night, and their woodwork was rent and shattered; the house door was
violently shaken, and great pieces of it were torn away; the gables of
the house were also pulled furiously to and fro.
Now it fell out that one morning the only man who remained in the
service of the family went out early. Not another servant dared to
remain in the place, and this man remained because he had been with
Thorhall and with his father, and he could not make up his mind to
desert his master in his need. About an hour after he had gone out
Thorhall's wife took her milking cans and went to the cow-house that she
might milk the cows, as she had now not a maid in the house, and had to
do everything herself. On reaching the door of the cow-house she heard
a terrible sound from within, the bellowing of the cattle, and the deep
bell-notes of an unearthly voice. She was so frightened that she
dropped her pails and ran back to the house and called her husband.
Thorhall was in bed, but he rose instantly, caught up a weapon, and
hastened to the cow-house.
On opening the door he found all the cattle loose and goring each other.
Slung across the stone that separated their stalls was the old
serving-man, perfectly dead, with his back broken. He had, apparently,
been tossed by the cows, and had fallen on this stone backwards.
Neither Thorhall nor his wife explained his death in this way; they
thought that Glam must have been there, have driven the cattle wild, and
that just as he had broken the back of Thorgaut, so had he now broken
that of the poor old serving-man.
It was impossible for the bonder to remain longer in that place; he and
his wife therefore removed down to Tongue, which lies at the junction of
the two rivers, and there things were quiet. There he was hospitably
received by Jokull. Thorhall was able to persuade some of his runaway
servants to come back to him, but no man all that winter would go near
the moor where was the barrow of the shepherd Glam.
Not till the summer returned, and the sun had dispelled the darkness,
did Thorhall venture back to the Vale of Shadows. In the meanwhile his
daughter's health had given way under the repeated alarms of the winter;
she became paler every day; with the autumn flowers she faded, and was
laid in the churchyard before the first snowflakes fell. What was
Thorhall to do through the winter? He knew that it was not possible for
him to secure servants if he remained on his own farm; besides, he did
not know what loss might come to his stock. Then, he could not spend
the whole winter at Tongue, for that was another bonder's house, and
though the farmer there had kindly received him and entertained him for
three months the winter before, he could not ask him to give him
houseroom to himself, his cattle, and servants for a whole long winter.
So he was in the greatest possible perplexity what to do. Help came to
him from an unexpected quarter.
Grettir had heard the story of the hauntings, and he rode to Thorhall's
farm and asked if he might be accommodated there for the night. He said
that it was his great desire to encounter Glam.
Thorhall was surprised, but not exactly pleased, for he thought that the
family at Biarg would attribute the wrong to him were anything to happen
to Grettir.
Grettir put his horse into the stable, and retired for the night to one
of the beds in the hall and slept soundly.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*HOW GRETTIR FOUGHT WITH GLAM.*
_Grettir awaits Glam--The Sound of Feet--Glam breaks into the
Hall--A Strange Figure--Grettir seizes Glam--Grettir's Last
Chance--Glam's Curse--The End of Glam--Was it True?_
Next morning Grettir went with Thorhall to the stable for his horse.
The strong wooden door was shivered and driven in. They stepped across
it; Grettir called to his horse, but there was no responsive whinny.
Grettir dashed into the stall and found his horse dead; its neck was
broken.
"Now," said Thorhall, "I will give you a horse in exchange for that you
have lost. You had better ride home to Biarg at once."
"Not at all. My horse has been killed, and I must avenge it." So
Grettir remained.
Night set in. Grettir ate a hearty supper, and was right merry. But
not so Thorhall, who had his misgivings. At bed-time the latter crept
into a locked bedstead beside the hall; but Grettir said he would not go
into a bed, he would lie by the fire in the hall. So he wrapped himself
up in a long fur cloak and flung himself on a bench, with his feet
against the posts of the high seat. The fur cloak was over his head,
and he kept an opening through which he could look out.
There was a fire burning on the hearth, a smouldering heap of glowing
embers, and by the red light Grettir looked up at the rafters of the
blackened roof. The smoke escaped by a _louvre_ in the middle. The wind
whistled mournfully. The windows high up were covered with parchment,
and admitted now and then a sickly yellow glare from the full moon,
which, however, shone in through the smoke hole, silvering the rising
smoke. A dog began to bark, then bay at the moon. Then the cat, which
had been sitting demurely watching the fire, stood up with raised back
and bristling tail, and darted behind some chests. The hall-door was in
a sad plight. It had been so torn by Glam that it had to be patched up
with wattles. Soothingly the river prattled over its shingly bed as it
swept round the knoll on which stood the farm. Grettir heard the
breathing of the sleeping women in the adjoining chamber, and the sigh
of the housewife as she turned in her bed.
Then suddenly he heard something that shook all the sleep out of him,
had any been stealing over his eyes. He heard a heavy tread, beneath
which the snow crackled. Every footfall went straight to Grettir's
heart. A crash on the turf overhead. The strange visitant had scrambled
on the roof, and was walking over that. The roofs of the houses in
Iceland are of turf. For a moment the chimney gap was completely
darkened--the monster was looking down it--the flash of the red fire
illumined the horrible face with its lack-lustre eyes. Then the moon
shone in again, and the heavy tramp of Glam was heard as he walked to
the other end of the hall. A thud--he had leaped down.
Then Grettir heard his steps passing to the back of the house, then the
snapping of wood showed that Glam was destroying some of the outhouse
doors. Presently the tread was heard again approaching the house, and
this time the main entrance. Grettir thought he could distinguish a
pair of great hands thrust in over the broken door. In another moment
he heard a loud snap--a long plank had been torn out of place, and the
light of the moon shone in where the gap had been made. Then Glam began
to unrip the wattles.
There was a cross-beam to the door, acting as bolt. Against the gray
light Grettir saw a huge black arm thrust in trying to remove the bar.
It was done, and then all the broken door was driven in and went down on
the floor in shivers. Now Grettir could see a tall dark figure, almost
naked, with wild locks of hair about the head standing in the doorway.
That was but for a minute, and then Glam came in stealthily; he entered
the hall and was illumined by the firelight. The figure Grettir now saw
was unlike anything he had seen before. A few rags hung from the
shoulders and waist, the long wolf-gray hair was matted. The eyes were
staring and strange. Grettir could hear Thorhall within his locked bed
trembling and breathing fast.
