The Saga of Colm the Slave (12 page)

“Hold fast!” yelled Magnus again, but a
slave fell away from the stone, his eyes rolling in fear. Another
man followed. The slaves and one of the farmhands fled. Magnus,
Ketil, and the other hand backed away, reaching for their weapons.
The boulder shot forward and the door flew after it. Snaekulf
roared out, dragging screaming Svart by his broken arm. The berserk
was naked, bright red from the steam. He opened his jaws wide and
howled in rage and snapped his teeth together. He grabbed Svart’s
belt, lifted him overhead, and smashed him against the boulder.
Svart’s back was broken and he lay moaning on the ground.

Magnus thrust at Snaekulf but he was
afraid and backed away even as his sword poked forward. Snaekulf
dropped and dodged the ineffective blow, then rose with Svart’s
sword in his hand. He stepped forward and swung the weapon. The
blade caught Magnus just above his ear and sliced across and down.
Eyes bulging, the top of Magnus’ head went flying off and his open
jaw flapped against his neck.

Ketil and the farmhand turned and ran.
Snaekulf came after them. He overtook Ketil and cut his leg off
below the knee. The farmhand ran faster and Snaekulf threw his
sword at him. The blade flew between the man’s legs and he tripped
and fell down. Snaekulf was on him immediately. He grabbed the
man’s head and twisted it back, breaking his neck.

Snaekulf ceased howling. He surveyed the
scene: four men lay scattered about the meadow. He growled once,
then slouched up to the pool where he washed the blood and sweat
from his body. From time to time he shivered a little. His hands
shook and he raised them out of the water and stared at them,
willing them motionless. After a while, he rose from the pool and
fetched his clothes and weapons. He never looked toward Svart, who
lay whimpering, unable to move, or down the hill toward Ketil,
still alive but bleeding. Snaekulf mounted one of the horses and
rode away from the sauna.

Magnus’ wife, Ingveld, stood stone-still
outside her house, arms folded and eyes hard. Thorolf questioned
the slave who knelt before him shivering in fear. “How many of you
were there? Did you actually see Magnus die?” The man’s teeth were
chattering too hard for speech. He nodded Yes to every question,
whether that made sense as an answer or not. Thorolf stopped
interrogating the slave. “We’ll find out nothing here. Come on,
we’ll ride up to the sauna.”

Colm and Bjorn hadn’t dismounted. They
kicked their horses into action. Thorolf mounted and galloped
after. Adals and the other two farmhands followed. Two slaves
brought up the rear. Ingveld watched them ride off, her mouth
pressed into a hard line.

They came upon the dead farmhand first,
then spotted Ketil. The man was unconscious but still alive. Bjorn
wound a strap around his leg and stopped the bleeding. Svart was
alive, too, but there was nothing to be done for him. He was
paralyzed and, one way or another, would die soon. Thorolf
straightened his body out on the grass and tried to make the man
comfortable.

The slaves and farmhands were transfixed
by the sight of Magnus’ body and the head lying on the grass that
seemed to watch them with bloody eyes. Thorolf saw them exchanging
frightened glances and knew they would be no use in a fight. He
called the men over and instructed them to make litters and
transport Svart and Ketil, each to his own farm.

The horses were tired and foam-flecked.
The men caught fresher mounts from those left by the others.
Thorolf said, “We will go tell Ingveld…”

“No!” said Colm. “We will go to the
Trollfarm. He will seek me there.” He didn’t wait for an answer,
but rode off down the hillside. The others followed. Colm, Thorolf,
Bjorn, Adals – they were four, just as many as those the berserk
had left for dead.

Gwyneth came outside when she heard
Gagarr barking. She recognized Snaekulf from a distance and went
back inside the entryway to the house. Carefully, she dried her
hands on her apron, then took up the spear and waited there.

Snaekulf dismounted and Gagarr snapped
at him. Snaekulf kicked the dog, not terribly hard but enough to
send him howling. He kept his eyes fixed on the doorway the entire
time.

Gwyneth heard Gagarr’s yelp but could
not see what had happened. She tightened her grip on the spear.
Snaekulf suddenly filled the doorway and Gwyneth lunged at him.
Snaekulf caught the spear behind the head and yanked it from her
grasp. He snapped the shaft and threw the piece with the spearhead
behind him into the yard. He prodded Gwyneth back inside with the
blunt end of the broken shaft.

