The Saga of Colm the Slave (11 page)

Egil and Thorgils had adjoining farms
near the river. It seemed to Colm that they were pleased enough to
leave the group. He wondered how much use they would be in a fight.
He saw again, very clearly, that he was the main warrior here and
that the outcome of the fight would depend on him. He gathered
himself and thought how he would strike at the berserk. He saw his
sword slashing down and cleaving Snaekulf’s skull. There would be
no speeches, no taunts or boasts, just rush in and kill the man.
Colm set his mind to this and played it before his mind’s eye over
and over. Rush, slash, strike!

They turned up the valley where the rest
of the farms were situated. The first stop was at Svart’s farm.
They ate there and spent the night. The next day Thorolf dispatched
some slaves and farmhands to the ridge tops to scout for movement
by their enemies. Svart stayed at his farm and the rest travelled
on to Ketil’s place.

Magnus was next, still grumbling at not
being able to fight yet. Then the group rode on to the Trollfarm.
They searched the place carefully to make certain that no one was
hiding there. It was then that Thorolf changed the plan.

“I think it best we all stay together
now. They may be waiting at Bjorn’s place and, if he shows up
alone, they will be too many for him.” The others nodded. “We will
leave the women and some hands at each farm, then ride back for
Magnus and the others and search these men out.” And so they
agreed.

Two slaves, good runners, were left with
Gwyneth at the Trollfarm. They would watch the approaches and, if
they saw anything, would run to get Thorolf and Magnus. Marta and
her daughter Gerda dropped off at Thorolf’s farm. Watchers were
posted there as well. Bjorn had no family to look after his farm.
He named a man as steward but all the other hands were sent out to
scout the area. Some went up the mountain to the shieling where old
Edgar watched the flock. Some were sent inland to the desolate lava
fields. The rest fanned out around the farm. Thorolf had now set up
sentries from the Trollfarm on up all along the valley. He and
Bjorn and Colm settled in for an uneasy night.

Magnus was eating when a runner brought
him news that the berserk had been spotted. He was on the ridge
above Svart’s farm, spying out the place. Magnus immediately sent a
man to warn Svart and others to ride to the Trollfarm and to the
river to fetch Egil and Thorgils. Then he rode to Ketil’s farm.

It was dark when Magnus arrived. Ketil
welcomed him in and the two of them began drinking beer and
plotting how they would tackle the berserk. Around midnight there
was a commotion at the door and they grabbed their weapons. Svart
stumbled in. Clearly he was frightened of staying at his farm
alone. The three men sat up drinking until dawn.

Just after sunup, Magnus’ man returned
from the Trollfarm. He reported that Colm wasn’t there but that he
had sent another runner on to Thorolf’s place. Magnus was angry and
stalked about his place yelling and shouting. After a while the
others brought him back inside and gave him more beer. There was no
word from Egil and Thorgils.

One of Thorolf’s scouts reported seeing
Glum and Glam just below Bjorn’s farm, riding south. Another,
breathless, came running with word that Grim was camped just past
Thorolf’s farm, waiting there. Then the runner came with news that
Snaekulf was far to the south, above Svart’s steading.

“They split up and waited for us,” said
Colm. “They were watching to see where we would go.”

Thorolf nodded. “Now they will gather
and go after the lone men – Magnus, Ketil, Svart…”

“We could take these three on now,” said
Bjorn. He told them of a way to get to the road where the twins
would meet Grim. There was a path down past the cliffs, then up
over a hillside. “They will be in sight of one another when we come
down the slope, so we will be fighting all three.”

Better than meeting four, thought Colm,
especially considering who the fourth is, but he said nothing.

The men gathered their weapons and rode
out. Four farmhands and three slaves went with them. No one really
expected the slaves to fight.

When Magnus heard that none of the men
were at Thorolf’s farm, he was furious. He struck the runner who
brought him the message and yelled at the others gathered around.
When the slave got up from the ground, Magnus hit him again, a
great backhanded blow that set the man flying. The slave raised to
one knee. He did not stand up again but knelt with his head bowed.
Blood dripped from his nose onto the ground.

Svart and Ketil grabbed Magnus and
pulled him onto the bench where he sat, breathing heavily. Suddenly
he raised his head, light flashing from his eyes. “Where is the man
now?”

