The Saga of Colm the Slave (26 page)

Adals had taken his winnings from the
horsefight and bought mares to breed to Raven’s-Mane. He tried to
choose the offspring of other good fighting horses. Soon he had
quite a herd and began trying to train the young stallions to
fight. Alas, Adals was not much good as a horse-trainer and quickly
ran through his cash.

The farm at Helgafeld had few sheep and
only one cow. So Frosti spent his days in the meadows with the
horses. He tended them and watched over them, treating the injuries
they gave one another and those they developed from falls. He gave
special attention to Raven’s-Mane, who now seemed recovered from
the fight with Gryr, except for a terrible scar on his muzzle.

Colm came upon Frosti in the meadow. He
was rubbing herbs on the horse’s skin. “It keeps the flies away,”
he told Colm. “I’ve watched and some plants the horses don’t like
and others they don’t mind, if you bring them on slowly. These are
good ones to keep away the flies.”

Colm took the bruised plants from Frosti
and smelled them. “I wonder if they would work on sheep.”

“I don’t know. I know nothing about
sheep.”

“Well, you seem to know horses pretty
well. Raven’s-Mane looks fresh and healthy.”

Frosti became pensive. “Yes. He is now.
But not for long, I think.”

“How is that?”

“Adals is going to fight him again.”

Colm was taken aback by the sadness in
Frosti’s voice. “And you fear for him?”

“He may win or not, I don’t know, but he
has never quite recovered from the fight with Gryr. And he is old.
Well, at least eight, but I think, ten years old. I think, win or
lose, Raven’s-Mane will suffer such wounds that he will die.”

“Have you spoken to Adals about
this?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter. The other
stallions have not developed as fighters and they haven’t been
trained as riding animals, either. No one wants them.” Frosti
shrugged. “Adals needs money. This is the only way he sees to get
it.”

“But...”

Frosti shook his head. “The horse is
doomed. There is no escaping it.”

Colm had never thought much about
fighting horses. So far as he was concerned, a horse was for riding
or for sacrifice. If a fighting horse should die... well, that was
its doom, as Frosti said. But the young man’s sadness touched him.
“I suppose everything has its fate and animals are fated to serve
men until they die.”

Frosti nodded. “Even so, there are some
animals you wish could escape their fate.” He sighed. “And it’s
useless, too. Even if Raven’s-Mane should win, Adals will not have
enough to keep the farm going much longer. I suppose he will sell
up, or try to, if anyone wants this cursed place. Thorolf is still
owed quite a bit for it.”

“What about you?”

“I will find a place as farmhand
somewhere.”

“Well, if it comes to that, come see me.
I have horses that could do with fewer flies.”

Frosti smiled. “All right. And I can
help you buy and sell them, too. I’ve learned a few things about
these animals by now.” He shook his head. “Horses are much easier
to understand than humans.”

So the two men sat in the meadow,
watching the horses in the meadow: the mares grazing, their colts
jinking about, the stallions keeping clear of one another. Frosti
pointed out the personalities of each horse, speaking of the value
and shortcomings of every one. Then they spoke of fate and how
lives wound their way together, deeply serious stuff that made Colm
wish he had some beer.

20. A Feud Is Averted

The Althing was troubled that year. Erik
the Red was involved in a dispute with Thorgest of Breidabolstead
over some stolen bench boards. He had sailed away from Iceland and
gone to a new country, people said, but now he had returned.
Thorgest had gathered men and arms and it seemed that there might
be fighting. Armed men walked through the Thing, openly defying the
lawful peace. This had happened before when groups of men had
fought one another but the general feeling was that this was most
improper.

“It is absolute foolishness!” said
Thorolf. Hallvard sat behind his grandfather, quietly taking in his
words. And Thorolf had many words that day: “If men violate the
law, if they destroy the peace, then we are all reduced to a great
pack of beasts, fighting one another until only one remains. Law is
what binds the community and no person alone can match a
community’s accomplishments!”

Colm voiced his thoughts, “In peace we
prosper. Dead men cannot farm. Fighting diminishes us all.”

Thorolf grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Exactly! That is the truth! Exactly so!” He released Colm who
wondered if there were now a great bruise on his shoulder. Thorolf
kept speaking, “Fools talk about honor as though they could eat it
or use it for warmth. I have no use for that asshole, Erik, but
it’s not worth slaughtering one another to shut him up!”

