I
Thorbeorn was old when this tale begins. His face was lean, his beard
was grey, he stooped somewhat in the saddle. But he had a fiery mind,
a high spirit, and was so rich, or believed so, that men said he could
buy off Death more likely than any other man, seeing he would neither
fail of hardihood nor money.
By this time, old age apart, he had done very well for himself, having
not only buried a wife, but married another; having not only seen three
sons out into the world and become a grandfather twice over; but having
had also, by his second wife, whose name was Hollweg, a daughter, and
an estate of Bathbrink which could be hers by and by, if he so pleased.
This daughter was by name Gudrid, and by all men's consent Gudrid the
Fair. Iceland has always been famous for handsome women; but three are
chiefly commemorated as "the Fair." The first is Gudrun, who was
daughter of Oswif; but she was now old. The second is Stangerd,
daughter of Thorkel of Tongue, and at this time the wife of
Battle-Berse of Sowerby in the north-west parts. This Gudrid,
Thorbeorn's daughter, is the third, and was, at the moment, of
marriageable age, being full fifteen years old.
She was a tall girl, well and beautifully made, with carriage so
graceful and look so courteous that men used to stop in the road and
gaze after her as she walked. Her hair was very nearly black, and made
a plait which she could easily sit upon. She was no talker, but had
the best of manners, whereby it happened that those who talked with her
were eloquent and believed that she had been so. She had a beautiful
voice and notable skill in singing. Men heard her songs, and rushed
out into the dark emulous of desperate work, and the sooner the better,
to deserve well of her. Thorbeorn was very proud of her; but it had
been her mother's work to have her carefully trained. If she had lived
this tale might not have been written; but she did not. She died a
year before it begins, and left her old husband to a peck of troubles.
Thorbeorn was the last man to cope with trouble. He was too proud, too
vain, and too idle--too proud to confide, too vain to accept, too idle
to repair. He had always kept a great table and had a hall full of
guests. He had them still, though he had not the money to pay for
them. He borrowed on his property, and borrowed again to repay the
first loans; he had ventures at sea, which failed him. He might have
had help from his sons, but would not ask them. When Gudrid was
fifteen years old these things vexed him sadly; but what vexed him more
was that young men came to Bathbrink to see if they could get speech
with her; and that some of them put forward friends with proposals to
marry her. So far he had refused to treat with any. "It is not to be
thought of," he generally said; sometimes, "It is very unsuitable"; and
once, "I am greatly offended." Not that he did not fully intend to
have her married--rather it was that he had a rooted belief in the
greatness of his family and in the girl's merits, and could find none
of the suitors at all equal to them.
He was one of those men who rather wish to believe in themselves than
do it. He was always on the look-out for flaws upon his mettle. He
thought that Gudrid was unapproachable, and when he found that she was
not, fretted to make her so. But Gudrid herself was not at all
unapproachable. She liked the company of her equals in age, and saw no
reason why young men should not be anxious to talk to her, or why, if
they hung about with the generality at the lower end of the hall, they
should not be invited to the fire. With the girls in the bower she
talked freely of courtships, and of young men. Thorbeorn would have
been cut to the heart to hear her. It might have been better for him
to have such a wound than the wound which actually he did receive.
He was riding home late one autumn evening. The weather was still mild
and warm. Nearing home, he turned his horse on to the turf and walked
him, with the reins hanging loose. Presently he was aware of two
figures together under a clump of trees. One of them he saw at once
for Gudrid. The other was a man, he knew not whom. Immediately hot
water sprang into his eyes and veiled their sight, but he saw enough to
guess more.
The pair were taking leave of each other. Their hands were clasped,
their arms at length. They were far apart, the man talking, Gudrid
listening. Then presently the strain on the arms relaxed, their
clasped hands fell; they were near together. Gudrid, he saw, hung her
head--and then, suddenly, the man put his other arm about her neck, and
drew her to him and kissed her cheek. At that she broke away and ran
towards the house. The man, looking after her for a little, then
vaulted the turf wall and ran down the hillside towards the river,
making great skips and jumps over the tussocks and boulders, as if he
were as happy as a man could be. That was what Thorbeorn saw in the
autumn dusk.
He went home in a dreadful state of mind, and could hardly bear to be
served supper by his desecrated daughter. To think that those soft
cheeks had been profaned by a strange youth, that those grave young
eyes had looked kindly upon another than himself, that that fair hand
had clasped another's in kindness--all this seemed to him horrible. He
thought her a hypocrite; he thought himself insulted. Yet even he had
to admit that the kiss was sudden, and she evidently surprised and
(since she ran away at once) probably frightened. He judged that she
was a novice at such work, but for all that was very much afraid that
she took kindly to it.
He spent a great part of the night thinking it over, and before he went
to sleep had made up his mind. Early in the morning he was out and
about; before the day-meal he sent for Gudrid. She came, singing to
herself, fresh as a rose and as fair. She asked his pleasure--and he
had not the heart to tell her his displeasure. What he did say was
this: "Put your gear together as soon as you can. I am taking you to
Erne Pillar, where you will be put in fostership with Orme." Gudrid
looked up startled, and saw in her father's eyes what she had not seen
before. Her own eyes fell, she coloured up, turned and went away, to
do as she was told.
It may be said at once that she had done very little harm, and none
knowingly. The young man, who was one of the several who came to the
house, was the son of a neighbour, a man of repute. Gudrid favoured
him no more than any of the others, but it had so happened that he had
been there that afternoon, talking with the girls, and that Gudrid had
walked with him as far as the trees on his way home. He had protracted
the farewells, and had snatched a kiss; she had been frightened and run
away. That might have happened to anybody--but she knew now that
Arnkel had had no business at the house when her father was not there.
That could not be denied. She went soberly about her preparations, and
the girls were full of pity. They talked it over and over, but there
was nothing to be done. Her bundles and bales were corded upon the
sumpter's back. She embraced and kissed her housemates. There were
wet cheeks and trembling lips involved, but they were not hers. Then
she was put up before her father, and away she went.
As for young Arnkel, he no more comes into the tale than he had stayed
in Gudrid's mind.