The Saga of Colm the Slave (29 page)

Geirrid smiled back. “I have a few more
bets to collect, then I’ll meet you by the biggest barrel you can
find!”

24. Iceland’s Outcasts

Mar stood before Colm, wringing his
hands. “He is hopeless.” Colm stood waiting for the man to calm
down. “He goes to tend the sheep and spooks the herd somehow.
Imagine! He frightened a flock of sheep! A ewe and two lambs ran
off the cliff. Three sheep gone!”

“I will replace them,” said Colm.

Mar caught his breath then went on. “He
cannot tell good grazing from bad. He does not recognize when an
animal is sick and has to be removed from the flock. He can’t tell
a wether from a ewe!” Colm doubted this last but allowed Mar his
say. Mar shook his head. “Frightened his own flock!”

“Well,” said Colm, “Let’s go speak to
Eystein.”

The three men sat together on the grass
near the grazing flock. Eystein’s head was bowed. “I am not meant
for this work.”

Colm and Mar regarded him silently. Colm
thought the man might begin weeping. He recalled Bjorn in his
depression and how he had embraced death. He looked over at the
cliff’s-edge, where a man might jump, and shuddered. “We shall find
new work for you,” he said. “Come back to my farm and we’ll talk it
over.”

Eystein heaved a great sigh. “All right.
I’ll do anything that’s of use.” Colm wondered what, if anything,
that might be.

Colm asked, “Is it your plan to leave
soon?”

Geirrid said, “The last vessels of the
season will sail in the next few days. I need to go with them
before bad weather sets in. This sea can be a nasty place in
winter.”

Colm nodded. He hesitated before he
spoke. “You once told me that you would be glad to have Eystein as
a ship-mate, was that true?”

Geirrid eyed his father. “Has he
committed a crime?”

“No, no! It’s just that, well, some men
are not meant to be farmers.”

Geirrid grinned. “Another of Iceland’s
social outcasts! Well, I would be pleased to have him join my ship,
if he wishes. We will sail into exile together!”

“It is not exile. It is finding this man
a place where he may be of use. I fear for him otherwise.”

“Fear for him?” said Geirrid, “Fear for
him how?”

“I fear that he may give himself over to
death. I have seen it before.”

Geirrid nodded. “So have I. You think of
Bjorn, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Geirrid, “I have seen
others who have chosen to die. Some attacked a stronger enemy, some
jumped into the sea, and one knotted a rope around his neck.” Both
men were silent for a time, then Geirrid said, “All right. I will
speak to him and see if he will travel with me.”

“I will give him money.”

“There is no need...”

“I think there is,” said Colm. “I will
give him some money for his interest in Mar’s farm. I will not give
him the total value, mind, but enough so that he feels compensated
and can travel without charity.”

“All right then,” said Geirrid, “Let us
speak to Eystein.”

A few days later, Geirrid sailed away,
taking Eystein with him. Gwyneth smiled at her son and kissed him
as he boarded his ship, but she was pensive on the way back to the
Trollfarm. She prepared supper and Colm thought she was bent over
the kettle more than she needed to be. He saw the veins standing
out on her forearm and realized that she was growing old. No use to
say that, he thought, and instead spoke of Geirrid. “He will be
back,” he said, “In another few years.”

“I think not,” said Gwyneth. “I think he
means to find the center of the world, as he told us.”

“He will come back some day and settle
down.”

“Who would come back here from the
center of the world?” Gwyneth fiercely stirred the pot. “There are
better places than this!” she said and Colm heard the crack in her
voice. He rose and put his arms around her and they stood that way
for a little while.

25. Frosti And Raven’s-Mane

After the Autumn Sacrifice, toward
winter, Colm rode up into the meadow above Helgafeld. Frosti was
there with the horses. Raven’s-Mane he kept penned in a stone
enclosure.

Colm greeted him. “And how is the
champion?” He gestured over toward Raven’s-Mane.

Frosti shook his head. He kept a smile
on his lips but his eyes were bleak. “I think he will die after the
first snows.”

“How so?”

“He cracked a bone in his foreleg and it
hasn’t healed up.”

