The Saga of Colm the Slave (33 page)

Colm rode home, turning things over in
his mind. He had a talk with Gwyneth. “Thurid seems unhappy in her
marriage.”

“Then I must go speak to her. I have
some baby clothes to give her and we have all those dried
bilberries...”

“That would be a fine thing to take,”
said Colm.

So Gwyneth went to visit Thurid, taking
her bilberries and baby clothes. She took a look around. “Well, the
place is looking nice!”

Thurid sniffed. “If you say so.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!” Thurid
waved a hand around her. “Everything! That’s what’s wrong!”

Gwyneth looked about her. The house was
tidy, the earth floors swept clean of trash and the benches newly
cleaned. That would be Braga’s job, she thought, and Freydis’. She
looked at the women’s platform. There was a distaff and spindle but
not much thread in the basket. The loom was empty. “I see nothing
wrong,” said Gwyneth. A sudden fear took her. “Are the little ones
all right?”

Thurid waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Braga
and Freydis have the brats. I swear, if I hear them crying any
more, I think I will go mad.” Thurid looked at Gwyneth for a
moment, then burst into tears. Gwyneth embraced her and comforted
her.

They sat together on a bench for a
while, then Thurid said, “The real problem is Frosti. He has no
ambition and won’t work!”

“Colm told me that he was doing well. He
said that your flock has increased and that your cows are doing
fine. He said that Frosti...”

“Oh, sheep!” said Thurid. “Who cares
about sheep!”

“Well what else, then?” said Gwyneth.
But Thurid only looked at her and began crying all over again.

Gwyneth was very concerned. She told
Colm, “She seems worried that Frosti isn’t doing his share...” But
even as she said it, she knew that wasn’t the real problem.

“I’ll pay him to look to our horses for
a bit,” said Colm. “I’ve been meaning to do it anyway. There’s one
or two I’m concerned about.” Gwyneth nodded and lapsed into thought
while she worked her loom.

Colm rode up to the meadows and found
Frosti tending one of his mares. Frosti said, “I think this one’s
got a small problem. See here?” He lifted the animal’s hoof and
pointed to a place that looked to Colm just like horseleg.

“So, is there anything to be done?”
Colm, the farmer, knew that a sick animal was usually a dead
animal.

“Oh, yes,” said Frosti, “I’ll keep her
quiet for a few days, then she’ll be right as rain.”

“Ah, good. I knew I was right to call on
you.”

Frosti shrugged. “Your herd is doing
fine. You don’t need any help.”

“Well,” said Colm, “That’s for me to
say. It’s a stiff man who never asks for help, and a stiff branch
that breaks in the wind.”

Frosti sat on the grass. He looked off
over the meadow and sighed. “All right,” he said, “I suppose I
could use some advice.”

“I suppose that is easy enough to
give.”

“It is Thurid. I know everyone loves
her, and I do as well, but she has been so... so...” Frosti wrung
his hands. “Sometimes I think of hitting her, but how could I treat
her so? Anyway, look at the women whose husbands beat them! They
are broken like ill-treated horses.” Frosti shook his head. “It is
my fault! I am useless like Adals!”

“You are far from useless, Frosti.” And
Colm reminded him how well he had done with the farm and how his
flock had increased and so on. He did not say anything about his
children. Frosti sat and nodded and seemed to buck up a bit, but
Colm was concerned about him.

Colm told Gwyneth about his talk with
Frosti. Gwyneth set her mouth in a line. “That girl needs a good
shaking!”

“Frosti will not hurt her.”

“No. Well, that’s probably for the best.
It would be one more thing for her to complain about.” Colm was
surprised by Gwyneth’s words. She said, “I think that I will fetch
Groa and that we two will have a word with our daughter!” Colm
nodded, glad that they weren’t having a word with him!

So Gwyneth and Groa went to visit
Thurid. Thurid wasted no time before starting in on Frosti and how
unhappy she was. Groa sat quietly, looking at the floor. Thurid was
going on about the farm and how it wasn’t as good as she wanted,
and how her children cried all the time, and how Frosti wasn’t
doing enough... Groa finally raised her head. “Shut up!” she
said.

“What?” Thurid was flustered.

