There were three things to be accomplished at Althing: the Lawspeaker would recite a third of the law – he served for three years, so all the law would be heard during his term; the Logretta, or Law Council, would sit and determine new laws and revise the old – Thorolf sat on the Logretta, Bjorn would sit with him, but not Magnus this year, since Magnus was bringing an action; and lawsuits would be heard, including that of Magnus demanding the outlawry of Gunnlaug.
Magnus had delivered due notice of his suit but had been unable to find Gunnlaug to summon him. This would be a point of law for Gunnlaug’s supporters to argue. Still, all free men were required to attend Althing. If Gunnlaug did not appear to answer the charges against him, most would say he was guilty. There was little doubt Gunnlaug had killed Halldor, but the circumstances might be such that Gunnlaug could pay a fine and escape outlawry. Of course, no fine would be enough to satisfy Magnus and Gunnlaug’s life would soon be forfeit unless he could gather enough fighting men to triumph in the feud. So, perhaps it was just as well Gunnlaug did not appear. On the other hand, Gunnlaug had not witnessed the killing by reporting it to the first man he saw afterward which meant this was Secret Murder, a crime guaranteeing outlawry. No one could aid or shelter an outlaw. Any man could kill an outlaw without penalty. Outlaws survived only so long as they could avoid other people, unless they could find a way off this island and flee abroad. Colm doubted Gunnlaug had the resources for that. He thought the man was doomed. Gunnlaug’s only course now was to seek as much honor as he might find before he was killed, and to face his inevitable death with courage so that men might speak of him with approval in the years to come.
Bjorn called Colm over. “I want you to go with Magnus while I’m at the Logretta.” He turned to Magnus. “This is a reliable man. If you need to contact me, send a message with Colm.” Magnus nodded, hardly looking at Colm. His eyes darted from side to side and his mouth was working. Bjorn observed him for a few seconds, then whispered to Colm, “If he loses his temper or does something rash, come get me right away.” Colm nodded.
“All right,” snapped Magnus, “This way!” And he strode off. Colm jogged to catch up, staying a few steps behind. Some of Magnus’ men joined them, along with a few farmers. Magnus pointed at one of them, Egil Bloodhead. “We’ll go see your cousin Thorgils now.”
Egil shook his head. “Now’s not the best time. Thorgils has just been summoned. He’s got his own lawsuit coming up and he’s unhappy about it. Wait till tomorrow and I’ll talk to him about how we can help one another here.”
“I want his help now!” Magnus exploded.
“He doesn’t know you or your family. Let me speak to him…”
“He knows that bastard Gunnlaug murdered my son! That’s enough for him to know! If he won’t help with this lawsuit, then I may put a sword through him, too!”
Egil was called Bloodhead because he had a great red birthmark across his forehead and one side of his face. Now that mark glowed like fire. “In that case,” said Egil, stepping back, “I may have to defend my cousin.”
Enough of this, thought Colm, and he ran to the place where the Logretta was sitting. There were three rings of seats. The council-members sat in the middle ring. Each had an advisor sitting above and another below him. Bjorn sat above Thorolf, another farmer sat below. Colm signalled to Bjorn who nodded and leaned forward to whisper in Thorolf’s ear. Both men leapt up from their seats and came over.
“He’s quarrelling with Egil Bloodhead about visiting Egil’s cousin,” said Colm.
Thorolf sighed. “Not till tomorrow. Then we can exchange gifts and a promise to help one another.”
“We’d better get over there,” said Bjorn.
Egil and Magnus were head-to-head, eyes locked, snarling at one another, their hands twitching at the place where a sword-hilt should be. Bjorn and Thorolf stepped between them.
Bjorn told Egil, “Don’t let a hot head rob Thorgils of the help he may want.” Egil calmed a little and Bjorn continued to soothe him. “Tomorrow, Thorolf will see your cousin and they will help one another.”
Thorolf told Magnus, “Best keep your anger for your enemies. Egil and his cousin will be of great value to your cause.”
Magnus took several breaths. “I am no good at this politicking,” he said. “My son’s blood shouts to me of vengeance. I can hear nothing else.”
Thorolf turned to Egil. “Sometimes anger speaks words we would not otherwise find in our mouths.” Egil nodded. “I have a gift for you, Egil, as a gesture of my friendship.” He gave Egil a silver ring looted from England, set with an excellent green stone. One of the enamel inlays was missing, but it was a fine present anyway.