They walked over to the stone fenced pen
and looked at the stallion. People had begun calling the horse
Wolf-Tooth instead of Raven’s-Mane. But he looked gentle as he came
over to Frosti and rubbed his muzzle against the man’s chest. Colm
could see the swelling on his foreleg.

Frosti said, “I have tried all I know. I
cannot keep him off that leg. I tied it up, he bit the wrappings in
two. I confine the horse, he still gallops in small circles. The
bone will not heal. I will keep him alive so long as I can, but I
think he will die when it turns cold, as things tend to do.”

“But you will have him down at the farm
then.”

“Even so. It will be cold enough.”
Frosti shrugged. “And I doubt the farm will belong to Adals for
much longer anyway.”

“Thorolf will not turn you out in in the
winter.” Colm meant to talk to the godi to insure that.

“No. Thorolf is a decent man. But it is
all the same. By the spring, Raven’s-Mane will be dead and Adals
will lose the farm.”

“Well, remember what I said: come see
me. I need a hand to look after my horses.”

Frosti grinned. “I have not forgotten. I
will see you in the spring.” They slapped hands and parted.

It went much as Frosti said.
Raven's-Mane died in winter, just before lambing time. Adals spent
all that he had won horse-fighting and could not pay his debts. Now
he no longer had a good horse that he could fight. Soon, he left
the farm at Helgafeld, looking for work somewhere else. Thorolf did
not press Braga for payment and she stayed on for a time, along
with her daughter, before going to work for Orm Ketilsson and Marta
Bjornsdottir. Frosti came by the Trollfarm in the spring. Colm set
him to work watching his horses. “Tell me which are good and which
are bad. Which should I breed and which should I sacrifice. Keep
them healthy as you can.”

Frosti smiled and said that he would do
his best. Colm had no doubt that he would.

26. Ljot And Styr

Ljot and Styr were almost fourteen now
and people had begun talking of their fighting one another when
they got a little older. The boys found it hard to make friends,
since everyone saw them as a feud in the making and people
generally did not want to be part of such a thing, even if they
were quite willing to be spectators. It didn’t help that women
disliked Gunnora and would be pleased to see her unhappy and
mourning a dead child or two.

Some boys of Ljot and Styr’s age were
playing the turf game together near Gunnora’s farm one day while
she attended to chores in the yard. Ljot caught the turf with his
stick and sent it over to Styr. Another boy leapt to intercept it
but fell on his face instead. The boys laughed and Ljot and Styr
jeered at him. Red-faced, the boy picked himself up and said,
“Laugh together now, but soon enough you’ll be using those
turf-sticks on each other. That is,” he added, “If either of you
has the courage to avenge his father!”

Everyone was quiet then and Gunnora felt
her heart freeze with fear.

The boy snarled, “Of course, you’re
probably too busy taking it in the bum from each other to worry
about anything like that.”

Ljot rushed at the boy and hit him with
his turf-stick. The boys all swarmed together, hitting each other.
Gunnora took off her belt and ran over, pulling the boys apart and
whipping them with her belt if they didn’t stop fighting. They were
all still young enough to be intimidated by a woman her age and the
brawl soon broke up. The boys backed off, muttering, leaving Ljot
and Styr standing with Gunnora.

Gunnora, still breathing hard, said,
“You are brothers! Brothers, I say! And my sons! If either of you
ever harms the other, then he removes himself from my family!” But
the boys both knew that Styr was Gunnora’s natural son and that
Ljot was fostered. Gunnora saw the doubt in their eyes and thought
she had to do something before the situation developed any further,
but she could not think of any plan that would help. That day, she
sent a slave over to fetch Colm.

“Gunnora wants to see me,” said Colm.
Gwyneth said nothing but continued her weaving. Colm tried again,
“Would you like to come with me?”

Gwyneth turned and faced him with wide
eyes. “Why, no, why I would I want to do that?” Then she saw the
hunted look in Colm’s eyes and decided to give up her advantage.
“She did not send for me. She wants a man’s counsel.”

“But why? She has others helping her and
plenty of good advice on the farm.”

“I expect she wants help with Ljot and
Styr,” said Gunnora. “Everyone can see that may become a
problem.”

Colm spread his hands. “I have no
solution for it.”

