(51)
“What gain is to get if he threatens,
White goddess in raiment of beauty,
The scorn that the Skidings may bear me?
I'll set them a weft for their weaving!
I'll rhyme you the roystering caitiffs
Till rocks go afloat on the water;
And lucky for them if they loosen
The line of their fate that I ravel!”
Thereupon they parted with no blitheness, and Cormac went to his ship.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Cormac's Voyage To Norway.
The two brothers had but left the roadstead, when close beside their
ship, uprose a walrus. Cormac hurled at it a pole-staff, which struck
the beast, so that it sank again: but the men aboard thought that they
knew its eyes for the eyes of Thorveig the witch. That walrus came up
no more, but of Thorveig it was heard that she lay sick to death; and
indeed folk say that this was the end of her.
Then they sailed out to sea, and at last came to Norway, where at that
time Hakon, the foster-son of Athelstan, was king. He made them welcome,
and so they stayed there the winter long with all honour.
Next summer they set out to the wars, and did many great deeds. Along
with them went a man called Siegfried, a German of good birth; and they
made raids both far and wide. One day as they were gone up the country
eleven men together came against the two brothers, and set upon them;
but this business ended in their overcoming the whole eleven, and so
after a while back to their ship. The vikings had given them up for
lost, and fain were their folk when they came back with victory and
wealth.
In this voyage the brothers got great renown: and late in the summer,
when winter was coming on, they made up their minds to steer for Norway.
They met with cold winds; the sail was behung with icicles, but the
brothers were always to the fore. It was on his voyage that Cormac made
the song:--
(52)
“O shake me yon rime from the awning;
Your singer's a-cold in his berth;
For the hills are all hooded, dear Skardi,
In the hoary white veil of the firth.
There's one they call Wielder of Thunder
I would were as chill and as cold;
But he leaves not the side of his lady
As the lindworm forsakes not its gold.”
“Always talking of her now!” said Thorgils; “and yet thou wouldst not
have her when thou couldst.”
“That was more the fault of witchcraft,” answered Cormac, “that any want
of faith in me.”
Not long after they were sailing hard among crags, and shortened sail in
great danger.
“It is a pity Thorvald Tinker is not with us here!” said Cormac.
Said Thorgils with a smile, “Most likely he is better off than we,
to-day!”
But before long they came to land in Norway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN. How Cormac Fought In Ireland, And Went Home To
Iceland; And How He Met Steingerd Again.
While they were abroad there had been a change of kings; Hakon was dead,
and Harald Greyfell reigned in his stead. They offered friendship to the
king, and he took their suit kindly; so they went with him to Ireland,
and fought battles there.
Once upon a time when they had gone ashore with the king, a great host
came against him, and as the armies met, Cormac made this song:--
(53)
“I dread not a death from the foemen,
Though we dash at them, buckler to buckler,
While our prince in the power of his warriors
Is proud of me foremost in battle.
But the glimpse of a glory comes o'er me
Like the gleam of the moon on the skerry,
And I faint and I fail for my longing,
For the fair one at home in the North.”
“Ye never get into danger,” said Thorgils, “but ye think of Steingerd!”
“Nay,” answered Cormac, “but it's not often I forget her.”
Well: this was a great battle, and king Harald won a glorious victory.
While his men drove the rout before him, the brothers were shoulder to
shoulder; and they fell upon nine men at once and fought them. And while
they were at it, Cormac sang:--
(54)
“Fight on, arrow-driver, undaunted,
And down with the foemen of Harald!
What are nine? they are nought! Thou and I, lad,
Are enough;--they are ours!--we have won them!
But--at home,--in the arms of an outlaw
That all the gods loathe for a monster,
So white and so winsome she nestles
--Yet once she was loving to me!”
“It always comes down to that!” said Thorgils. When the fight was over,
the brothers had got the victory, and the nine men had fallen before
them; for which they won great praise from the king, and many honours
beside.
But while they were ever with the king in his warfarings, Thorgils was
aware that Cormac was used to sleep but little; and he asked why this
might be. This was the song Cormac made in answer:--
(55)
“Surf on a rock-bound shore of the sea-king's blue domain--
Look how it lashes the crags, hark how it thunders again!
