The Saga of Colm the Slave

by Mike Culpepper

  Gwyneth became great friends with Ingveld, Magnus’ widow. Ingveld did not remarry after Magnus’ death. She had six children with him but only two survived past their eighth year. Halldor was murdered and Eystein was abroad, raiding. There was no word from him for years now and people wondered if he was dead. Although Ingveld had seen a great many deaths in her lifetime, she never became bitter or angry. Other women knew that they could count on her for help or a kind word at any time and everyone was glad for her when she became close to her chief farmhand, Mar. There was no question of them ever marrying, for Mar had no property or money except what he earned farming.

  One day, Gwyneth walked over to Ingveld’s farm. She followed her usual path that took her through a thicket of dwarf birch trees. Although the trees were very old, none grew taller than mid-thigh on Gwyneth. So, in Iceland, when someone asks, “What do you do if you are lost in the forest?”, the answer is: “Stand up and look around!”

  As Gwyneth picked her way through the birch trees, she noticed something on the ground a few yards away. She walked closer and saw that it was a newborn baby lying on a scrap of cloth. In those days, before Iceland became Christian, it was common for unwanted infants to be left exposed in an out of the way place until they died and were eaten by foxes.

  The baby did not cry. It stared up at Gwyneth with wide blue eyes and moved a little, so that she saw it was alive. Gwyneth did not pause to think but scooped up the baby and the cloth it lay upon and continued walking to Ingveld’s place.

  “Now what have you brought me?” asked Ingveld.

  “A gift that may or may not be welcome,” said Gwyneth and showed her the baby.

  “Well, that is a gift indeed, but are you certain you don’t wish to keep it?”

  “No. I think I am cursed and not meant to have any more children. Anyway, I have one at home and you have none.”

  “A fine strong girl it is,” said Ingveld. “Well, I’m sure you’ll help in her raising.”

  “Yes,” said Gwyneth. “Are any of your slaves nursing? Is there one who could feed another child?”

  “I think there is a slave named Groa at Thorgils’ farm who has lost her child,” said Ingveld, “I’ll send over there and see if I can borrow her for a while.”

  Gwyneth understood from this that Groa was probably the child’s mother and that its father was probably Thorgils or a man in his household or another slave. So they sent for Groa and fed the baby honey-water until she arrived and clasped it to her flowing breasts. Gwyneth and Ingveld watched her nurse the baby for a time then Ingveld said, “Well, I have this baby now and it will be my daughter but I am getting on and will require some help with it. I wonder if I might buy a slave that could serve as wet nurse?” Speechless, Groa raised her face and nodded slowly. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Of course,” said Ingveld, “Gwyneth has some maternal duties to fulfill as well since she is the one who decided this babe should live and not die.”

  Gwyneth said, “I will do my part always.” And Groa looked at her, still nodding. “I think my first chore should be to name this child. I think Thurid is a good name.”

  “Ah,” said Ingveld, “What do you think, Groa?”

  Groa said, “I think Thurid is a wonderful name.” And then she burst into sobs. Her tears fell on the infant’s face.

  “Well, every child should be sprinkled with water at its naming,” said Gwyneth. She and Ingveld began joking until Groa stopped crying, then they said how beautiful the baby was and strong and had all its fingers and toes and so forth until Groa smiled.

  Mar came in from the fields and Ingveld held up Thurid. “See what I have got.”

  “Funny,” said Mar. “You’d think I would have noticed you were getting ready to have a child.”

  “Notice or not, Thurid is my daughter now.”

  Mar looked at the resolute faces of the three women and laughed. “There’s no one who will say otherwise so far as I am concerned.”

  So Thurid came into Ingveld’s household. People called her Thurid Three-Mothers or Thurid Norns-Daughter, after the three Norns who weave the cloth of Fate. Ingveld bought Groa from Thorgils. She did not haggle over the price but looked at him with such disapproval that Thorgils didn’t ask very much. Even then, people were not proud of the practice of exposing babies and it was seldom discussed, but it continued to happen because that was the way things had been done for as long as anyone could remember.