There were eight men, five slaves and
three hands, on the ridge now, watching the berserk and reporting
his every move. One of them was careful to kneel before Magnus
before he spoke. “He is building a fire in the sauna.”

“The sauna!” Snaekulf was camped near a
pool where people bathed. Svart had constructed a sauna nearby.
“The sauna.” Magnus slowly grinned. His eyes were red and bright as
coals. “I have a plan,” he said.

Colm, Thorolf, Bjorn, and the others
made their way carefully along the path that ran down the
cliffside. Huge basalt pillars, octagonal in section, rose on
either side. Far below they could see the scattered rubble of
fallen columns. Small rocks fell from the path and rang against the
stone like bells, echoing all the way down. Sometimes a horse’s
hoof would slip on the rocky path and then ears tensed for the
possible screams of horse and rider going over. No one spoke.
Everyone concentrated on the descent.

At the bottom of the cliffs, the horses
picked their way through the broken rocks and finally reached the
apron of hard-packed gravel and earth that edged the grassy
hillside sloping above. Perhaps a stream had once flowed here and
now had found another course. Perhaps, some day, that course would
be blocked or a volcanic eruption would send a surge of snowmelt
roaring through this channel and it would be a river once more.

The riders made their way past the
eroded banks where the meadow margin had collapsed leaving walls of
raw earth a yard high. Then, finding a way onto the slope, they
began galloping up the hillside, quick now, exhilarated at finally
being loosed from caution.

At the summit, they paused and looked at
the road below. They could see clearly two riders coming down from
the north at a fair clip, and, to the south, a lone man standing
near a small fire pit. Colm saw right away that it was Grim. Grim
raised his arm in greeting to the riders who were still a few
hundred yards away, then caught sight of the men on the ridgeline
above him. He dropped his arm and ran to his weapons, lying on the
ground nearby.

Colm kicked his horse into action and
shot down the hillside straight at Grim. He didn’t pause to think,
but released himself like a taut bowstring. He was on Grim in a
moment, and past him. Colm yanked the bridle and dragged his
horse’s head around to charge at his foe before thinking to draw
his sword. Grim swung at him as he rode up, slashing a piece of his
cloak. Colm had his sword free now and brought it down hard. Grim
pulled his head back but his belly stuck out and the sword point
caught his torso and sliced a line down his middle. Grim grabbed
his stomach and stabbed at Colm who recovered and brought his sword
up hard. He caught Grim’s arm on the back edge and cut off his
right hand. Grim staggered back, clutching his guts with one hand
and swinging the stump of the other. Blood sprayed from the wound
and Grim looked at it, missing for the first time the weight of a
sword in his hand. He looked up at Colm, then fell to his knees.
His head bowed and his left hand dropped away from a spill of blue
and grey and red intestines. Then he pitched forward onto the
earth.

Colm looked up. Two slaves and one of
the farmhands sat on their horses clutching their weapons. Their
jaws were dropped and their eyes wide with fear as they looked at
him. Colm glanced down the road. Thorolf and Bjorn were closing
with the twins and Colm galloped to join them.

Glum and Glam jumped from their horses
and thrust spears at the riders coming at them. One man came too
close and Glam caught him in the side. The man grabbed the spear
shaft and fell from his horse. Glam yanked his weapon free and the
wounded man rolled onto his face, pressing a hand against his
bloody side.

Meanwhile, Glum almost caught Thorolf,
who wheeled his horse away at the last moment. Glum’s spear pierced
the horse’s belly and it screamed and reared, pitching Thorolf onto
the ground. Glum stepped forward to finish him but Bjorn struck
down with his sword, splitting Glum’s head open.

Glam screamed then, louder than the
horse had done, and charged forward with his spear and drove it
into the guts of a slave who had come too close. A farmhand ran up
behind Glam and chopped at him with an axe. Glam dropped to the
ground, his split skull the mirror of his brother’s.

For a few moments the men circled the
corpses, breathing hard. The horses were skittish, eyes rolling
white in their heads. Thorolf’s horse was still screaming, trying
to stand. A loop of gut protruded from the horse’s wound and it had
tangled its hind hoof in it. The farmhand that had killed Glam
walked over to the horse, bloody axe in hand, and split its skull
the same way he had the man’s. Now all was quiet except the men’s
labored breathing.

