(65)
“Too slow for the struggle I find him,
That spender of fire from the ocean,
Who flung me a challenge to fight him
From Fleet in the land of the North.
That half-witted hero should get him
A heart made of clay for his carcase,
Though the mate of the may with the necklace
Is more of a fool than his fere!”
“Now,” said Cormac, “I bid Thorvard anew to the holmgang, if he can
be called in his right mind. Let him be every man's nithing if he come
not!” and then he made this song:--
(66)
“The nithing shall silence me never,
Though now for their shame they attack me,
But the wit of the Skald is my weapon,
And the wine of the gods will uphold me.
And this they shall feel in its fulness;
Here my fame has its birth and beginning;
And the stout spears of battle shall see it,
If I 'scape from their hands with my life.”
Then the brothers set on foot a law-suit against him for libel. Cormac's
kinsmen backed him up to answer it, and he would let no terms be made,
saying that they deserved the shame put upon them, and no honour; he was
not unready to meet them, unless they played him false. Thorvard had
not come to the holmgang when he had been challenged, and therefore the
shame had fallen of itself upon him and his, and they must put up with
it.
So time passed until the Huna-water Thing. Thorvard and Cormac both went
to the meeting, and once they came together.
“Much enmity we owe thee,” said Thorvard, “and in many ways. Now
therefore I challenge thee to the holmgang, here at the Thing.”
Said Cormac, “Wilt thou be fitter than before? Thou hast drawn back time
after time.”
“Nevertheless,” said Thorvard, “I will risk it. We can abide thy spite
no longer.”
“Well,” said Cormac, “I'll not stand in the way;” and went home to Mel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. What The Witch Did For Them In Their Fights.
At Spakonufell (Spae-wife's-fell) lived Thordis the spae-wife, of whom
we have told before, with her husband Thorolf. They were both at the
Thing, and many a man thought her good-will was of much avail. So
Thorvard sought her out, to ask her help against Cormac, and gave her a
fee; and she made him ready for the holmgang according to her craft.
Now Cormac told his mother what was forward, and she asked if he thought
good would come of it.
“Why not?” said he.
“That will not be enough for thee,” said Dalla. “Thorvard will never
make bold to fight without witchcraft to help him. I think it wise for
thee to see Thordis the spae-wife, for there is going to be foul play in
this affair.”
“It is little to my mind,” said he; and yet went to see Thordis, and
asked her help.
“Too late ye have come,” said she. “No weapon will bite on him now. And
yet I would not refuse thee. Bide here to-night, and seek thy good luck.
Anyway, I can manage so that iron bite thee no more than him.”
So Cormac stayed there for the night; and, awaking, found that some one
was groping round the coverlet at his head. “Who is there?” he asked,
but whoever it was made off, and out at the house-door, and Cormac
after. And then he saw it was Thordis, and she was going to the place
where the fight was to be, carrying a goose under her arm.
He asked what it all meant, and she set down the goose, saying, “Why
couldn't ye keep quiet?”
So he lay down again, but held himself awake, for he wanted to know what
she would be doing. Three times she came, and every time he tried to
find out what she was after. The third time, just as he came out, she
had killed two geese and let the blood run into a bowl, and she had
taken up the third goose to kill it.
“What means this business, foster-mother?” said he.
“True it will prove, Cormac, that you are a hard one to help,” said she.
“I was going to break the spell Thorveig laid on thee and Steingerd. Ye
could have loved one another been happy if I had killed the third goose
and no one seen it.”
“I believe nought of such things,” cried he; and this song he made about
it:--
(67)
“I gave her an ore at the ayre,
That the arts of my foe should not prosper;
And twice she has taken the knife,
And twice she has offered the offering;
But the blood is the blood of a goose--
What boots it if two should be slaughtered?--
Never sacrifice geese for a Skald
Who sings for the glory of Odin!”
So they went to the holmgang: but Thorvald gave the spae-wife a still
greater fee, and offered the sacrifice of geese; and Cormac said:--
(68)
“Trust never another man's mistress!
For I know, on this woman who weareth
The fire of the field of the sea-king
The fiends have been riding to revel.
The witch with her hoarse cry is working
For woe when we go to the holmgang,
And if bale be the end of the battle
The blame, be assured, will be hers.”
“Well,” she said, “I can manage so that none shall know thee.” Then
Cormac began to upbraid her, saying she did nought but ill, and wanting
to drag her out to the door to look at her eyes in the sunshine. His
brother Thorgils made him leave that:--“What good will it do thee?” said
he.
Now Steingerd gave out that she had a mind to see the fight; and so she
did. When Cormac saw her he made this song:--
(69)
“I have fared to the field of the battle,
O fair one that wearest the wimple!
And twice for thy sake have I striven;
What stays me as now from thy favour?