Presently Glam's eyes rested on the shaggy bundle by the high seat. He
stepped towards it, and Grettir felt him groping about him. Then Glam
laid hold of one end of the fur cloak and began to pull at it. The cloak
did not come away. Another jerk. Grettir kept his feet firmly pressed
against the posts, so that the fur was not pulled away. Glam seemed
puzzled; he went to the other end of the bundle and began to pull at
that. Grettir held to the bench, so that he was not moved himself, but
the fur cloak was torn in half, and the strange visitant staggered back
holding the portion in his hand wonderingly before his eyes. Before he
could recover from his surprise, Grettir started to his feet, bent his
body, flung his arms round Glam, and driving his head into the breast of
the visitor, tried to bend him backward and so snap his spine. This was
in vain, the cold hands grasped Grettir's arms and tore them from their
hold. Grettir clasped them again about his body, and then Glam threw his
also round Grettir, and they began to wrestle. Grettir saw that Glam
was trying to drag him to the door, and he was sure that if he were got
outside he would be at a disadvantage, and Glam would break his back.
He therefore made a desperate effort not to be drawn forth. He clung to
benches and posts, but the posts gave way, and the benches were torn
from their places.
At each moment he was being dragged nearer to the door. Sharply
twisting himself loose, Grettir flung his arms round a beam of the roof,
for the hall was low. He was dragged off his feet at once. Glam
clenched him about the waist, and tore at him to get him loose. Every
tendon in Grettir's breast was strained; still he held on. The nails of
Glam cut into his side like knives, then his hands gave way. He could
endure the strain no longer, and Glam drew him towards the doorway, in
so doing trampling over the broken fragments of the door, and the
wattles that lay about. Grettir knew that the last chance was come for
saving himself. Here, in the hall, he could hold to posts and beams,
and so make some resistance; but outside he would have nothing to cling
to, and strong though he was, his strength did not equal that of his
opponent.
Now the door-posts were of stone, and the beam that had served as bolt
went across the door, slid into a hollow on one side cut in the
door-post, and was pulled across and fitted into another hollow in the
other post. As the wrestlers neared the opening, Grettir planted both
his feet against the stone posts, one against each, and put his arms
round Glam. He had the enemy now at an advantage; but then, he merely
held him, and could not hold him so for ever. He called to Thorhall,
but Thorhall was too greatly frightened to leave his place of refuge.
"Now," thought Grettir, "if I can but break his back!" Then drawing Glam
to him by the middle, he put his head beneath the chin of his opponent
and forced back the head. If he could only drive the head far enough
back he would break his neck.
At that moment one or both of the door-posts gave way; down crashed the
gable-trees, ripping beams and rafters from their places, frozen clods
of turf rattled from the roof and thumped into the snow.
Glam fell on his back outside the door, and Grettir on top of him. The
moon was, as I said before, at her full; large white clouds chased each
other across the sky. Grettir's strength was failing him, his hands
quivered in the snow, and he knew that he could not support himself from
dropping flat on the mysterious and dreadful visitant, eye to eye, lip
to lip.
Then Glam said: "You have done ill matching yourself with me; now know
that never shall you be stronger than you are to-day, and that, to your
dying day, whenever you are in the dark you will see my eyes staring at
you, so that for very horror you will not dare to be alone."
At this moment Grettir saw his short sword in the snow, it had slipped
from his belt as he fell. He put out his hand at once, clutched the
handle, and with a blow cut off Glam's head, and at once laid it beside
his thigh.
Thorhall came out at this juncture, his face blanched; but when he saw
how the fray had ended, he joyfully assisted Grettir to roll the dead
man to the top of a pile of faggots that had been collected for winter
fuel. Fire was applied, and soon far down the Waterdale the flames of
the pyre startled folks, and made them wonder what new horror was being
enacted in the Vale of Shadows.
Next day the charred bones were conveyed a long way--some hours'
ride--into the great desert in the interior, and in one of the most
lonely spots there a cairn or pile of stones was heaped over them. I
have seen this mound, which is still pointed out as that under which the
redoubted Glam lies.
And now we may well ask, what truth is there in the story? That there
is a basis of truth can hardly be denied. The facts have been
embellished, worked up, but not invented. The only probable explanation
of the story is this.
As already said, further up the valley, in a spot difficult to be
reached, stood the old fortress of some robbers, with many caves in the
sandstone about it very convenient for shelter. Now, it is not
improbable that some madman may have taken refuge in this safe retreat,
and may have come out at night in search of food, and carried off the
sheep of Thorhall. It may be that Glam caught him attempting to steal a
sheep, and fought with him, and was killed, and that in like manner
Thorgaut was killed. Then when people saw a great wild man wandering
about they thought it was Glam, whereas it was the man who had haunted
the region before Glam came there, and had killed Glam. This is the
simplest and easiest explanation of this wild and fearful tale.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*HOW GRETTIR SAILED TO NORWAY.*
_Olaf the Saint--Slowcoach with the Nimble Tongue--Slowcoach
insults Grettir--Ill Words--Death of Slowcoach--In Search of
Luck_
Early in the spring of the year 1015, news reached Iceland of a change
of rulers in Norway. Olaf Harald's son, commonly known as Olaf the
Saint, had come to be King of Norway; Earl Sweyn had been defeated in
battle and driven out of the country. Now Grettir was remotely
connected with the king, that is to say, his father's grandfather was
brother to the grandfather of Asta, Olaf's mother. The cousinship was
somewhat distant; but in those days folk held to their kin more than
they do now. Grettir thought that a good chance had opened to him for
doing well in Norway, so he resolved to leave Iceland, and enter the
service of his relative, the king. There was a ship bound for Norway
lying in Eyjafiord, and Grettir engaged a berth in her, and made ready
for the voyage.
Now his father Asmund was very old and feeble, and was well nigh
bedridden. He had given over the entire management of the farm to his
eldest son Atli, and to young Illugi, who was a few years younger than
Grettir. Atli was everywhere liked, he was such a prudent, peaceable,
and kindly man.
Grettir's ill-luck still followed him; for, as it chanced, Thorbiorn,
the Slowcoach, the relation of Thorbiorn Oxmain, had resolved to go to
Norway also, and in the same ship. Now the Slowcoach may have been
overslow in his movements, but he was overnimble with his tongue, and he
was strongly advised either not to go in the same boat with Grettir, or,
if he did, to mind his words.
Such advice was thrown away on the Slowcoach, who, instead of practising
caution, in order to show himself off, began to brag of his strength,
and to say scurvy things of Grettir, which were duly reported by
tale-bearers to Grettir. Consequently, when Grettir arrived in the
Eyjafiord with his goods, he was not very amiably disposed towards the
Slowcoach. However Atli had impressed on him the necessity of
controlling himself, and Grettir was resolved not to quarrel with the
man unless he could not help it.
At the side of the shore, those who were about to sail had run up booths
and cabins for themselves and their stores. Many of those going in the
boat were chapmen, and they took with them goods with which to traffic
in Norway.