  Gwyneth spent a lot of her time at Ingveld’s farm now and became easier and more pleasant than before. But neither Colm nor Geirrid saw her smiles increase for Gwyneth had become set in the manner she treated them. She did not recognize that she had become cooler and more distant toward her son and her husband. If anyone had asked, Gwyneth would have said that she loved them dearly and be surprised at the question. And in fact, she did love them, she loved them both very much.

  10.Egil Bloodhead And His Wife, Gunnora

  Sometimes Gwyneth considered the plight of women. They were weak and at the mercy of men, she thought, and became angry. Other times, she thought women very powerful, able to lead a man around by his parts, and then she felt contempt toward men.

  Egil Bloodhead was married to a woman called Gunnora. Sometimes Gwyneth would be chatting with Gunnora or they would be in a group of other women and Gunnora would speak of Egil with disdain. Gwyneth was always surprised to hear Gunnora sneer at her husband. Egil had a great red birthmark across his face that turned bright with blood when he became excited. Gunnora said it made him ugly. Another woman asked if the birthmark lit up when Egil made love. Gunnora said, “I don’t know. I shut my eyes when he comes close.” Then she laughed and the other women joined in.

  It bothered Gwyneth to hear a woman demean her husband. It was unfitting and didn’t help the woman’s own status. Still, she laughed, too.

  Egil’s cousin, Thorgils, lived near him. The two men sometimes worked their fields together and cooperated as good friends do. Thorgils was a widower. His son, Ljot, was a good friend of Egil’s son, Styr, and he often stayed at Egil’s farm. Sometimes Gunnora would travel to Thorgils’ farm to direct the slave women in their tasks.

  One spring, Gunnora was tugging winter wool from Thorgils’ sheep when Thorgils came into the shed behind her. Gunnora had taken off her apron to work and wore only her shirt and shift and a couple of skirts. She was bent over the sheep and Thorgils could make out the form of her body under her clothes. Gunnora felt his eyes upon her and straightened up. She threw her head back and thrust out her breasts. Thorgils was transfixed and could not move. Gunnora came over to him and made a remark about the sheep. She stood next to Thorgils and brushed one breast across his arm. Thorgils felt the hard nipple stroke his skin like a finger and he looked down into Gunnora’s face. She looked back up at him and smiled. Thorgils threw Gunnora down on the straw and raised her skirts. Gunnora wrapped her arms around him.

  The slave women knew what had happened, of course, and talked among themselves so that knowledge of the affair spread within the community. Meanwhile, Gunnora kept visiting Thorgils and, once or twice, he went to her farm. It was warm now and the lovers could meet outdoors. Now everyone knew about them and, soon enough, Egil caught a hint of the affair from a neighbor.

  Egil was uncertain if anything was really going on or not. He tossed and turned that night until Gunnora swore at him to be still. Then he lay still as a rock in the bed chamber with a cold pain eating into his guts.

  Egil decided not to confront Gunnora. The next time she left the house, he followed her at a distance. Gunnora and Thorgils had a favorite place where they met, a grassy hollow among the rocks. They had stored some fleeces there that they spread on the ground. So Egil came upon them, embracing there in the place they had made. He shouted in horror to see his fears were true.

  Thorgils sprang to his feet and began stammering. The two cousins faced each other, neither able to speak. Gunnora lay back on the fleece, watching the two men choke and mumble, then sh
e pulled her shift over her naked breasts, got dressed, and walked away.

  Gunnora was sitting on her woman’s platform, spinning, when Egil returned. He walked up to her. “Well?” he said.

  Gunnora shrugged. “Well, what?” She went on spinning.

  “You were lying with Thorgils!”

  “Yes. So what?”

  Egil’s birthmark blazed like a fire. “You filthy whore! Get out of my house!”

  “Well,” said Gunnora, “As to that, this is my house. Our marriage agreement said that, should we dissolve our marriage, I would remain here, with our children.”