This twice have I gotten thee glory,
O goddess of ocean! and surely
To my dainty delight, to my darling
I am dearer by far than her mate.”
So then they set to. Cormac's sword bit not at all, and for a long while
they smote strokes one upon the other, but neither sword bit. At last
Cormac smote upon Thorvard's side so great a blow that his ribs gave
way and were broken; he could fight no more, and thereupon they parted.
Cormac looked and saw where a bull was standing, which he slew for a
sacrifice; and being heated, he doffed his helmet from his head, saying
this song:--
(70)
“I have fared to the field of the battle,
O fair one that wearest the bracelet!
Even three times for thee have I striven,
And this thou canst never deny me.
But the reed of the fight would not redden,
Though it rang on the shield-bearer's harness;
For the spells of a spae-wife had blunted
My sword that was eager for blood.”
He wiped the sweat from him on the corner of Steingerd's mantle; and
said:--
(71)
“So oft, being wounded and weary,
I must wipe my sad brow on thy mantle.
What pangs for thy sake are my portion,
O pine-tree with red gold enwreathed!
Yet beside thee he snugs on the settle
As thou seamest thy broidery,--that rhymester!
And the shame of it whelms me in sorrow,
O Steingerd!--that rascal unslain!”
And then Cormac prayed Steingerd that she would go with him: but Nay,
she said; she would have her own way about men. So they parted, and both
were ill pleased.
Thorvard was taken home, and she bound his wounds. Cormac was now always
meeting with Steingerd. Thorvard healed but slowly; and when he could
get on his feet he went to see Thordis, and asked her what was best to
help his healing.
“A hill there is,” answered she, “not far away from here, where elves
have their haunt. Now get you the bull that Cormac killed, and redden
the outer side of the hill with its blood, and make a feast for the
elves with its flesh. Then thou wilt be healed.”
So they sent word to Cormac that they would buy the bull. He answered
that he would sell it, but then he must have the ring that was
Steingerd's. So they brought the ring, took the bull, and did with it as
Thordis bade them do. On which Cormac made a song:--
(72)
“When the workers of wounds are returning,
And with them the sacrifice reddened,
Then a lady in raiment of linen,
Who loved me, time was,--she will ask:--
My ring,--have ye robbed me?--where is it?
--I have wrought them no little displeasure:
For the swain that is swarthy has won it,
The son of old Ogmund, the skald.”
It fell out as he guessed. Steingerd was very angry because they had
sold her ring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. How Cormac Beat Thorvard Again.
After that, Thorvard was soon healed, and when he thought he was strong
again, he rode to Mel and challenged Cormac to the holmgang.
“It takes thee long to tire of it,” said Cormac: “but I'll not say thee
nay.”
So they went to the fight, and Thordis met Thorvard now as before, but
Cormac sought no help from her. She blunted Cormac's sword, so that
it would not bite, but yet he struck so great a stroke on Thorvard's
shoulder that the collarbone was broken and his hand was good for
nothing. Being so maimed he could fight no longer, and had to pay
another ring for his ransom.
Then Thorolf of Spakonufell set upon Cormac and struck at him. He warded
off the blow and sang this song:--
(73)
“This reddener of shields, feebly wrathful,
His rusty old sword waved against me,
Who am singer and sacred to Odin!
Go, snuffle, most wretched of men, thou!
A thrust of thy sword is as thewless
As thou, silly stirrer of battle.
What danger to me from thy daring,
Thou doited old witch-woman's carle?”
Then he killed a bull in sacrifice according to use and wont, saying,
“Ill we brook your overbearing and the witchcraft of Thordis:” and he
made this song:--
(74)
“The witch in the wave of the offering
Has wasted the flame of the buckler,
Lest its bite on his back should be deadly
At the bringing together of weapons.
My sword was not sharp for the onset
When I sought the helm-wearer in battle;
But the cur got enough to cry craven,
With a clout that will mind him of me!”
After that each party went home, and neither was well pleased with these
doings.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. How They All Went Out To Norway.
Now all the winter long Cormac and Thorgils laid up their ship in
Hrutafiord; but in spring the chapmen were off to sea, and so the
brothers made up their minds for the voyage. When they were ready to
start, Cormac went to see Steingerd: and before they two parted he
kissed her twice, and his kisses were not at all hasty. The Tinker would
not have it; and so friends on both sides came in, and it was settled
that Cormac should pay for this that he had done.
“How much?” asked he.
“The two rings that I parted with,” said Thorvard. Then Cormac made a
song:--
(75)
“Here is gold of the other's well gleaming
In guerdon for this one and that one,--
Here is treasure of Fafnir the fire-drake
In fee for the kiss of my lady.
Never wearer of ring, never wielder
Of weapon has made such atonement;
Never dearer were deeply-drawn kisses,--
For the dream of my bliss is betrayed.”