Erik had come to Iceland too late to
take part in land-taking. He had left Norway because of some
killings and had tried to establish himself in the East but soon
made himself unwelcome. Now he was in the West and a source of
trouble once more. He had obtained the backing of those men who
valued their own honor more than those around them did, those who
thought perhaps a godi or two might be displaced so that they could
improve their own station. But now he had incurred the wrath of
Thorgest who was able to call on a great many men himself. The two
had fought before and Thorgest brought a suit against Erik and had
him outlawed. Erik had returned in the spring and fought again with
Thorgest. Once again he was defeated, but now he had gathered new
forces, and it seemed that fighting might become general.

Hallvard spoke up. “They say that Erik
wants to establish a new settlement in this place, Greenland, that
he has explored.”

“Good! So long as he is gone from
Iceland!” said Thorolf. “I, personally, will pay for some of those
damned benchboards if Thorgest will put aside his honor and let
this man sail away.”

Hallvard said, “There are some trying to
make this happen.”

Now he had Thorolf’s attention. “Tell me
more.”

“Some who are beholden to Erik but who
fear Thorgest have gone to Snorri Thorgrimsson, the godi at
Thorsness, to see if he can settle this matter.”

Thorolf tugged at his beard. “Well now,
that is interesting information. What more do you know?”

“Not much,” said Hallvard. “I spoke with
Snorri the other day and told him you wanted peace but I didn’t say
more than that because I didn’t want to indebt us to the man.”

“Well done,” said Thorolf. “This Snorri
is about your age isn’t he?”

“A little older.”

“Ah. But you are both young men. Yet he
already has a reputation as being level-headed and wise. Now how is
that?”

It was a rhetorical question. Everyone
knew of Snorri’s past. His mother was married to the godi Thorgrim
when her brother, Gisli, had killed the man as he lay beside her. A
few weeks later she bore Snorri. Many people sympathized with
Gisli, for he had killed Thorgrim to avenge a friend who Thorgrim
had murdered. Still, a man could not kill his godi and get away
with it. Gisli had been outlawed. People protected him and he
survived in outlawry for almost seventeen years until Thorgrim’s
brother, Bork the Stout, sent assassins who killed him. Bork had
married Snorri’s mother shortly after his brother was killed.
Snorri was sixteen when Bork’s men killed Gisli. People said after,
that he should have killed his uncle Bork, but before that these
same people claimed that honor lay in Snorri’s killing his uncle
Gisli. Instead, Snorri had refused to continue the killings at all
and the feud had ended with Gisli’s death. Whatever people said
about honor, they admired Snorri’s cool head and steady
judgement.

Thorolf said, “Well, I may have a chat
with this young fellow...” He stopped and thought a moment. “No.
You speak with him, Hallvard. After all, when I am gone you will
both be godis here. Tell him I support peace between these
factions, but that if it comes to fighting, it is not Erik that I
will support. The man is a trouble-maker! Let him go to Greenland
or Greekland or Ireland for all I care! Just away from here. See if
he needs anyone to speak to Thorgest. I can do that. Offer no gifts
yet – we’ll probably have to pay something before all this is over,
but let’s not pledge ourselves poor.”

Hallvard nodded and, later that day, had
a talk with Snorri.

A few days later, Snorri announced that
Thorgest and Erik had come to a settlement. Erik recruited people
to settle his new land and sailed back to Greenland. Thorgest was
content with whatever payment he had been given. Snorri did not
speak of the details. “That young man will go far,” said Thorolf,
and all agreed.

21. Some Icelanders Return

The days became warmer and the flocks
moved up the mountains as the snow melted. Foreign ships landed in
the east and in the south. Colm considered travelling to Reykjavik
to await the next trader, since he was too late for those first
ships, but word came that a vessel was making for the bay and Colm
rode over to greet it. He took samples of cloth and some other
goods he had to trade and waited on the hillside above the beach
where he judged the vessel would land.