Thorolf said to Bjorn, “That was a fine
blow you struck. At least, I think so.” Thorolf gestured at Glum’s
corpse, “He may have different thoughts.”

Bjorn said, “I’ll listen hard for
anything he may have to say.” He grinned. He stood tall and thrust
out his chest. He glanced at Colm with bright eyes. Colm nodded at
him. Bjorn was proud now. He had killed a man in a fight and could
stand tall beside any man. Bjorn gestured at the twins’ bodies.
“They may have looked foolish, but they died well.” It behooved a
man to praise his fallen enemy.

Thorolf walked over to the fallen
farmhand but the man was dead. Something had been pierced inside
and he had bled to death. The slave was still alive. Glam’s spear
was still in his body. It had gone through his guts and, judging by
the length of shaft protruding, had jabbed right into his pelvis.
The man was doomed. Belly wounds meant a lingering and painful
death.

Thorolf said gently, “Shall I remove the
spear?”

The man’s eyes widened. He knew that
pulling the spear from his body would hasten his death. Then he
closed his eyes and nodded. Thorolf grasped the spear and pulled it
free in one strong motion. Blood poured from the wound and men
could smell shit and see some on the spear and they all knew that
was an end for this man. Thorolf motioned the other slaves over.
“Stay with him until he dies. Make him as comfortable as you can,
but don’t give him any food or water.” Thorolf looked up at the
sky. “Shelter him from the sun.” The slaves nodded. “Take the
bodies back to my farm. Use those horses that the twins rode. I
will take Grim’s mount.” He gestured toward the farmhand who had
killed Glam. “When we are finished I will go by and speak to that
man’s widow. Did… does this slave have family?”

“He is married to a slave named
Braga.”

Thorolf nodded and walked over to the
dying man. “Braga shall have her freedom. You have earned that for
her.”

The man’s mouth opened but he could not
force out any words. Only a low moan issued from his lips.

Now Thorolf addressed the farmhand who
killed Glam. “What is your name?”

“Adals.”

“Well, Adals, you have done well and I
won’t forget you.” The man smiled.

Colm surveyed the scene: the killers in
their pride, the dying and dead men, the excited horses. His nose
was full of blood-stink. His thighs began to tremble and he felt as
though he might vomit. He remembered his charge down the hill at
Grim when he had not thought at all but given himself over to
violence. This is what the berserk has with him always, he thought.
He is always in violence.

The berserk! Colm spoke, “We must head
south. Snaekulf will be after Ketil and Svart, then he will come
for Magnus.” He thought of Gwyneth but dismissed the idea. Not even
Snaekulf would attack a lone woman. That was a crime so
contemptible that only a monster with no humanity at all would
commit it.

Magnus crouched behind a boulder,
watching Snaekulf prepare the sauna. The room was carved directly
from the hillside. Turf walls bulged out for a couple of feet. The
fire pit and heating stones were just within the doorway. The
benches were further back inside and higher up. Smoke rose through
the roof hole.

Snaekulf filled a bucket at the pool and
set it inside the sauna. He stripped off his clothes and stepped
inside. He pulled shut the heavy, hide-lined door. Magnus stood up
then. “Now!” he shouted.

The men ran to the sauna and levered a
huge boulder against the door. Svart brought a bucket of water from
the pool and poured it into the smoke hole. A great cloud of steam
rose from the sauna. Inside, Snaekulf screamed. Then he howled like
an animal and the door shuddered as he slammed against it. It had
taken four men to roll the boulder against the door, now it moved
back an inch. Magnus motioned the others forward and men crowded
against the stone, holding it fast. The upper edge of the door
cracked and Snaekulf punched it and broke it until he could wrap
his fingers about the edge and rip it away. Cool air was rushing
into the sauna now through the hole in the top of the door. The
berserk would not be cooked alive as Magnus planned.

“Hold fast!” yelled Magnus. Svart pulled
out his sword and raised himself onto the boulder with his left
hand. He stabbed into the opening but hit nothing. He drew back and
stabbed again. Snaekulf’s hand darted out above the blade and
grabbed Svart’s wrist and squeezed it. Bones crackled and Svart
screamed. He released the sword and Snaekulf pulled him shoulder
deep into the sauna. He broke the man’s arm. Then he broke it
again. The men pressing against the boulder heard the bones snap
both times. Snaekulf howled in rage and triumph.