Thorolf turned to Magnus and raised an eyebrow. Magnus took the hint. “Forgive me, Egil, if I spoke harshly. It was the thought of not having two great fighters like you and your cousin on my side that upset me.” And Magnus, too, gave Egil a gift. Egil accepted both the flattery and the gift.
Thorolf said, “Magnus, friend, hard as it may be, I suggest you go back to your stall and wait.” Magnus nodded. He seemed deflated with his anger gone, like a sail with no wind.
The crowd broke up. Magnus headed back to his place. Bjorn said, “That was an expensive gift.”
Thorolf shrugged. “Magnus can afford it.” Magnus would reward Thorolf for his help. Not only would he give Thorolf his fealty in time of trouble but also he would pay Thorolf well for his aid in this suit. Thorolf said, “I wonder if it’s worth it, to be linked to a hot-head like that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, back to the Logretta.” The issue before the Logretta was the division of Iceland into quarters for judicial purposes. Thorolf walked off.
Bjorn gestured to Colm. “Hang around Magnus’ place. If there’s trouble, come get us.”
Colm settled on his haunches outside Magnus’ booth, watching, but Magnus stayed in his place the rest of the day.
Magnus gave no more trouble and, over the next few days, Thorolf was able to persuade many men that Gunnlaug should be outlawed. Colm noticed that most of them seemed to think that no fighting would come from this matter, so they were pleased to accept Magnus’ gifts, knowing it would cost them little in return.
On the appointed day, Magnus brought his suit before the Thing. He named twelve witnesses, men who had received his gifts, who each swore that Gunnlaug had murdered Halldor. Gunnlaug’s cousin Grim tried to defend his kinsman but with Gunnlaug’s failure to appear, the case was never in doubt. Gunnlaug was outlawed. No one was to aid or shelter him. He could be killed on sight and it was understood that Magnus would probably reward his killer.
Althing ended without further incident. Men took up their weapons and shook them to indicate the time of lawful peace was at an end. Magnus began assembling a group to actively hunt Gunnlaug, find him, and kill him. Bjorn did not join them. Nor did Thorolf, though he accepted great gifts and a quantity of money from Magnus. Colm was pleased to be going back to the farmstead.
When Colm reached the meadow, he knew at once something was wrong. Old Edgar had a terrible expression on his face – fear, guilt, shame: all showed at once. Edgar opened his mouth but no sound emerged, then he began stuttering. Colm waited patiently for the old man to gain control of his voice. “…your lamb…” Colm registered the words and snapped his eyes up to the flock. He saw one of his lambs immediately but could not spot the other. Wordlessly, Edgar gestured to his cloak lying near a large stone. Colm pulled back the cloak and beheld his lamb, dead. Colm picked up the small corpse and saw a clotted hole on one side of the lamb and similar damage on its other side. He saw right away that his lamb had been killed by an arrow.
“When?” he asked, cradling the lamb in his arms.
“Early yesterday.” Edgar was wringing his hands in despair; he knew what these lambs meant to Colm.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No…no…” Edgar lost his speech again. He stood with head bowed, waiting for blows or curses, the slave’s lot.
&n
bsp; Colm reflected that the old man had covered the lamb with his own cloak to keep the birds away. He wondered if Edgar had slept without a cover the night before, giving it to the dead lamb instead. He made his voice quiet and steady. “It’s not your fault, Edgar.” The old man straightened up a bit. “Did you find the arrow?”
“No.” Edgar had recovered his voice. “I thought it went on through and over the cliffs.”
Colm nodded. There was no use looking. Anyway, it wasn’t likely that the arrow would bear any distinguishing marks. “Who would kill a lamb and leave it?”
“Maybe it was a troll,” said Edgar. Colm looked at him. The old man had something to say. Colm waited. “I saw some smoke from the Trollfarm the day before. A little smoke.”
Colm nodded. Edgar knew perfectly well that trolls needed no fires. Still holding the lamb, Colm squatted on his haunches and thought. Edgar stood silent and waited. Finally, Colm reached a decision. He stood up and handed the lamb to Edgar. “Take this to Bjorn. Tell him it is a gift for his pantry and that I am gone to the Trollfarm to find the giver.”