Just as the vessel was ready, and about to sail next day, Slowcoach
arrived, slow as usual, and after every one else was ready, and their
goods on board. As it was the last evening on shore, all the merchants
and seamen were sitting about their booths, when Thorbiorn Slowcoach
arrived, and rode along the lane between the wooden cabins. The men
shouted to him to know if he had any news to tell them.
Thorbiorn's eye caught that of Grettir, who was sitting on a bench, and
he answered, "I don't hear any news, except that the old idiot Asmund of
Biarg is dead."
This was not true; the old man was not dead, but very ill. Some of
those who heard him said, "That is sad news indeed, for he was a worthy
and honourable old man, and he could ill be spared."
"I don't know that," said Thorbiorn with a scornful laugh.
"But how did he die? What did he die of?"
"Die of?" repeated the Slowcoach loud enough to be heard by Grettir.
"Smothered like a dog in the poky little kennel they call their hall at
Biarg. As for any loss in him, it is news to me that the world is not
well rid of dotards."
"These are ill words," said those who heard him. "No good man will speak
slightingly of old and blameless chiefs. Besides, such words as these
Grettir will not endure."
"Grettir!" scoffed Thorbiorn. "Before I face him I must see him use his
weapons better than he did last summer, when engaged with Kormak. Then
I put my elbow between them, and Grettir was but too ready to accept the
interference. I never saw a man before so shake in his shoes."
Thereat Grettir stood up, and controlling himself, said, "If I have any
faculty of foresight, Slowcoach, I see that you will not be smothered
with smoke like a dog. You should have done other than speak foul words
of very aged men. Gray hairs deserve respect."
"I don't think more of your foresight than I do of the wisdom of your
old fool of a father," said Thorbiorn.
The end was that they fought. The insult was too gross to be endured,
and Grettir felt it incumbent on him to strike for his father's honour.
The fight did not last long; the Slowcoach was slow in his fighting,
slow of hand, only not slow of tongue, and Grettir's sharp sword wounded
him to death.
Slowcoach was buried in the nearest churchyard; and the chapmen gave
Grettir credit for having restrained himself as long as possible, and
allowed that, according to the ideas of the time, he was justified in
fighting and killing the Slowcoach for his spiteful and strife-provoking
words. But Grettir was not pleased, he regretted the contest, because
he knew that it left occasion of strife behind, which might occasion
Atli trouble. Thorbiorn Oxmain would, lie feared, be sure to take up
the quarrel, and then Atli would have to pay a heavy fine in silver to
atone for the death.
The vessel set sail, and reached the south of Norway. There Grettir
took ship in a trading keel, to go north to Drontheim, because he heard
that the king was there, and his heart beat high with hopes that Olaf
would acknowledge him as a cousin, and would take him into his
body-guard, and treat him with honour; and that so, though he had had
ill-luck in Iceland, good luck might attend him in Norway.
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*THE HOSTEL BURNING.*
_Aground in the Fiord--The Light over the Water--Grettir Swims
Across--The Fight for Fire--The Burned Hostel--At Drontheim_
There lived a man named Thorir at Garth in Iceland who had spent the
summer in Norway when Olaf returned from England, and he had stood in
great favour with the king. He had two sons, and at this time both were
well-grown men.
Thorir left Norway for Iceland, where he broke up his ship, not
intending again to go a seafaring. But when he heard the tidings that
Olaf was king over the whole of Norway, then he deemed it would be well
for his sons to go there and pay their respects to the king, and remind
him of his old friendship for their father.
On reaching Norway much about the same time as had Grettir, they took a
long rowing-boat, and skirted the coast on their way north to Drontheim.
They preceded Grettir by a few days. On reaching a fine fiord, in which
there was shelter from the gales that began to bluster violently with
the approach of winter, the sons of Thorir ran in their boat, and as
there was a large wooden hostelry there built for the shelter of
weather-bound travellers, they took refuge in it, and spent their days
in hunting and their nights in revelry.
Now it so fell out that Grettir's merchant ship came into this same
fiord one evening and ran aground on the opposite shore to that on which
was the hostel. The night was bitterly cold; storms of snow drove over
the country, whitening the mountains. The men from the ship were worn
out and numbed with cold, and they had no means of kindling a fire.
Then, all at once, they saw a light spring up on the opposite side of
the firth, twinkling cheerfully between the trees. This was a sight to
make them more eager for a fire, and they began to wish that some one of
their number would swim across and bring over a light.
"In the good old times there must have been men who would have thought
nothing of swimming across the streak of water at night," said Grettir.
"No comfort to us to know that," said one of the crew. "It does not
concern us what may have been in the past, we are shivering in the
present. Why do you not get us fire?"
Grettir hesitated. The night was very like that on which he had fought
with Glam: the same full moon, with snow-laden clouds rolling over its
face for a while obscuring it, and then the full glare falling over the
face of earth again; and, unaccountably, a sense of doubt and depression
had come over him, as though that evil adversary were now about to
revenge his downfall upon him. He looked round suddenly, for he thought
that the fearful eyes were staring at him from out of the black shadows
of the fir-wood.
The rest of the crew united in urging him, and at length, reluctantly,
Grettir yielded. He flung his clothes off, and prepared himself to
swim. He had on him a fur cape, and a pair of wadmal breeches. He took
up an iron pot, and jumped into the sea and swam safely across.
On reaching the further shore, he shook the water off him, but before
long his trousers froze like boards, and the water formed in icicles
about the cape. Grettir ascended through the pine-wood towards the
light, and on reaching the hostel from which it proceeded, walked in
without speaking to anyone, and striding up to the fire, stooped and
began to scrape the red-hot embers into his iron pot. The hall was full
of revellers, and these revellers were the sons of Thorir and their
boat's crew. They were already more than half intoxicated, and when
they saw a wild-looking man enter the hall, half naked and hung with
icicles, they thought he must be a troll or mountain-spirit.
At once every one caught up the first weapon to hand, and rushed to the
attack. Grettir defended himself with a fire-brand plucked from the
hearth; the sons of Thorir stumbled over the fire, and the embers were
strewn about over the floor that was covered with fresh straw.
In a few moments the hall was filled with flame and smoke, and Grettir
took advantage of the confusion to effect his escape. He ran down to
the shore, plunged into the sea and swam across.
He found his companions waiting for him behind a rock, with a pile of
dry wood which they had collected during his absence. The cinders were
blown upon, and twigs applied, till a blaze was produced, and before
long the whole party sat rubbing their almost frozen hands over a
cheerful fire.
Next morning the merchants recognized the fiord, and, remembering that a
hostel stood on the further side, they crossed the water to see it,
when--what was their dismay to find of it only a heap of smoking embers!
From under some of the charred timber were thrust scorched human limbs.
The chapmen, in alarm and horror, turned upon Grettir and charged him
with having maliciously burned the house with all its inmates.