Soon enough, Colm spied the ship in the
distance, a deep-bellied knarr with red and white checked sails. A
wind-finder spun from the top of the mast. It was carved in Irish
style: a dog whose legs and tail were interlaced in an intricate
knot. Colm guessed that the ship was named Hound or Sea-Hound or
something similar. Men furled the sail and headed the ship into the
beach. Rowers dug deep to push the hull high up on the gravel. Two
men stood in the bow. These were the ship’s masters, thought Colm,
the traders. He studied them and was jolted by recognition. One was
Geirrid! Colm galloped down to the beach to meet his son.

Colm ran to embrace Geirrid who regarded
him coolly. “Well, Father, have I been gone long enough?”

Colm felt rebuffed but he did not show
it. “Too long, I think. I have missed you, Son.” He threw his arms
around Geirrid.

An older, heavilly-bearded man stood
watching them for a moment. “Don’t you recognize me, Colm?”

Colm stared into the man’s weathered,
lined face and tried to discover what was so familiar about his
eyes. Suddenly it came to him. “Eystein!”

“Yes, the same. I have done with raiding
now and am home to tend my farm.”

Colm’s heart sank. “Eystein, your
mother, Ingveld, has been gone more than three years now.”

“Yes,” said Eystein. “I trust the farm
is still there.”

Colm made a gesture with his head that
might have been a nod of agreement, then said, “But you must stay
with me for now.”

“I owe you so much already. That berserk
was the second bit of vengeance you did for me, Colm. I owe you
twice over.”

“You owe me nothing. But come with me
now to the Trollfarm and we will talk and have some beer.” Time
enough later to tell Eystein that his farm was in the hands of
strangers and that Colm guaranteed their residence there. He turned
to his son. “Your mother will be glad to see you, Geirrid. We will
celebrate!” Geirrid smiled a little.

Geirrid had gifts for his parents.
Gwyneth received several small presents of gems and scents that
Geirrid said women in Greekland wore. And he gave her a headdress
of fine lace with gold thread worked into it and colored stones
circling the crown. Gwyneth put it on and it shone in the firelight
like the sun itself. She looked beautiful, thought Colm, even with
the grey that now streaked her black hair.

Geirrid gave Colm a set of chess-men,
the new kind of chess where both players have the same number of
pieces, and an inlaid board to play on. It was a very fine present.
The pieces were set with carved amber, dark amber and light. Colm
thanked his son warmly, but he felt inside that things were amiss
between them. He resolved to put that right but he also had other
problems to deal with.

Colm topped up Eystein’s beer and the
man drank it off in one draught but he covered the cup with his
hand when Colm tried to pour him another. “No, not yet. I don’t
want to be puking that fine supper all over my shirt.” Gwyneth had
prepared beef with onions and garlic. She had some bread too, made
from grain off the ship, and plenty of butter. Eystein shook his
head. “I am grown old.” He looked at Colm. “I have learned
caution.”

“Caution and wisdom are brothers,” said
Colm. “Tell me, what happened to Grani Lopear?”

Eystein shook his head. “We were in
Frankia. We joined with some other bands in a big expedition, five
ships in all. We left the ships behind a longphort and went inland.
The Emperor’s troops were all South, fighting his brother, so we
thought we would have our way in the place. But a local duke
refused to pay us off and charged into us while we were still
marching to camp. That damned Frankish cavalry! They drove us up to
a river and hacked or lanced any man ashore. Then archers shot
arrows into those who tried to swim. I saw Grani pierced through
and through by a lance and then someone sliced off his head. I went
into the water. It was red with blood. I lay among the floating
corpses and drifted downstream until the riverbank was clear of
soldiers. I made my way back to the ships, where we had left them,
but locals had killed our guards and set three ships ablaze. The
other two had sailed away. I stayed the night in a forest, wet and
cold and afraid to sleep.” Eystein shivered at the memory and this
time did not refuse some more beer. “I wandered north, staying
clear of men and houses, until I came to a stream that I thought
fed a river that opened into the sea near Danish territory. I
thought I was more likely to receive aid from the Danes than from
the Franks, though neither have cause to love me. I followed the
stream along a ways to the river and there I saw a traders’ camp. I
hung about and heard them speaking of Iceland. I waited for
daybreak then walked up to them.” Eystein nodded at Geirrid. “This
young man was their leader. He rescued me and fed me and brought me
back here.”