacking the foresight and
intelligence to see what it could be.

Edgar returned to Bjorn’s stead and took
up the chore of watching the flock at the summer shieling, Colm’s
few sheep as well. Colm set himself to repairing the Trollfarm. He
was hauling stones to mend a fence, dragging the stoneboat by hand,
when he saw the riders in the distance. He studied them, wondering
if he should go back to the house and take his sword from the chest
where it lay wrapped in rags. But he recognized one of the riders
as Bjorn, and, after they came a little closer, saw that the others
were Thorolf and Magnus. Colm shouted to Gwyneth to make ready for
visitors, then walked toward the riders, his hands spread in
greeting. “Come to the house. We will have some refreshment.”

But Magnus leapt from his horse and
began chattering. The words came so fast that Colm couldn’t take
them in. He saw Thorolf and Bjorn exchange a glance. “Well enough,”
said Colm, “But let’s go indoors and speak of this.” In fact, he
didn’t yet know what the man was going on about.

His words brought Magnus up short.
“You’re a cool one,” he said, shaking his head, “Pure courage
through and through. I swear, if I had a young son I would foster
him with you!”

“I’m sure I would be honored,” murmured
Colm. In reality, he could think of little he wanted less than to
be attached to this man’s family.

Thorolf cleared his throat. “Yes, let’s
sort out the horses and go inside.” It was while he was forking hay
for the horses that Colm began to wonder: What was Magnus saying
that should have caused him to be afraid? And right then he felt a
chill clutch in his guts.

Gwyneth served them skyr and retired to
her workplace, close enough so that she could hear whatever was
said. Magnus started in again but Thorolf raised a hand and quieted
him. “You recall,” he said to Colm, “At the Thing where Gunnlaug
was outlawed that he had a cousin who spoke for him.”

“Yes. Grim was his name. But he was
alone.”

“Well, he is alone no longer. His
cousins have been in Norway and they are returning to Iceland. They
are twins, Glum and Glam, and swore brotherhood with Grim in
childhood.”

“And the berserk!” Magnus burst in.

“Yes,” said Thorolf, “They bring a
companion with them who, it is said, is a berserk.” All three men
paused to consider what this meant. Berserks were unstoppable
killers, warriors of inhuman strength who fearlessly charged
everything in their path.

“There are many things said about
berserks,” said Colm.

Thorolf nodded. “And some of them may be
true. Anyway, it is thought these four – Grim, his cousins, and the
berserk – may try to avenge Gunnlaug.” Colm nodded. He understood
this meant he would be their target.

Bjorn said, “I will offer them
something. There is no penalty for killing an outlaw, of course,
but…”

Thorolf said, “Of course, we will offer
gifts for their friendship, but…”

“Why offer anything?” Magnus shouted,
“We can take them! And others will help! You’ve proven yourself,”
he gestured at Colm, “Berserk or not, you’re a match for any
man!”

Colm stared at the red-faced man.
Magnus’ eyes were angry, almost popping from his skull, spittle
flew from his lips, and he flailed about in the air with his hands.
All bluster, thought Colm, and no brains.

“As I said,” Thorolf continued, “We will
try to mend this situation but you should know that it is said that
these men have already forsworn any wergild. They demand
blood.”

“‘It is said…’?” Colm inquired.

“All is rumor now. But the cousins and
the berserk are expected to arrive in time for Althing. We will
seek them there.”

Colm nodded. “I am in your debt.”

“No,” said Thorolf, “You killed the man
who murdered my daughter’s intended husband. It is not you who owes
me. Nor do you owe anyone else.” He looked at Magnus. “We should
all consider the service you did us and then think what the best
outcome of this matter should be.”

Magnus shrugged and muttered, “We owe
them, I think. We owe them a blade between their ribs!”

“That may be,” said Thorolf, “And it may
come to that, but let’s see if there may not be another
solution.”

“Pah! This is women’s counsel! We can
take them! What say you, Colm?” Magnus gripped Colm by the
shoulder.

“I say,” Colm spoke deliberately, “That
I will listen carefully to the wisdom of those older than I.”

Magnus released him. “I thought you had
more… Never mind! They will be here soon enough and then you’ll be
fighting!”

“Then I will be glad to have strong men
aiding me.”

“Oh, I’ll be there! But these two…”
Magnus glared at Thorolf and Bjorn, then leapt up and stalked out
the door. The other men sat silently until they heard the sound of
Magnus’ horse galloping away.