But all the din of the isles that the Delver heaves in foam
In the draught of the undertow glides out to the sea-gods'
home.
Now, which of us two should test? Is it thou, with thy
heart at ease,
Or I that am surf on the shore in the tumult of angry seas?
--Drawn, if I sleep, to her that shines with the ocean-
gleam,
--Dashed, when I wake, to woe, for the want of my
glittering dream.”
“And now let me tell you this, brother,” he went on. “Hereby I give out
that I am going back to Iceland.”
Said Thorgils, “There is many a snare set for thy feet, brother, to drag
thee down, I know not whither.”
But when the king heard of his longing to begone, he sent for Cormac,
and said that he did unwisely, and would hinder him from his journey.
But all this availed nothing, and aboard ship he went.
At the outset they met with foul winds, so that they shipped great seas,
and the yard broke. Then Cormac sang:--
(56)
“I take it not ill, like the Tinker
If a trickster had foundered his muck-sled;
For he loves not rough travelling, the losel,
And loath would he be of this uproar.
I flinch not,--nay, hear it, ye fearless
Who flee not when arrows are raining,--
Though the steeds of the ocean be storm-bound
And stayed in the harbour of Solund.”
So they pushed out to sea, and hard weather they tholed. Once on a time
when the waves broke over the deck and drenched them all, Cormac made
this song:--
(57)
“O the Tinker's a lout and a lubber,
And the life of a sailor he dares not,
When the snow-crested surges caress us
And sweep us away with their kisses,
He bides in a berth that is warmer,
Embraced in the arms of his lady;
And lightly she lulls him to slumber,
--But long she has reft me of rest!”
They had a very rough voyage, but landed at last in Midfiord, and
anchored off shore. Looking landward they beheld where a lady was riding
by; and Cormac knew at once that it was Steingerd. He bade his men
launch a boat, and rowed ashore. He went quickly from the boat, and got
a horse, and rode to meet her. When they met, he leapt from horseback
and helped her to alight, making a seat for her beside him on the
ground.
Their horses wandered away: the day passed on, and it began to grow
dark. At last Steingerd said, “It is time to look for our horses.”
Little search would be needed, said Cormac; but when he looked about,
they were nowhere in sight. As it happened, they were hidden in a gill
not far from where the two were sitting.
So, as night was hard at hand, they set out to walk, and came to a
little farm, where they were taken in and treated well, even as they
needed. That night they slept each on either side of the carven wainscot
that parted bed from bed: and Cormac made this song:--
(58)
“We rest, O my beauty, my brightest,
But a barrier lies ever between us.
So fierce are the fates and so mighty
--I feel it--that rule to their rede.
Ah, nearer I would be, and nigher,
Till nought should be left to dispart us,
--The wielder of Skofnung the wonder,
And the wearer of sheen from the deep.”
“It was better thus,” said Steingerd: but he sang:--
(59)
“We have slept 'neath one roof-tree--slept softly,
O sweet one, O queen of the mead-horn,
O glory of sea-dazzle gleaming,
These grim hours,--these five nights, I count them.
And here in the kettle-prow cabined
While the crow's day drags on in the darkness,
How loathly me seems to be lying,
How lonely,--so near and so far!”
“That,” said she, “is all over and done with; name it no more.” But he
sang:--
(60)
“The hot stone shall float,--ay, the hearth-stone
Like a husk of the corn on the water,
--Ah, woe for the wight that she loves not!--
And the world,--ah, she loathes me!--shall perish,
And the fells that are famed for their hugeness
Shall fail and be drowned in the ocean,
Or ever so gracious a goddess
Shall grow into beauty like Steingerd.”
Then Steingerd cried out that she would not have him make songs upon
her: but he went on:--
(61)
“I have known it and noted it clearly,
O neckleted fair one, in visions,
--Is it doom for my hopes,--is it daring
To dream?--O so oft have I seen it!--
Even this,--that the boughs of thy beauty,
O braceleted fair one, shall twine them
Round the hill where the hawk loves to settle,
The hand of thy lover, at last.”