"See, now," said Grettir, "I had a thought that this expedition would
not bring luck. I would I had not taken the trouble to get fire for
such a set of thankless churls."
The ship's crew raked out the embers, pulled aside the smoking rafters,
in their search for the bodies. Some of these were not so disfigured but
that they could recognize them. Moreover, they knew the ship that lay
at anchor under the lee, hard by, and they saw that Grettir had brought
the sons of Thorir to an untimely end. The indignation of the merchants
became so vehement, and their fear so great that they might be
implicated in the matter, that they drove Grettir from their company,
and refused to receive him into their vessel for the remainder of their
voyage. Grettir, in sullen wrath, would say no word of self-defence; he
had to make his way on foot to Drontheim, where he resolved to lay the
whole matter before the king.
The vessel reached Drontheim before him, and the news of the hostel
burning roused universal indignation against Grettir.
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
*THE ORDEAL BY FIRE.*
_Grettir tells his Story--Preparing for the Ordeal--The
Procession--Attacked by the Mob--The King Intervenes--Wicked or
Unlucky_
One day, as King Olaf sat in audience in his great hall, Grettir strode
in, and going before his seat, greeted the king. Olaf looked at him and
said:
"Are you Grettir the Strong?"
He answered: "That is my name, and I have come hither, kinsman, to get a
fair hearing, and to clear myself of the charge of having burned men
maliciously. Of that I am guiltless."
King Olaf replied: "I heartily trust that what you say is true, and that
you will be able to rid yourself of a charge so bad."
Grettir replied that he was ready to do whatsoever the king desired, in
order to prove his innocence.
Then said the king to him, "Tell me the whole story, that I may be able
to judge."
Grettir answered by relating the circumstances. He had simply taken fire
from the hearth, when he was fallen upon by those who were drinking, and
who were too tipsy to understand his explanation. He went away with the
red-hot embers, and did not set fire to anything, but the drunken men
kicked the glowing coals about amidst the straw.
The king remained silent some moments, and then he said: "There are no
witnesses either on your behalf or against you. No man was by who is
not dead. God and his angels alone know whether you speak the truth or
not, therefore I must refer you to the judgment of God."
"What must I do?" asked Grettir.
"You will have to go through the ordeal of fire," said the king.
"What is that?" asked the young man.
"You must lift bars of red-hot iron, and walk with bare feet on
ploughshares heated red in a furnace."
"And what if I am burnt?"
"Then will you be adjudged guilty."
Grettir shrugged his shoulders: "If it must be so, let it be at once;
but whether I be burnt or not, I declare that I am clear of all intent
to hurt those men."
"You cannot undergo the ordeal now," said the king. "You would be
burned to a certainty. You must go through preparation first."
"What preparation?"
"A week of fasting and prayer," was the reply.
Then Grettir was taken away and put in ward, and fed with bread and
water for a week, and the bishop visited him and taught him to pray that
if he were innocent, God would reveal his innocence by enabling him to
pass unscathed through the ordeal.
The day came, and Drontheim was thronged with people from all the
country round, to see the Icelander of whom such tales were told. A
procession was formed; first went the king's body-guard followed by the
king himself, wearing his crown, then came the bishop, the choir, and
the clergy, and last of all Grettir, his wild red hair flying loose in
the breeze, his arms folded, and his eyes wandering over the sea of
heads that filled the square before the cathedral doors. The crowd
pressed in closer and closer. Opinions differed as to whether he were
guilty or not. Among the mob was a young man of dark complexion, who
made a great noise, shouldering his way to the front, and shouting.
"Look at the fellow!" he exclaimed. "This is the man who, in cold
blood, burnt down a house over helpless men, and now he is to be given u
chance of escape."
"But he says he is guiltless," argued one in the crowd.
"Guiltless!" exclaimed the youth. "If one of us had done the deed,
should we have been trifled with? The king wants him for his
body-guard, because he is so strong."
"He should be given a chance of clearing himself," said one who stood
near.
"Yes--of course--because he is a kinsman of the king. So the irons have
been painted red, to look as if hot. I know how the trick is done. But
he shall not escape me."
Thereupon the young man sprang at Grettir and drove his nails into his
face so that they drew blood; at the same time he poured forth against
him a stream of insulting names.
This was more than the Icelander could bear; he caught the young man, as
a cat catches a mouse, held him aloft, shook him, and then threw him
away, when he fell on the ground and was stunned. It was feared he might
be killed. This act gave occasion to a general uproar; the mob wanted
to lay hands on Grettir; some threw stones, others assaulted him with
sticks; but he, planting his back against the church wall, turned up his
sleeves, guarded off the blows, shouting to his assailants to come on.
Not a man came within his reach but was sent reeling back or was felled
to the ground. In the meantime the king and the bishop were in the choir
waiting. The red-hot ploughshares which had been laid on the pavement
were gradually cooling, but no Grettir appeared.
[Illustration: GRETTIR DEFENDS HIMSELF FROM THE MOB.]
At last the sounds of the uproar reached the king's ear, and he sent out
to know the occasion. His messenger returned a moment after to report
that the Icelander was fighting the whole town and had knocked down and
well nigh killed several persons. The king thereupon sprang from his
throne, hastened down the nave, and came out of the great western door
when the conflict was at its height.
"Oh, sire," exclaimed Grettir, "see how I can fight the rascals!" and at
the word he knocked a man over at the king's feet.
With difficulty the tumult was arrested, and Grettir separated from the
combatants; and then he wanted to go with the king and try the ordeal of
fire.
"Not so," answered Olaf, "you have already incurred sin. It is possible
that some of those you have knocked down may never recover, so that
their blood will lie at your door."
"What is to be done?" asked Grettir.
The king considered.
"I see you are a very wicked or at all events a very unlucky man. When
you were here before you were the occasion of several deaths. I do not
desire to keep you in Norway, but as winter has set in you may tarry
here till next spring, and then you shall be outlawed and return to
Iceland."
*CHAPTER XIX.*
*THE WINTER IN NORWAY.*
_At Einar's Farm--The Bearsarks--A Visit from Snoekoll--The
Bearsark's Demand--Grettir Temporizes--The Bearsark has a
Fit--Death of Snoekoll--Dromund's History--Grettir's Arms--A
Pair of Tongs_
King Olaf had decided that Grettir must leave Norway and return to
Iceland. If he was not a guilty man he was a most unfortunate one.
Now, the Norse race, whether in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, or Iceland,
believed in luck. They said that certain men were born to ill-luck, and
such men they avoided, because they feared lest the ill-luck that clung
to them might attach itself to, and involve those who came in contact
with them.
It was not possible for Grettir to return that year to Iceland, for all
the ships bound for his native land had sailed before winter set in, so
King Olaf agreed to allow him to remain in the kingdom through the
winter, but bound him to depart on the first opportunity next year.