Thorolf asked Colm, “Has Magnus ever
rewarded you for avenging Gunnlaug?”

Colm shook his head. “No, but his other
son gave me a handsome sword.”

“May you never need to use it,” said
Thorolf. “Well, different men have different ideas of honor, I
suppose.”

Colm shrugged. “I won’t judge the honor
of someone whose sword I may need to rely on.”

Thorolf laughed. “You are wise indeed.
All right, let us wise men see what plan we can come up with.”

“More skyr?” asked Colm as he beckoned
to Gwyneth.

In the end there wasn’t much to say.
Thorolf would speak to those men that had helped outlaw Gunnlaug.
They would all gather at Althing and make an intimidating show for
Grim’s party. Then Thorolf would try to placate them with gifts.
Also, he would speak with Grim’s godi and try to insure that, if
things did come to blows, the conflict would be confined to the
four men they knew about and not become general.

Bjorn and Thorolf left and Colm faced
Gwyneth. He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. This will all come right.
You’ll see.”

Gwyneth shook her head. “If only you had
never killed that man.”

“But look what it got me – a farm, my
freedom, and, let’s not forget, you!”

“No. I had my freedom from Aud. Perhaps
I could have gotten yours somehow. Then we could still be together
without this.”

“Well, this is my fate. I did the one
thing, other things followed. I think I am better off.”

“Which is better: to have nothing and
know only hope? Or to have everything and see it taken away?”

“Ask a scholar. That’s too much for me.
I’m only a poor farmer.” He took Gwyneth in his arms and tried to
comfort her and make her laugh but she held hard to her despair.
She had these moods occasionally when, to her, everything appeared
black. Sometimes Colm could jolly her out of them, other times, it
seemed to him, that she resisted and stubbornly clung to
hopelessness. This irritated him but he never shouted at her. How
could he demand that she be happy?

Colm waited until Gwyneth was occupied
with her chickens before he opened the chest that sat just past the
entry and took out his sword. He unwrapped the rags that covered
the weapon and put them back into the chest. A spear stood ready
near the doorway for use against unwelcome visitors. Colm put the
sword on top the turf wall near the spear, where he could get to it
quickly if need be and where he could find it easily when he went
out to work, for Colm meant to have a weapon always near from now
on. He pushed the sword back into the shadow under the roof, hoping
Gwyneth wouldn’t see it.

The spring was warm and sunny with just
enough rain. The sheep fattened and the hay crop was growing well.
The Trollfarm looked like a real farm now, not abandoned and
unkempt, but messy with life. This should have been a good time for
Colm and Gwyneth but both were nervous and withdrawn, brooding over
things unspoken.

Colm was working in the home field when
he heard Gagarr barking. There were four riders in the distance. He
put down his rock-lever and walked slowly and deliberately to the
place he had left his sword. The riders were close enough now so
that he could see one of them was Grim, Gunnlaug’s cousin. He
didn’t recognize the other three. Colm stepped into the angle where
a hayguard jutted from the stone fence. He didn’t want them to be
able to come at him from all sides at once. He used his shirt to
wipe the sweat from his forehead so that it wouldn’t run into his
eyes and he waited. He stood erect and motionless, though his heart
was pounding.

Gagarr kept barking as the four men
reined in about ten yards in front of him. No one paid attention to
the dog. “That’s the one.” Grim pointed at Colm.

“Well, look! It has a sword!”

“So it does! Perhaps it means to use it.
Do you think?”

The two men were as much alike as Colm’s
two hands. They were pink-faced and plump, with sweat-matted hair
the color of hay turned sour. Glum and Glam, thought Colm. He
looked past them to the fourth man who sat silently on his
horse.

“Oh, well, it doesn’t care for us.”

“No, it only wants Snaekulf. Is that so,
you slave scum? Do you want Snaekulf to play with?”

Colm said nothing, but studied Snaekulf.
Tall, the berserk’s feet hung far past his horse’s belly. He was
lean and hard and strong looking. Colm thought he looked quick as
well. He stared back at Colm with unblinking blue eyes that had
pupils small as if they were picked out by needles. Snaekulf’s lips
were pulled back from his teeth as though he wanted terribly to
smile but was unable to raise the corners of his mouth. He was
fearful to look at and Colm almost trembled but then he thought of
other fearsome men he had seen. He remembered Grani Lopear and
thought, all things being equal, he would sooner face this man than
Grani. An involuntary smile twitched at his lips. The twins caught
it and turned red, both at once, like a conjure trick. Colm’s smile
widened.