“I said shut up.” Groa stood up and bent
over her daughter. Her voice shook with anger. “You have a husband,
You have a working farm. You have healthy children. You think
that’s not enough? You think you deserve more? This is all there
is! There is no more! If it’s not enough for you then you will live
your life unsatisfied.” Groa waved her hand at the empty loom and
the idle spindle. “Try doing your part around here. If you do
nothing but listen to your own complaining, you will find yourself
a poor companion. As, I expect, everyone else does.”

Thurid sat stock still, her face
flushing red, her lips trembling. “Mother...”

“We spoiled you, we three. We never once
made you do anything that you didn’t want. Now see what a bitch we
created!” Thurid began to cry but Groa did not embrace her but
stood over her, arms folded. Gwyneth watched helplessly. After a
time, Groa said, “Now dry your eyes. Braga and her daughter are
working in the milk shed and tending your children at the same
time. Go work beside them!”

Thurid stood up and nodded. Head bowed,
she walked to the milk shed. “You were hard on her,” said
Gwyneth.

“If she had answered me back, I would
have slapped her,” said Groa. “Life is short and unpredictable. If
Thurid cannot deal with everyday, then how will she meet the
unexpected problems that suddenly confront us?” She looked into
Gwyneth’s face. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes,” said Gwyneth, “Things happen.
Illness, danger...” She thought of the berserk. She thought of
Geirrid. She shook her head. “It is hard raising children
properly.”

“Well, I did a poor job with this one,”
said Groa.

“No. You were right; it was all three of
us. We indulged ourselves by rescuing this child and spoiling her,
now that self-indulgence has become part of her.”

“Yes.”

“But she is young yet and may
develop.”

“Perhaps. I will visit again and, next
time, I’ll praise her work.” Groa swept a glance over the unused
tools on the woman’s platform and sighed. “Hopefully she’ll have
done something praiseworthy.”

After this confrontation, Thurid became
a more serious person. She did not complain as much but she did not
smile and laugh as much as she used to, either. Frosti wondered if
he were to blame. He felt guilty and threw himself into his work.
The farm prospered and, in time, Frosti realized that he had become
fairly wealthy. Meanwhile, Thurid had more babies and most of them
lived. Many people looking at this couple envied them and thought
them a model of what a family should be.

33. Gunnora And Freydis

About six months after Thurid had faced
her mothers, Freydis decided that she didn’t want to be a spinster
after all. So Colm went to speak to Gunnora and Styr.

“But she is a slave’s daughter!” said
Gunnora.

Styr said, “Mother, I will always listen
to your advice, but I don’t care about her parents. I want to marry
this girl.”

Gunnora saw that her son was very
serious. She said, “I suppose I should go have a look at her before
deciding.”

It was late winter and snow covered the
land. It was not a good time to travel but Gunnora got out a sleigh
and bundled herself into a heap of cloaks and set out for
Helgafeld. As she drew near the home field, she saw Frosti’s flock
and Freydis moving among the sheep, touching the pregnant ewes’
bellies and judging their time, and testing their wool to see if
was ready to be tugged. Gunnora sat watching from a distance for a
time, then drove the sleigh over to the enclosure.

Freydis saw her approach and walked over
to the stone fence to meet her. She held her chin up and stood very
erect. Gunnora smiled at her pride for she saw how tender it was.
She fumbled with her cloaks. “I’m in quite a tangle here,” she
said.

“Let me help you,” said Freydis. She
climbed over the stile and began pulling at Gunnora’s covers.

“Oh, it’s too cold to leave this warm
sleigh, anyway,” said Gunnora. “Here, climb in beside me.” So
Freydis got into the sleigh and under the cloaks with her. “No use
standing out in the cold until icicles hang off your chin!” Freydis
smiled a little. “How are the ewes coming along?” asked Gunnora and
Freydis told her and they talked about this and that, chatting for
a time, and Freydis relaxed. Gunnora made a joke and Freydis
laughed, teeth flashing in her face, her cheeks red with the cold.
She is a pretty girl, thought Gunnora, I understand why Styr is
taken with her. “Now,” she said, “My son tells me good things about
you.”

“That is nice of him. I think well of
him, too.”