“Even so, go talk to her, and to the
boys, if that will help. If you can do anything to avoid bloodshed,
then you should do it.” She went back to her weaving. “We are all
better off when there is no fighting.”

Colm nodded and, a little later, rode
over to Gunnora’s farm. Sure enough, it was as Gwyneth thought.
“The boys are being pushed to murder one another,” said Gunnora. “I
don’t know what to do.” She wrung her hands in despair.

Colm didn’t know, either. If the boys
were a little older, then they might be sent abroad, but the way
things were going, they wouldn’t live long enough to take on life
as adults. Anyway, thought Colm, exiling two more was probably not
the best thing for the community. “Let me think on this,” he said.
“I will come up with something.” Gunnora thanked him profusely and
Colm rode home, wondering if he really could discover an answer to
this problem.

Colm sat staring into the fire for a
long time. Finally, Gwyneth asked, “Can you come up with a
plan?”

Colm shook his head. “I don’t know. I
think that I need to speak with someone wiser.”

“Thorolf?”

“Actually,” said Colm, “I had someone
else in mind.”

The next day, Colm rode over to
Thorsness to talk to Snorri the godi. He brought some silver as a
gift.

“I don’t know if I should accept this,”
said Snorri, “Until I know why you’re giving it to me.”

“There is a problem developing over my
way,” said Colm, “And I hoped you might be able to advise me.”

“Sometimes advice is cheap,” said
Snorri, “Sometimes expensive, but the price has little to do with
its value.”

“True enough,” said Colm, “But I value
your advice in this matter.” He outlined the problem. “There are
two boys, raised as foster-brothers. Their fathers killed one
another.”

“You mean Styr Egilsson and Ljot
Thorgilsson who live with Styr’s mother, the widow Gunnora.”

“Yes,” said Colm. He was impressed that
Snorri knew of these people, but then he thought that was what made
Snorri a good godi: he kept his mind open to all things and thought
hard about what to do. He had a reputation as a careful and
far-sighted man. Still, he was not much past twenty. He had been
godi since he was sixteen, after his outlawed uncle, Gisli, had
been killed. Gisli had murdered Snorri's father as he lay beside
his wife, Gisli's sister. Colm took a breath. Now came the delicate
part; he did not want to anger this powerful young man. “I think
you can see the problem that may be developing here.” He paused.
“And I think you may have some special experience in these
matters.”

“You mean, because I did not seek
vengeance for my uncle?” Colm nodded. “But I might have sought
vengeance for my father, instead,” said Snorri, “If there were any
of his killer’s family left alive. Well, aside from my mother, of
course.” Colm nodded that he understood. Snorri went on, “It seemed
to me then, and it seems to me now, there is little profit in
vengeance.”

“Yet there were many who pressed you to
seek vengeance.”

Snorri shrugged. “Even now, some try to
insult me but I ignore them.”

“Well,” said Colm, “That is the advice I
seek: how do I instruct these young men to ignore the pressure and
taunts from those who wish to see them fight?”

“There are always people like that,”
said Snorri. “Fools whose lives are one excitement after another.
Left on their own, they would chase one another in circles like
fly-blinded sheep until they went off a cliff.”

“So, how do Ljot and Styr avoid being
herded to their doom?”

“First, they must understand that good
sense must come from within themselves. Colm, you cannot hope to
bring good sense to everyone in the area, but you can call it up
from within your own self and foster it in your friend. So that is
your first goal: make these boys see that there is no use in their
fighting, that whoever dies, the other one will suffer.”

“All right,” said Colm, “I see that. I
will try to make them understand.”

“The second thing they must do is learn
to ignore the taunts of others. I suppose they have few
friends?”

“None, outside of one other.”

Snorri nodded. “So those prodding them
to fight are not friends and they need to understand that. Then
they need to face these taunts. Mockery is a good counter and, if
there is fighting, make certain that they are on the same
side.”

“The other boys call them
bum-buddies.”

“So some called my uncle Gisli before
they died.”

“Are you counselling these boys to kill
those who provoke them?”

“No, but a bloody nose or two might be
useful.” Snorri shrugged. “They have to learn to ignore the
insults. That is all I can say.”