  Egil’s head rocked as though he had taken a blow. Like most couples, he and Gunnora had a marriage agreement that spelled out what property each brought to the marriage and could take back after divorce. Egil and Gunnora’s terms were that, if there were children, then Gunnora would keep the house and half the farm’s output until she remarried and moved to her new husband’s place. The property itself would still be owned by Egil and it was intended that any children of the union would live there and inherit. They had only the one child, Styr, who was almost five now. Egil thought what it would mean for him to have to work the farm and only keep half the income. Gunnora watched him through lidded eyes, a half smile on her lips. Then she came down off the platform and put her arms around Egil.

  “Why worry over this little thing?” she said. “It is you that I love.” She stroked him and whispered to him and suggested they lie in the bed chamber.

  But Egil could only see her nakedness under his cousin’s body. He pushed Gunnora away.

  “All right then,” she spat, “Be a fool! Be a worm! You certainly aren’t a man!”

  Then Egil knew there was only one thing he could do. He walked out of the house and into a turf hut where tools were kept. He picked up an axe and walked away across the fields to Thorgils’ farm.

  Thorgils was in the main hall, sitting on a bench near the firepit. A spear lay beside him. He leapt up when Egil walked in. “Oh, no,” he groaned, when he saw the axe, “This cannot be!”

  “Yes,” said Egil, “This is the only way.”

  “I swear I will never touch Gunnora again!”

  Egil shook his head. “I could never trust you or her again. One of us may have her but not both. Anyway,” he said, “I believe you have already come to that way of thinking.” He gestured at the spear lying close to Thorgils’ hand.

  Thorgils shook his head but Egil rushed at him, axe held high over head. Thorgils grabbed the spear and raised it. Egil caught the spearpoint in his belly. It pierced deep inside because Egil rushed forward against it until he was close enough to bring the axe down on Thorgils’ skull, splashing the man’s brains against the wall. Then Egil fell back on the floor. It took him a little while to die. He stared at his cousin’s body the whole time. The house slaves were afraid to come into the hall so Egil died without anyone knowing his last thoughts.

  The women went to see Gunnora. “Your husband is dead.”

  Gunnora shrugged. “It won’t be the last time I’m married.”

  Gwyneth thought that was probably true. Gunnora was still young and had her looks. Until her son was old enough to run the farm, she had its income. And she had all of the money she and Egil had accumulated during their marriage. Probably, thought Gwyneth, she could use the same dowry all over again. Perhaps someone who needed a wife would take over Thorgils’ farm. Wouldn’t that be convenient, thought Gwyneth. She watched as Gunnora preened before the other women and felt bile gather in her throat.

  “At least,” said Gunnora, “Egil died with honor.” And some of the women agreed that this was a good thing. Gwyneth held her tongue.

  That night, in her bed chamber, Gwyneth rolled over and hugged Colm’s body to her. She held him so tightly that she hurt him. Colm was surprised. He put his arms around Gwyneth and embraced her as he wondered what fierce storm of feeling was rocking her. But he had given up any hope of ever understanding that.

  11.The Crossfield

  The Crossfield stood in the west of Iceland. Many of the first settlers were Christian, especially those from Ireland and Britain, and they raised crosses on a flat meadow near Thordarholt above the seacliffs. Some of the crosses were large and meant as monuments to the faith, others were small, placed there by supplicants who prayed for abundant harvests or good health or another child. But there were no priests in Iceland then, and no church organization. The next generation fell away from their parents’ faith into paganism. The Crossfield was abandoned. People said it was an unlucky place and avoided it now, even if that meant walking through the marshy lowland rather than the grassy meadow.

  The body of An Twist-Limb lay in the Crossfield for a long time before it was discovered. People counted back and no one could remember seeing An more recently than the Winter Sacrifice and now it was spring. The body was identified by some of the remnants of clothing that clung to it, and by a belt buckle in the shape of a dragon’s head that An always wore, and by its bent limbs. An had become more and more crippled over time. His arms had drawn in against his chest and his hands bent inward so that his fingers almost touched his wrists. An’s legs were affected, too, and he walked with a strange waddle, his knees almost touching and his legs bent.