Somewhat sad at heart with disappointment, and with the impression that
perhaps Olaf the king was right, and that ill-luck really did weigh on
him, Grettir left the court, and went at Yule to the house of a bonder
or yeoman called Einar, and remained with him awhile. The farm was in a
lonely place in a fiord opening back to the snowy mountains. Einar was
a kindly man, hospitable, and he did his best to make Grettir's stay
with him pleasant. He had a daughter, a fair, beautiful girl, with blue
eyes, and hair like amber silk, and her name was Gyrid. Perhaps the
beautiful Gyrid was one attraction to Grettir, but if so he never spoke
what was on his heart, because he knew it would be useless. He was an
unlucky man; he had made himself a name, indeed, as one of great daring,
but he had won for himself neither home, nor riches, nor favour.
Now it fell out that at this time there were some savage ruffians in the
country who were called Bearsarks. They were outlaws in most cases, and
they lived in secret dens in the dense forests, whence they issued and
swooped down on the farms, and there challenged the bonders to fight
with them, or to give up to them whatever they needed. These ruffians
wore bear-skins drawn over their bodies, and they thrust their heads
through the jaws of the beasts, so that they presented a hideous and
frightening appearance. Then they worked themselves into paroxysms of
rage, when they were like madmen; they rolled their eyes, they roared
and howled like wild beasts, and foam formed on their mouths and dropped
on the ground. They were wont also, when these fits came on them, to
bite the edges of their shields, and with their fangs they were known to
have dinted the metal quite deep. Some folks even said they had bitten
pieces out of solid shields. It was usually supposed that these
Bearsarks were possessed by evil spirits, and it is probable that in
many cases they were really mad--mad through having given way to their
violent passions, till they knew no law, and thought to carry everything
before them by their violence. It was even at one time thought by the
superstitious that they could change their shapes, and run about at will
in the forms of bears or wolves; but this idea grew out of the fact of
their clothing themselves in bear or wolf skins, and drawing the skull
of the beast over their heads as a rude helmet, and looking out through
the open jaws that thus formed a visor.
One day, just after Yule, to the terror and dismay of Einar, one of the
most redoubtable of these Bearsarks, a fellow called Snoekoll, came
thundering up to his door on a huge black horse, followed by three or
four others on foot, all clothed in skins; but Snoekoll, instead of
wearing the bear's skin over his head, had on a helmet with great tusks
of a boar protruding from it, and a boar's head drawn over the metal.
It is worth remark that the crests worn later by knights, and which we
have still on our plate and on harness, are derived from similar
adornments to helmets. Some warriors put wings of eagles on their
head-pieces, others put the paws of bears or representations of lions.
These were badges of their prowess, or marks whereby they might be
known.
Snoekoll struck the door of the farmhouse with his spear, and roared to
the owner to come forth. At once Einar and Grettir issued from the hall,
and Einar in great trepidation asked the Bearsark what he wanted.
"What do I want?" shouted Snoekoll. "I want one of two things. Either
that you give me up your beautiful daughter to be my wife, and with her
five-score bags of silver, or else that you fight me here. If you kill
me, then luck is yours. If I kill you, then I shall carry off your
daughter and all that you possess."
Einar turned to Grettir and asked him in a whisper what he was to do.
He himself was an old man whose fighting days were over, and he had no
chance against this savage.
Grettir answered that he had better consult his honour and the happiness
of Gyrid, and not give way to a bully. The Bearsark sat on his horse
rolling his eyes from one to another. He had a great iron-rimmed shield
before him.
Then he bellowed forth: "Come! I am not going to wait here whilst you
consider matters. Make your selection of the two alternatives at once.
What is that great lout at your side whispering? Does he want to play a
little game of who is master along with me?"
"For my part," said Grettir, "the farmer and I are about in equal
predicament; he is too old to fight, and I am unskilled in arms."
"I see! I see!" roared Snoekoll. "You are both trembling in your
shoes. Wait till my fit is on me, and then you will shake indeed."
"Let us see how you look in your Bearsark fit," said Grettir.
Then Snoekoll waxed wroth, and worked himself up into one of the fits of
madness. There can be no doubt that in some cases this was all bluster
and sham. But in many cases these fellows really roused themselves into
perfect frenzies of madness in which they did not know what they did.
Now Snoekoll began to bellow like a bull, and to roll his eyes, and he
put the edge of the great shield in his mouth and bit at it, and blew
foam from his lips that rolled down the face of the shield. Grettir
fixed his eyes steadily on him, and put his hands into his pockets.
Snoekoll rocked himself on his horse, and his companions began also to
bellow, and stir themselves up into madness. Grettir, with his eye
fixed steadily on the ruffian, drew little by little nearer to him; but
as he had no weapon, and held his hands confined, Snoekoll, if he did
observe him, disregarded him. When Grettir stood close beside him and
looked up at the red glaring eyes, the foaming lips of Snoekoll, and
heard his howls and the crunching of his great teeth against the strong
oak and iron of the shield, he suddenly laughed, lifted his foot, caught
the bottom of the shield a sudden kick upwards, and the shield with the
violence of the upward shock broke Snoekoll's jaw. Instantly the
Bearsark stopped his bellows, let fall the shield, and before he could
draw his sword Grettir caught his helmet by the great boar tusks, gave
them a twist, and rolled Snoekoll down off his horse on the ground,
knelt on him, and with the ruffian's own sword dealt him his death-blow.
When the others saw the fall of their chief they ceased their antics,
turned and ran away to hide in the woods.
The bonder, Einar, thanked Grettir for his assistance, and the lovely
Gyrid gave him also her grateful acknowledgments and a sweet smile; but
Grettir knew that a portionless unlucky man like himself could not
aspire to her hand, and feeling that he was daily becoming more attached
to her, he deemed it right at once to leave, and he went away to a place
called Tunsberg, where lived his half-brother, Thorstein Dromund.
Now, to understand the relationship of Dromund to Grettir, you must know
that his father, Asmund, had been twice married. He had been in Norway
when a young man with a merchant ship, and he had also gone with his
wares to England and France, and had gained great wealth; and as he had
many relations in Norway he was well received there in winter, when he
came back from his merchant trips. On one of these occasions he had met
a damsel called Ranveig, whose father and mother were dead. She was of
good birth, and was wealthy. Asmund asked for her hand and married her,
and settled on the lands that belonged to her in Norway. They had a son
called Thorstein, who, because he was rather slow of speech and manner,
was nicknamed Dromund; but as we meet with other Thorsteins in this
story, to prevent confusion we will speak of him as Dromund.