“That,” said she, “never shall be, if I can help it. Thou didst let me
go, once for all; and there is no more hope for thee.”
So then they slept the night long; and in the morning, when Cormac was
making ready to be gone, he found Steingerd, and took the ring off his
finger to give her.
“Fiend take thee and thy gold together!” she cried. And this is what he
answered:--
(62)
“To a dame in her broideries dainty
This drift of the furnace I tendered;
O day of ill luck, for a lover
So lured, and so heartlessly cheated!
Too blithe in the pride of her beauty--
The bliss that I crave she denies me;
So rich that no boon can I render,
--And my ring she would hurl to the fiends!”
So Cormac rode forth, being somewhat angry with Steingerd, but still
more so with the Tinker. He rode home to Mel, and stayed there all the
winter, taking lodgings for his chapmen near the ship.
CHAPTER TWENTY. Of A Spiteful Song That Cormac Never Made; And How Angry
Steingerd Was.
Now Thorvald the Tinker lived in the north-country at Svinadal
(Swindale), but his brother Thorvard at Fliot. In the winter Cormac took
his way northward to see Steingerd; and coming to Svinadal he dismounted
and went into the chamber. She was sitting on the dais, and he took his
seat beside her; Thorvald sat on the bench, and Narfi by him.
Then said Narfi to Thorvald, “How canst thou sit down, with Cormac here?
It is no time, this, for sitting still!”
But Thorvald answered, “I am content; there is no harm done it seems to
me, though they do talk together.”
“That is ill,” said Narfi.
Not long afterwards Thorvald met his brother Thorvard and told him about
Cormac's coming to his house.
“Is it right, think you,” said Thorvard, “to sit still while such things
happen?”
He answered that there was no harm done as yet, but that Cormac's coming
pleased him not.
“I'll mend that,” cried Thorvard, “if you dare not. The shame of it
touches us all.”
So this was the next thing,--that Thorvard came to Svinadal, and the
Skiding brothers and Narfi paid a gangrel beggar-man to sing a song in
the hearing of Steingerd, and to say that Cormac had made it,--which was
a lie. They said that Cormac had taught this song to one called Eylaug,
a kinswoman of his; and these were the words:--
(63)
“I wish an old witch that I know of,
So wealthy and proud of her havings,
Were turned to a steed in the stable
--Called Steingerd--and I were the rider!
I'd bit her, and bridle, and saddle,
I'd back her and drive her and tame her;
So many she owns for her masters,
But mine she will never become!”
Then Steingerd grew exceedingly angry, so that she would not so much as
hear Cormac named. When he heard that, he went to see her. Long time
he tried in vain to get speech with her; but at last she gave this
answer,--that she misliked his holding her up to shame,--“And now it is
all over the country-side!”
Cormac said it was not true; but she answered, “Thou mightest flatly
deny it, if I had not heard it.”
“Who sang it in thy hearing?” asked he.
She told him who sang it,--“And thou needest not hope for speech with me
if this prove true.”
He rode away to look for the rascal, and when he found him the truth
was forced out at last. Cormac was very angry, and set on Narfi and slew
him. That same onset was meant for Thorvald, but he hid himself in the
shadow and skulked, until men came between then and parted them. Said
Cormac:--
(64)
“There, hide in the house like a coward,
And hope not hereafter to scare me
With the scorn of thy brethren the Skidings,--
I'll set them a weft for their weaving!
I'll rhyme on the swaggering rascals
Till rocks go afloat on the water;
And lucky for you if ye loosen
The line of your fate that I ravel!”
This went all over the country-side and the feud grew fiercer between
them. The brothers Thorvald and Thorvard used big words, and Cormac was
wroth when he heard them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. How Thorvard Would Not Fight, But Tried To Get The
Law Of Cormac.
After this Thorvard sent word from Fliot that he was fain to fight
Cormac, and he fixed time and place, saying that he would now take
revenge for that song of shame and all other slights.
To this Cormac agreed; and when the day came he went to the spot that
was named, but Thorvard was not there, nor any of his men. Cormac met a
woman from the farm hard by, who greeted him, and they asked each other
for news.
“What is your errand?” said she; “and why are you waiting here?”