Gwyneth backed into the house, shamed at
being herded like an animal, like the slave she once had been. Her
eyes blazed but she kept backing up, past the fire pit to the
raised woman’s platform at the end of the longhall. Here she kept
her distaff, her spindle, other woman’s tools, and the bundle of
wool she was spinning. Snaekulf poked her onto the platform and she
sat down hard.

Snaekulf sat on a bench and looked
about. “Your husband is gone.” It was not a question. Gwyneth kept
silent. “But he will be back. I will wait.”

“Don’t expect hospitality!”

“No. I could not accept it anyway, not
in the house of a man I am going to kill.” He glanced up at her.
“Even a berserk has honor, you know.”

“That remains to be seen. What honor can
there be in a life dedicated to murder?”

“It is true I deal in death, but there
is honor there. I once served King Haakon but he is dead now and I
have fought against Harald Greycloak and his brothers too long to
ever serve them.”

“And just how does a faithful berserk
manage to survive the death of his lord?”

Snaekulf looked at her and for a moment
Gwyneth thought he might smile, but his expression never relaxed
from the fixed mask of bared teeth and staring eyes. “I was in the
South when it happened, fighting other battles. Otherwise, yes, I
would have died with Haakon.”

They were silent then for a time. The
fire smouldered in the pit before them, the pungent sheep-dung
smoke rising to fill the roof space. Gwyneth reached for her
distaff. Snaekulf’s eyes followed her but he did not tense. He does
not fear me, thought Gwyneth. The thought reassured her and
troubled her. She was reassured because experience had taught her
that frightened men are unpredictable and sometimes violent, but
she was troubled by her own weakness and ineffectiveness. She
thrust the pointed end of the distaff into her belt and took up the
spindle and began twisting a thread from the hank of wool. Even
with Death in the house there was no use sitting with idle
hands.

The thread lengthened. The only sounds
were the whir of the spindle and an occasional pop from the fire.
Gagarr thrust his muzzle into the room and whined.

“Ah, Gagarr! You are all right?” In
answer the dog flopped onto the floor and nipped at a flea on his
backside. “I thought you had killed him,” said Gwyneth.

“There is no honor in killing dogs,”
said the berserk. “I only kill men.”

Gwyneth was chilled by his words. “How
does one become a berserk, anyway?”

“I was born so. My grandfather was a
berserk, they say. I am named for him.” Snaekulf shrugged. “It is
my fate.”

“You served a Christian king. I didn’t
know Christians could be berserks.”

“I don’t know either. I belong to Odin.
When he is ready for me he will strike me down in battle – I may
see him then, or he may take the form of my enemy. Anyway, the
valkyries will take me to his feast hall where I will meet other
heroes that have fallen. We will drink and make poetry until Odin
calls us to the final battle where all will die, even the gods
themselves.”

Gwyneth had nothing to say to this, so
she attended to her spinning. They were silent again. Gagarr began
to snore and Gwyneth smiled in spite of herself.

“This is pleasant,” said Snaekulf,
“Pleasant and peaceful.”

“Have you never thought of
marrying?”

“Who would marry me? I am no use at
anything but killing.”

“Someone married your grandfather.”

“Ah, but things were different then, I
think. In those days warriors were appreciated. Now, everyone wants
to be a farmer.”

Gwyneth’s spindle was full of thread.
She snipped it free with the small scissors that hung from her
apron. The thread was wound on a sleeve of bark that Gwyneth
slipped from the spindle shaft. She placed the spool of thread with
a row of others in the box beside her. Under the finished thread
lay a sharp-pointed spearhead. She let her finger touch the hard
steel briefly and firmed her resolve. She placed another bark
sleeve on her spindle, drew a strand of wool from the distaff,
twisted it onto the spindle, and began spinning again. After a few
minutes, she let her hand stray over to the box of thread to touch
the spearhead again.