After a while Asmund's wife Ranveig died, and then her relatives
insisted on taking away all her lands and possessions and keeping them
in trust for little Dromund. Asmund did not care to quarrel with them,
so he left Dromund with his late wife's relatives and went home to
Iceland, where, after a few years, he married Asdis, and by her became
the father of Atli, Grettir, and Illugi, and of two daughters, one of
whom he named after his first wife.
Dromund grew up in Norway on his estates at Tunsberg, and became a man
of wealth and renown, a quiet man, but one who held his own, and was
generally respected.
Now Grettir went to him, and his half-brother received him very
affectionately, and insisted on his remaining with him all the rest of
the winter till it was time for him to sail to Iceland.
One little incident is mentioned concerning that time that deserves to
be recorded.
Grettir slept in the same apartment as did his brother.
One morning Dromund awoke early, and he saw how that Grettir's arms were
out of bed, and he wondered at their size.
Presently Grettir awoke, and then Dromund said to him: "Grettir, I have
been amused with looking at your bare arms. What muscles you have got!
I never saw the like."
"I need strong muscles to do what I have to do."
"True enough, brother," said Dromund. "But I could wish there were a
little more luck as well as muscle attached to those bones."
"Let me look at your arms," said Grettir.
Then Dromund put his arms out of bed, and when he saw them Grettir burst
out laughing, for they were so thin and scraggy.
"Upon my word, brother, I never saw such a wretched pair of tongs in my
life," he said.
"They may be a pair of tongs, old boy," answered Dromund, "but they are
tongs that shall ever be extended to help you when in need. And," added
Dromund in a lower tone, "if it should ever befall you that your
ill-luck should overmaster you, and you not die in your bed; then,
Grettir, I promise you, if I am alive, that I shall not let this pair of
tongs rest till, with them, I have avenged you."
No more is related of their talk together. The spring wore on, and in
summer Grettir took ship.
The brothers parted with much affection, and they never again saw each
other's face.
*CHAPTER XX.*
*OF WHAT BEFELL AT BIARG.*
_Thorbiorn's Servant--Ali at Biarg--Seeking a Quarrel--A Fair
Answer--Atli's Dilemma--Thorbiorn's Revenge--The Slaying of
Atli--Atli's Grave_
Whilst Grettir was in Norway, that ill-luck which pursued him did not
fail to touch and trouble his Icelandic home as well.
It will be remembered that Grettir had been forced to fight the
Slowcoach, and had killed him. Now the cousin of this man was Thorbiorn
Oxmain, who lived in the Ramsfirth. This Thorbiorn had got a
serving-man named Ali, a somewhat lazy man, strong, but unruly. As he
did his work badly, and was slow about it, his master rebuked him, and
when rebukes failed, he threatened him. Threats also proved unavailing,
so Thorbiorn one day took the stick to his back, and beat him till he
danced. After this Ali would remain no longer in his service; he ran
away, crossed the ridge to the Midfiord, and came to Biarg, where he
presented himself before Atli, who asked him what he wanted.
The fellow said that he was in quest of service.
"But," said Atli, "you are, I understand, one of Thorbiorn's workmen."
"I was so, but I have left his service because I was badly treated. He
beat me till I was black and blue; no one can remain with him, he is so
rough with his men, and he exacts of them too much work. I have come
here because I hear that you treat your servants well."
Atli replied: "I have hands enough, you had better go back to Thorbiorn,
for I do not want you."
"I will never go back to him, that I declare," said the churl. "If you
turn me away, I have nowhere to which I can go."
So he remained for a few nights at Biarg; and Atli did not like to turn
him out of the house. Then one day he went to work with Atli's men, and
worked hard and well, for he was a powerful man. So time passed. Atli
did not agree to pay him any wage, and he did not send him away. He did
not feel best pleased at having the man there, but he was too
kind-hearted to drive him away.
Not only did he remain there and work well, but he showed himself ready
to turn his hand to anything, and was the most useful man about the
place.
Now Thorbiorn heard that his churl was at Biarg. The death of Slowcoach
had rankled in his breast. He had felt that it was his duty to take up
the case and demand recompense, yet he had not done so; now he was
angered that Atli had opened his doors to his runaway servant. He had
covenanted with the man for a year, but the fellow was so disagreeable
that he would have gladly dispensed with his service; but that Atli
should have received him, and that the man should be making himself
useful at Biarg,--that made him very angry indeed.
So he mounted his horse and rode to Biarg, attended by two men, and
called out Atli to talk with him.
Atli came forth and welcomed him.
Then Thorbiorn said: "You are determined to pick up fresh occasion of
quarrel, and stir ill-will between us. Why have you enticed away my
servant? You had no right to behave thus to me."
Atli replied quietly: "You are mistaken. I did not entice him away.
The fellow came to me. I did not know for certain that he was your
servant, nor did I know for how long he was engaged to you. Show me that
I have done wrong and I will make reparation. If he is yours, reclaim
him, I will not keep him. At the same time I do not like to shut him
out of my house."
"I claim the man," said Thorbiorn; "I forbid him to do a stroke of work
here. I expect him returned to me."
"Nay," said Atli, "take the man, you are welcome to him; but I cannot
bind him hand and foot and convey him to your house. If you can get him
to go with you, well and good, I will not detain him."
Atli had answered fairly, but this did not satisfy Thorbiorn; he knew
that he could not drag the man back to his farm, nor could he persuade
him to follow, so he rode home in a mighty bad temper, his heart boiling
with anger against Atli. And now he thought that he would at one and
the same time punish Atli for taking away his servant, and wipe out the
wrong of the slaying of the Slowcoach.
In the evening when the men came in from work, Atli said that Thorbiorn
had been there and had reclaimed his churl, and Atli bade the fellow
depart and go back to his master.
Then the man said: "That's a true proverb, He who is most praised is
found most faulty at the test. I came to you because I heard so much
good of you, and now that I have toiled for you without wages all the
early summer, as I have worked for none else, you want to kick me out of
doors as winter draws on. I will not go. You will have to beat me as
Thorbiorn beat me to make me leave this house, and then, even, I am not
sure but that I shall remain in spite of being beaten."
Atli did not know exactly what to do. He did not wish to ill-treat the
fellow, and yet without ill-treatment there was no getting rid of him.
So he let him remain on.
One day a warm wet rainy mist covered the land, the hills were enveloped
in cloud; Atli sent out some of his men to mow at a distance where there
was some grass, and others he sent out fishing. He remained at home
himself with only two or three men.
That day Thorbiorn rode over the ridge that divided the dales, with a
helmet on his head, a sword at his side, and a barbed spear in his hand.
He came to Biarg, and no one noticed his approach. He went to the main
door, and knocked at it. Then he drew back behind the buildings, so
that no one might see him from the door. In Iceland the walls of a
house between the gables are buttressed with turf--thick walls or
buttresses that project several feet, and are about six or nine feet
thick. Such buttresses stood one on each side of the hall door at
Biarg, and behind one of these Thorbiorn concealed himself.