Once this had been a good farm, thought Colm, but now the home field was a tangle of unreaped hay, patches of dead grass from last year spotting the green of this year’s crop. The fence that surrounded the field had fallen apart in one or two places where frost had heaved the earth or split some stones, but it was basically sound. The turf walls of the house stood strong but the roof had collapsed at one end. The place was dead and beginning to decay. Colm listened carefully but heard nothing, not even a bird song or an insect buzz. This was a fearful place now, without men and women and animals to liven it. He shivered in the strong noon sun. Gathering his courage, Colm ducked into the front passage and entered the house.
Blinking in the darkness, Colm heard the rustling in the corner before he saw anything. He leapt away from the sound, crouching.
“Ha!” Gunnlaug stepped into the shaft of light from the broken roof. He carried a naked sword. “I know you,” he said, peering closer. “You’re the slave that saw me at Thorolf’s place. You did well not to raise any fuss then.” He slid his sword back into its scabbard and came closer. “Have you anything to eat?”
Colm shook his head. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he saw Gunnlaug’s belongings piled on what remained of the benches. A bow and a quiver of arrows lay on top. “Did you kill a lamb up in the meadow?”
“Yes, but I heard someone coming and hid. If I had known it was just that old slave… Anyway, he got it and I have no food.”
“That was my lamb.”
“Yes? Do you have another? Listen, go get me one. Or a sheep, even. I could eat a whole cow, I think. Come on, slave! Go get me some food!”
Colm bowed his head and moved forward. When he was next to Gunnlaug he pulled the scramasax from under his shirt and thrust it into the man’s belly. The long knife entered below Gunnlaug’s ribs and Colm pushed the blade up, seeking his heart, lifting, for an instant, the man’s body from the floor. Then Gunnlaug dropped and his weight pulled Colm’s blade down as his body slid onto the dirt. His shirt darkened with blood. “You shouldn’t have killed my lamb,” whispered Colm. But Gunnlaug’s eyes glazed over and there was no reply. Colm squatted beside the corpse and waited. A fly buzzed onto Gunnlaug’s face. Soon there was another.
“Well,” said Bjorn, “Magnus will be pleased.”
“Or perhaps disappointed that he didn’t stick the blade in himself,” said Thorolf.
The two men stared down at Gunnlaug’s body. Colm stood nearby, waiting. Bjorn said, “Perhaps you should run your sword into the wound and take credit for this killing.”
Thorolf shook his head. “No. The truth comes out and then I would look a fool without honor.” He glanced at Colm. “Though there might be some talk about a slave having done this deed.”
“A slave! Do you think I would let a slave go armed?” said Bjorn. “Colm’s a free man! Of course he owes me,” he added hastily, looking Colm’s way, “Um, seven years labor. Not all his labor, mind you. He has still one lamb to look after.” He peered at Colm through narrowed eyes. Colm was dumbfounded. He managed to nod.
“Well,” Thorolf’s eyebrows raised, “And here I thought he was a slave. Perhaps you told me at Althing and I forgot.”
“I should have announced it there,” said Bjorn, “But so much was going on.”
“Yes. Well, he is a very capable man, I think. You know, he could prove to be a farmer of quality. Suppose… Now consider this: Suppose he spent your seven years working this abandoned farm here and, beginning the harvest after this next one, gave you a tenth part of his crop and increase in herds.”
“That might be fair. But what would your share be for granting him the land?”
“Also a tenth. For ten years.” He turned to Colm. “So what do you say? Will you take on this obligation? In ten years the farm is yours without burden.”
Colm’s head blazed with ideas like a fire spreading in a strawpile. He could see the farm – his farm – with fields and herds, the house made whole… “I want…” Colm choked. He remembered old Edgar stuttering and caught himself straight and spoke up: “I want you to give me the slave Gwyneth. I will pay!” he added quickly.
Bjorn made a face. “I can see you need a woman around the place, but that slave is important to my wife right now and tends her in her illness.”
Colm nodded. “She will owe you seven years of labor.”
Thorolf laughed, “Another bargain, this. But do you want her free or do you want her a slave?”
“If Bjorn gives her to me as a slave I will free her. Whether he frees her or I do, I will then marry her.”
“I see,” said Bjorn. “Well, let me speak with my wife and see what she says. I know she likes this girl.”
Colm’s eyes swam and he sank to his knees. Freedom! Land! Gwyneth! All he dreamed of now come to him! Thorolf chuckled, “Best stand up, man. You’ll get blood on your trousers.”