“Yes. Well, he is talking of marriage.”
Freydis said nothing, just looked into Gunnora’s face. “I wondered
how you felt about that.”

“I think it would please me very much to
be married to Styr,” said Freydis.

“In that case,” said Gunnora, “I suppose
there should be serious talk on the subject. Styr will speak for
himself. I understand Colm will speak for you?” Freydis nodded.
“Well, then,” said Gunnora, “We’ll leave the details up to the men.
Now it’s time I got back to my farm. I don’t want to be caught out
in the dark.”

“I’m sure that Thurid would be glad to
have you stay over,” said Freydis.

“Oh, I really want to get back,” said
Gunnora. She did not want to embarrass Freydis by taking
hospitality in a house where she was a servant. “Tell your mother I
was by and will call again to speak to her. Or, better, have her
come visit me.” And Gunnora drove on home.

That spring, Freydis and Styr were
married. Freydis went to live at Styr’s place. She worked hard and
Gunnora never had a bad word to say about her.

34. The Althing Considers Religion

Travellers brought back the news that
King Olaf had seized every Icelander in Norway and was holding them
hostage until Iceland became Christian. People were upset at the
news and there was a great deal of talk about what to do. Finally,
it was decided that the whole question of religion would be brought
up at the Althing and Iceland’s future would be determined. The
Christians planned their campaign well and chose Hall of Sida to
lead their faction. He was a well-respected godi who had been
baptized early. The pagans had no single leader but thought that
they had the right of things.

A short time before Althing was to
convene, Gizur the White and Hjalti Skeggason landed in the
Vestmann Islands. They had been held captive by King Olaf but
released on the condition that they bring about the conversion of
Iceland. Gizur went about gathering all the Christians that he
could find but Hjalti stayed behind on the islands because he was
still under the sentence of lesser outlawry and it might mean his
death should he enter the country.

Thorolf sat outside his booth at
Thingveillir, brooding and pulling his beard. His sword lay on the
ground beside his stool. Colm and some other farmers were nearby,
talking in hushed tones, sometimes throwing a worried glance at
Thorolf. Hallvard went around to the other booths, gathering
information. After a time, he returned. Snorri the godi was with
him.

Snorri gestured to Thorolf’s sword and
said, “I hope you aren’t planning to use that.”

Thorolf growled. “So far it has been
others who have used their sword against me. Or have you forgotten
my grandson’s murder by a Christian?”

“I could not forget a crime so terrible
and wicked. And, as I told you, I will back your suit against
Thorodd. If he ever re-appears in Iceland, I may kill him
myself.”

Thorolf muttered and looked away. “This
is an unlucky time.”

“It is a time of change, and we must
give over to it.”

“I see no change coming. The men
gathered here are mostly pagans.”

“The Christians have not yet arrived.
You may be surprised at how many they are. Missionaries performed
many conversions in the North and East Quarters. Only here in the
West did they fail to convert more than a few.”

Thorolf looked straight at Snorri. “Some
of the unconverted seem Christian enough to me.”

“Yes, I think this new religion is
better than the one we have now. And, anyway, it is better to
convert than to have a great war amongst ourselves. There are many
among the pagans who think the same way.”

“So the question is already decided,
then.”

“No. It is not decided yet. And there
may be bloodshed, but I will do what I can to prevent that. Will
you join me in trying to keep the peace?”

“I have never broken the peace!” snarled
Thorolf. “I do not wish bloodshed. But my grandson’s unavenged
death gnaws at my belly as though I swallowed a live rat!” He spat
on the ground and everyone could see the blood in his spittle.
Thorolf gestured at it. “See there! I feel this thing eating me all
the time. I am sick with pain!”

There was little Snorri could say to
this and he soon left. Hallvard stayed with his grandfather, trying
to soothe him. Colm thought, from the way Snorri and Hallvard acted
toward one another, that they had reached an understanding of some
kind.

So men walked about, some wearing
weapons now, and the women stayed inside their booths, making
anxious conversation. There was none of the festivity that usually
accompanied Althing; no jugglers or conjurors, no gambling tents,
no merchants selling trinkets or food. Tension buzzed like flies in
the still air.