When he had knocked at the door, a woman came to it, unbarred and looked
up and down the terrace or platform on which the house was built, but
saw no one. Thorbiorn peeped from behind the wall of turf and caught a
glimpse of her, and then backed again into his hiding-place. The woman
then returned into the house, and told Atli that there was no one
outside.
She had hardly spoken before Thorbiorn knocked again. Then Atli jumped
up and said: "There must be someone there, and I will go and see myself
who it is."
Then he went forth and looked out of the door, but saw no one, as
Thorbiorn had again retreated behind the bank of turf. The water was
streaming down, so Atli did not go from under cover, but laid a hand on
each of the door-posts, and looked up and down the valley.
Just as he was looking away from where Thorbiorn was concealed, that man
suddenly swung himself round the bank of turf, and with all his might
drove the spear against Atli, using both his hands. The spear entered
him below the ribs, and ran right through him. Atli uttered no cry, and
fell forward over the threshold. At that the women rushed forth, and
they took Atli up, but he was dead.
Then Thorbiorn, who had run to his horse, which was tied up behind the
house, rode out on the terrace, and halting before the door proclaimed
that he had done this deed.
Now this was a formality which, according to Icelandic law, made his act
to be not regarded as a murder. A murder by law was the slaying of a
man by one who concealed his name.
Then Thorbiorn rode home.
The goodwife, Asdis, sent for her men, and Atli's body was laid out, and
he was buried beside his father, old Asmund, who had died during the
winter. There was a church in those days at Biarg, but there is none
there now. When I was there I asked of the farmer now living in Biarg
where was the old churchyard, but its site was lost; so I could not tell
where were the graves of Atli the kind-hearted, honourable man, and the
rest of the family.
Great was the lamentation through the district at the death of one so
loved and respected, and hard things were said of Thorbiorn for what he
had done.
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*THE RETURN OF GRETTIR.*
_An Old Charge--Trial in Absence--Three Messengers of
Ill--Grettir and his Mother--Grettir goes to Revenge Atli_
That same summer news reached Iceland of the burning of the hostel by
Grettir. When Thorir of Garth heard of the death of his sons he was
furious. He rode to the great annual assize at Thingvalla, with a large
retinue, and charged Grettir with having killed his boys maliciously;
and he demanded that for this offence Grettir should be outlawed.
Then Skapti the judge said: "If things are as reported, then surely
Grettir has committed an evil deed; but we have only heard one side of
the story, and we only know of what has happened at third hand, by
report; there are two ways of telling every story. Let us wait till
Grettir returns to Iceland. There will be time enough for this action to
be taken. I will not give my word that Grettir is guilty till we have
heard what he has to say for himself."
But Thorir was such a powerful chieftain that he overbore all
resistance. It was said that he could not lawfully take action against
a man in his absence; but this was overridden by Thorir, who by packing
the court was able to carry out what he wanted. Moreover, owing to the
death of Atli there was no one to oppose him vigorously.
He pushed on matters so hard that nought could avail to acquit Grettir,
and he was proclaimed an outlaw throughout the whole of Iceland, and
Thorir also put a price on his head of many ounces of silver, which he
said he would pay to that man who would kill him in Norway or Iceland,
or wherever he might find him.
Towards the close of the summer Grettir arrived in a vessel off the
mouth of the White-river, an exile from Norway.
It was a still summer night when the ship dropped anchor. A boat came
from the shore, and was rowed to the ship. Grettir stood watching it
from the bows, leaning on his sword. As it touched the side of the
ship, he called, "What news do you bring?"
"Are you Grettir, Asmund's son?" asked a man rising in the boat.
"I am," replied Grettir.
"Then we bear you ill news: your father is dead."
Another man stood up in the boat, and said: "Grettir, he was an old man,
and you can hardly have expected to hear that he was still alive. But
what I have to say concerns you as closely, and is unexpected. Your
brother Atli has been slain by Thorbiorn Oxmain."
Then a third man rose and said: "But these tidings concern others first
and you secondly. What I have to say concerns you mainly. You have
been made an outlaw throughout the length and breadth of the land, and a
price is set on your head."
It is said that Grettir did not change colour, nor did a muscle in his
whole body quiver; but he lifted up his voice and sang this strain--
"All at once are showered
Round me, the Rhymer,
Tidings sad--my exile,
Father's loss and brother's,
Branching boughs of battle!
Many a blue-blade-breaker
Shall suffer for my sorrow."
The branching bough of battle is a periphrasis for a man, so also is a
blue-blade-breaker; and it is the use of such periphrases that
constituted poetry to Icelandic ideas. One night Grettir swam ashore.
He thought that his enemies would be awaiting him, and should he venture
to land in a boat would fall on him in overwhelming numbers; so he took
to the water and swam to a point at some distance. Then he took a horse
that he found in a farm near where he came ashore, and he rode across
country to the Middle-firth, and reached home in two days. He reached
Biarg during the night when all were asleep; so instead of disturbing
the household, he opened a private door, stepped into the hall, stole up
to his mother's bed, and threw his arms round her neck.
She started up, and asked who was there. When he told her, she clasped
him to her heart, and laid her head, sobbing, on his breast, saying.
"Oh, my son! I am bereaved of my children! Atli, my eldest, has been
foully murdered, and you are outlawed; only Illugi remains."
Grettir remained at home a few days in close concealment. Even the men
of the farm were not suffered to know that he was there. He heard the
story of how Thorbiorn Oxmain had basely and in cowardly manner slain
his brother, when Atli was unarmed; and Grettir considered that it was
his duty to avenge his death.
*CHAPTER XXII*
*THE SLAYING OF OXMAIN.*
_By the Boiling Spring--Grettir knocks the Nail from his
Spear--Oxmain places his Son in Ambush--The Fight with
Oxmain--Grettir's Spear-head--The Law concerning Manslaying--A
Rising Black Cloud_
One fine day, soon after his return, Grettir mounted a horse, and
without an attendant rode over the hill to the Ramsfirth, and came down
to Thorod's-stead. This is still a good farm, the best on the fiord,
and it is by far the best built pile of buildings thereabouts. It faces
the south and is banked up with turf to the north, to shelter it against
the cold and furious gales from the Polar Sea. The soil is
comparatively rich there, and there are tracts of good grass land on the
slope of the hill by the side of the inlet of sea. The farm buildings
consists at present of a set of wooden gable ends painted red, and the
roofs are all of turf, where the buttercups grow and shine luxuriantly.
Grettir rode up to the farmhouse, about noon, and knocked at the door.