Colm realized he was kneeling in the bloody dirt next to Gunnlaug’s body. And what was he doing anyway, here on his knees like a slave? He fought to keep back tears and rose to look clear-eyed into the other faces, free man to free man.
4.The Silver Pennies
Aud died that autumn. First, she seemed to swell up, then to shrivel away. Tumors broke out all over her body. She was in great pain for a while before she died. Colm wondered how her gods could allow this woman to suffer such agony – unless, of course, this was the White Christ’s punishment on her for being a pagan. That raised another problem: if Jesus had struck down this woman to demonstrate his power to unbelievers, then he was more to be feared than Thor or Frey, who could not protect Aud from this terrible death. But Colm thought, even if Jesus was more powerful than the pagan gods, he himself would not willingly serve a master who so cruelly abused a good woman just to win a point.
Aud was well-respected and many people gathered at her dying. There, on her deathbed, Aud granted freedom to Gwyneth. She called witnesses and swore Gwyneth to be a free woman. Gwyneth stayed with Aud through to the end when she was in horrible pain. Gwyneth made her as comfortable as possible and, when Aud was dead, wept because she felt truly attached to her.
Colm’s feelings were more complex. On the one hand Colm thought that Aud’s freeing of Gwyneth earned her sainthood in whatever faith truly existed, on the other, Aud’s death meant that Gwyneth was free to marry!
So they wed, Colm and Gwyneth, after Aud was buried, by announcing that fact to newly bereaved Bjorn, who nodded and waved a hand to them as he wiped away his tears with the other, for Aud and he had loved each other for a long time. Their children were grown and far away and he had no one to comfort him.
The newly-weds walked down the valley, swinging their arms together, laughing but apprehensive. They had both been enslaved as children and now they feared freedom a bit. But freedom was exhilarating, too! So, they were excited as they walked together the miles to the Trollfarm. They were excited and the
y were apprehensive; they were so full of feelings that happiness was only another one, mixed in with the rest.
The Trollfarm was Colm’s own place now in exchange for rent. It was Gwyneth’s own house to run as she pleased. But she worried that she’d do poorly as a housewife; her chickens not lay and her children not thrive. And Colm, too, worried whether he would be able to manage after paying out twenty percent of his increase every year for seven years and ten percent for another three. Then he tried to determine how much difference ten percent would make and whether, when he had paid in for seven years, he could cease to worry. Then he thought of how his holding would increase and he thought of Gwyneth beside him, her palm a little damp now, and wondered how long until they got to his farmhouse. He picked up the pace and noticed Gwyneth wasn’t lagging.
Colm had made some repairs. He tried to fix the damaged roof, but now it required a season’s growing over. Of course, even after the sod covered a roof, it still leaked, but that one part would leak worse than the rest, probably forever. Colm had tried to repair the benches, too. Most of the bench-boards were missing. Wood was in short supply and Colm felt lucky that people had not totally stripped the Trollfarm. Anyway, he had managed to set up some benches at the drier end of the house. There was a firepit there and plenty of dung for fuel.
So they built up the fire and lay on the benches and everything was just as it should be until an hour or two after dark. Then there was a howl outside, a strange sound – not a dog and there were no wolves on this island. Colm leapt from the bench and pulled on his trousers. He grabbed up his scramasax and crouched by the doorway. Then he heard other sounds: a jangle of iron bands on a ring, the thick boom of a homemade drum, howls and shouts. He looked back at the bench where Gwyneth, laughing, was pulling on her skirts.
They walked outside to find nine slaves, men and women, cheering and yelling at them. Gwyneth ran forward to embrace the women, who were all her friends, and Colm walked over to the men, once his fellow slaves but now creatures of a lower order. He slapped hands and greeted the other young men and he saw the envy and the admiration in their eyes, envy and admiration for him, Colm, the slave who won a farm, a woman, and his freedom. Colm decided to ignore the envy and gently mock the admiration, which diminished the one as it increased the other. But he was a little ashamed that he could not offer hospitality; he had neither beer nor food to offer. Then the slave women unwrapped their parcels and there was cheese and meat and even some beer, enough for everyone to have a taste. No doubt these were victuals purloined from Aud’s funeral feast, but that is the slave’s rightful portion and not to be denied. After some time spent feasting and laughing and talking of things no one would remember later, the slaves left and Colm and Gwyneth tumbled onto the bench again.
The Saga of Colm the Slave Page 4