Snaekulf said, “Sometimes I think I am a
large animal with other, smaller creatures all about.” He looked at
Gwyneth. “Like a cat in a barn full of mice. My world is no larger
than theirs, but I am supreme in it.” His lips pulled back from his
teeth and, once more, Gwyneth thought he was going to smile but he
only grimaced. “Of course, small creatures may be crafty; they may
try to take the large beast by surprise. I suppose it happens. I
suppose a swarm of mice might bite open a cat’s belly. Or perhaps,
while the cat is distracted, one might go for his throat.”

Snaekulf stood up. “So the cat must be
wary, too, and always watch the mice.” He leapt forward and Gwyneth
recoiled, gripping the distaff while the spindle bounced against
her platform and snarled the thread.

Snaekulf grabbed the thread box and
turned it over. “Ah. What do we have here?” He held up the spear
point. “Is this to clip thread?” He sat back down on the bench and
turned the weapon over in his fingers. Gwyneth sat silently,
looking into her lap. After a time she picked out the snarled
thread, moistened the strands between her lips, and rejoined them.
Then she began spinning again.

No one spoke. The dog slept. The fire
smouldered. The spindle buzzed. They sat that way for a time – less
than an hour – when Gwyneth heard the horses. The berserk heard
them, too. He stretched and pulled his shoulders back. Gagarr began
barking. Outside, Colm called to him, “Quiet, Gagarr!” The dog
recognized his voice and ceased barking and wagged his tail.

Snaekulf rose from the bench. He held
the spear point in one hand as he turned away and reached for his
sword hilt with the other. Gwyneth slid the distaff from her belt
and lunged from the platform. She thrust the distaff forward and up
with both hands, as though it were a spear, stabbing with all the
strength she could muster.

She meant to catch Snaekulf under his
ribs and plunge the distaff up in his guts but she did not connect
there. The pointed end of the distaff skimmed up past his spine and
struck the back of Snaekulf’s neck just under his skull, pierced
inward an inch or so, and broke off. Gwyneth stabbed again with the
splintered shaft and pushed it into Snaekulf’s back as hard as she
could until her weapon lodged in bone. The berserk tried to turn
toward her. “Oh,” he said. “My.” Then his face smoothed and his
lips went slack and closed over his teeth. He fell straight down,
like a hanged man whose rope is cut, face forward into the fire
pit. His shirt caught flame and his hair blazed up.

Gwyneth took up a bucket of water and
threw on the fire. The room filled with the stench of burnt hair
and wet dung. Gwyneth looked down at Snaekulf’s body but she could
not call up the strength to drag it from the pit. She collapsed
back onto her platform and watched the doorway, waiting for Colm to
come in.

6.The Witch-Couple

In those days, many people in Iceland
knew some magic. Some had learned the Sami art of finding lost
things. There were those who knew words that kept away elves and
trolls and others who used enchanted serpent-stones to help prevent
disaster. But there were also people who used magic for evil
purposes.

There was a couple east of the
Trollfarm, near Helgafeld, who were said to practice night-magic.
Their names were Ogmund and Agdis. They were old and bent and ugly
to look at. Their faces were covered with warts and growths. They
both had long noses and few teeth so, when their mouths were
closed, their noses almost touched their chins. People avoided this
couple and tried not to go near their house.

The year after the berserk feud, when
the snow melted in the spring, dead horses were discovered. Then
some cows dried up all at once. A young man was killed in a
rockfall and his mother died soon after without a mark on her.
People said it was a very unlucky year and spoke of uncanny events
– lights moving out on the lavafield and the birth of deformed
lambs and a two-headed calf. There was a great deal of talk about
these matters and eventually someone said these happenings might be
the result of curses or night-magic. Many thought of the
witch-couple but for a time no one spoke their name aloud. Finally,
though, Ketil went to Thorolf to tell him what people were
thinking. He had a peg-leg now, to replace the one the berserk had
cut off, so people called him Ketil Tree-foot. Ketil took some
others with him. They all thought someone had cursed them.

Thorolf brought them all into his house
and ordered skyr and beer served to them. He noticed that many of
them were wearing their best clothes, the ones usually reserved for
Althing, so he knew they thought this an important matter. The men
were agitated and ate little but they drank all the beer that was
served. They shifted about on the benches, muttering nervously to
one another. Ketil looked around at them and they quieted while he
spoke. “It isn’t right that these things are allowed to happen and
we do nothing about it. A young man and his mother dead, not to
mention the horses!”