  Geirrid, Colm’s son, discovered the body. He had been out with his friends, Orm, Ketil-Treefoot’s son, and Frosti Bragason. The boys had dared one another to walk through the Crossfield. Geirrid was half expecting to run into a ghost when he stumbled across An’s corpse. The gaping jaw and empty eye-sockets shocked Geirrid and he gave an involuntary shout. The other boys shouted back, ready to run. Geirrid took hold of himself; he had seen a dead body before. “Come see what I have found!”

  Orm and Frosti ran up and Geirrid grinned to see them recoil at the sight. “It’s only a dead man,” he said, acting cool and calm. “You needn’t act so frightened.”

  “I’ve seen dead men before,” snapped Frosti, “As has anyone who’s attended a funeral. But this one is quite a sight!”

  Orm said, “We should go tell someone so that the man may be properly buried and not walk around and hurt us.” The boys did not run away from the Crossfield but they did not tarry, either.

  Colm and some others examined the body. There were no signs of violence and most thought that An had gotten lost one night and died of exposure. Since few people ever went through the Crossfield, his body had escaped detection until now. But some others believed that An had been struck down by elves because he trespassed on forbidden land.

  They buried An’s body near Ketil-Treefoot’s farm. Right away the hauntings started. A slave reported seeing An walking about in the fields. He went closer and An sank into the earth. Then others claimed to have seen An walking about as well. Soon slaves and farmhands refused to work in certain places on Ketil’s farm.

  Ketil decided that he could not put up with this and dug up An’s body. Then he and some other men pitched the corpse into the sea.

  Not long after, some men who were out fishing reported that they had seen a strange seal, one with eyes like a human, that had followed their boat and watched them all the time they were on the water. A great storm blew in that night. The next day, Ketil-Treefoot and Orm Ketilsson were walking the shoreline, looking for driftwood, when they found An’s body that had washed up on the beach.

  “He is following me!” said Orm. His father turned very pale but said nothing.

  Men decided that this was a serious matter. They sewed up An’s corpse in a sealskin shroud and buried it in an out of the way place. Then they rolled a huge boulder on top so that he could not walk.

  A few days after An was re-buried, Geirrid came to his father. “I fear the walking dead.” He hung his head, ashamed to admit his fear, but he was shaking, so afraid of haunts that he abandoned dignity.

  Colm took his son by the shoulders and told him, “There will be no more walking dead. They are sealed in their graves.”

  Geirrid looked him di
rectly in the eye. “Do you swear it?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Swear by your charm, the one you wear about your neck.”

  Colm was puzzled. “You mean this?” He pulled the counterfeit silver penny from his shirt. He had punched a hole in it and hung it around his neck after he got back from raiding. “This is no sacred charm. It is a reminder that there are untrue things in this world.” He let Geirrid hold the coin as he explained false metal. He brought a real penny from his hoard and showed the boy how much thinner it was than the counterfeit, which was a lesser metal silvered with mercury. He showed Geirrid how to bend a coin between his fingers so that a crease formed that allowed examination of the metal inside. He brought out a set of scales and demonstrated how to weigh one coin against another.

  Geirrid took a great interest in everything Colm told him. He calmed down and asked intelligent questions. Colm was pleased to see this, for he was concerned about Geirrid – the boy often seemed uninterested or distracted and Colm was afraid that he had no grip. So father and son parted, both feeling better about the world than when they began talking. This lasted several days.

  Geirrid came to Colm again, eyes wide with fear. “He is walking! I have seen him!”

  Colm tried to quiet his son. “No, no! He is locked in his grave and can’t get out.”

  “No! Not An!”

  Then Colm thought he understood. He searched for words to comfort Geirrid about Gudbrand and his death. The boy had been a bully and unmannerly but Colm had to phrase that in a way that would not make Geirrid think that he could kill anyone he wished.