Some women came out and welcomed him; they did not know who he was, or
they would have been more sparing in their welcome. He asked after
Thorbiorn, and was told that he was gone to the meadow, a little way
further down the firth, where he had gone to bind hay, and that he had
taken with him his son, called Arnor, who was a boy of sixteen.
When Grettir heard this, he said farewell to the women, and turned his
horse's head to ride down the fiord towards a boiling spring that
bubbles up out of the rock, throwing up a cloud of steam, and running in
a scalding rill into the sea. Now the rock is perhaps warm there, or
the warm water helps vegetation; certain it is that thereabouts the
grass grows thickly, and there it was that Thorbiorn was making his
bundles of hay. As Grettir rode along near the water, below the field,
Thorbiorn saw him. He had just made up one bundle of hay, and he was
engaged on another. He had set his shield and sword against the load,
and his lad Arnor had a hand-axe beside him.
Thorbiorn looked hard at Grettir as he came along, and he said to the
boy: "There is a fellow riding this way. I wonder who he is, and
whether he wants us. Leave tying up the hay, and let us find out what
his errand is."
Then Grettir leaped off his horse; he had a helmet on his head, and was
girt with the short sword, and he bore a great spear in his hand that
had a long sharp blade but no barbs. The socket was inlaid with silver,
and a nail went through the socket fastening it on to the staff of the
spear. He sat down on a stone, and knocked the nail out. His reason
was that he intended to throw the spear at Thorbiorn, and if he missed
him, he thought the spear-head and the haft would come apart, and would
be of no use to Thorbiorn to fling back at him.
Oxmain said to his son: "I verily believe that is Grettir, Asmund's son,
he is so big; I know no one else so big. He has got occasion enough
against us, and if he is come here it is not with peaceable intentions.
Now we must manage cunningly. I do not know that he has seen you; so
you hide behind the bundle of hay, and lie hid till you see him engaged
with me. Then you steal up noiselessly behind with your axe, and strike
him one blow with all your might between the shoulder-blades. When I
see you coming up, I will fight the more furiously so as to draw off his
attention, that he may not be able to look round. Have no fear, he
cannot hurt you, as his back will be turned to you. Get close enough to
make sure, and you will kill him with one blow."
Now Grettir came uphill into the field, and when he came within a
spear-throw of them, he cast his spear at Thorbiorn; but the head was
looser on the shaft than he had expected it would be, and it became
detached in its flight, and fell off and dropped into a marshy place and
sank, and the shaft flew on but a little way and then fell harmlessly to
the ground.
Then Thorbiorn took his shield, put it before him, drew his sword and
ran against Grettir and engaged him. Grettir had, as already said, the
short sword that he had taken out of the barrow, and with that he warded
off the blows of Thorbiorn and smote at him. Oxmain was a very strong
man, and his shield was covered with well-tanned hide stretched over
oak, and the blade of Grettir fell on it, hacked into it, and sometimes
caught so that he could not at once withdraw it. Thorbiorn now began to
deal more furious blows. Now just as Grettir was wrenching his sword
away from the shield, into which it had bitten deep, he saw someone
close behind him with an axe raised. Instantly he tore out his sword
and smote back over his head to protect his back from his assailant
behind, and the blow came on Arnor just as he was on the point of
driving his axe in between the shoulders of Grettir, so that he
staggered back, mortally wounded. Thorbiorn, whose eye was on his son,
retreated a step, lost his presence of mind for a moment, and thereupon
down came Grettir's sword on his shield and split it in half. Grettir
pursued his advantage, pressed on him, and struck him down at his feet,
dead at a blow.
Then he went in search of his silver-inlaid spear-head, but could not
find it. So he mounted his horse again, rode on to the nearest
farmhouse, and there told what he had done. Many, many years after,
about 1250, the spear-head was found in the marsh. When I was in
Iceland I also obtained a very similar spear-head, only not
silver-inlaid, that was found in the volcanic sand; it had probably been
lost in a very similar manner.
It seems to us in these civilized times very horrible this continual
slaying that took place in Iceland; but we must remember that, as
already said, there were in those days not a single policeman, soldier,
or officer of justice in the island. When a trial took place, the
prosecutor was the person aggrieved, or the nearest akin. The court
pronounced sentence, and then the prosecutor was required to carry out
what the law had ordered. He was to be constable and executioner. Now
the law, or custom which was the same as law, for there was no written
code, was that when one man had been killed, the next of kin was bound
to prosecute the slayer and obtain from him money compensation, or
outlawry, or else he might kill the slayer himself, or one of his kin.
This latter provision seems to us outrageous, that because A kills B,
therefore that C, who is B's brother, may kill D, who is brother to A.
But so the law or custom stood and was recognized as binding, and not to
carry out the law or custom was regarded as dishonourable. It must be
remembered that Iceland was colonized about A.D. 900, and that Grettir
was born only about 97 years after, and that Christianity was adopted in
1000; that is to say, it was sanctioned by law, but no one was forced to
become a Christian unless he liked. Also, that there was no government
in the island, no central authority, and that the colonists lived much
as do the first settlers now in a new colony which is not under the
crown, or like the diggers at the gold mines.
When Grettir had slain Thorbiorn Oxmain, he went home to Biarg and told
his mother, who said it was well that Atli's blood was wiped out by the
death of the man who had so basely and in such cowardly fashion slain
him; but she said she foresaw more trouble coming like a rising black
cloud, and that this would make it more difficult for Grettir to get
relief from his outlawry.
*CHAPTER XXIII.*
*AT LEARWOOD.*
_At Hvamsfiord--Iceland Scenery--An Iceland Paradise--One Lucky
Chance--Kuggson's Story--Onund's Voyage--In Search of
Uninhabited Land--The Landing--Eric's Gift--A Cold Back!--Better
than Nothing--An Oversight--Death of Onund--Planning a
Murder--Killing the Curd Bottle--The Churl's Axe--The Red
Stream--Hard Times--The "Wooden-tub"--The Stranded Whale--The
Fight over the Whale--Retreat of the Coldbackers--Before the
Assize--The Judgment--An Evil Act--Ill-luck follows Ill_
After the slaying of Thorbiorn Oxmain, Grettir would not remain at home,
lest trouble should come on his mother; so he rode across the Neck first
of all to his brother-in-law, at Melar, at the head of the Ramsfirth, to
ask his advice. His brother-in-law there was called Gamli; he was not
very rich or powerful, and he represented to Grettir that it would never
do for him to remain in such near proximity to Thorod's-stead, in the
same valley, at the head of the same firth. This Grettir acknowledged,
so he stayed there but a few days, and then rode over the high
table-land to the Lax, or Salmon-dale, where was the watershed, and the
river of the salmon ran west into Hvamsfiord. One of the most
interesting and best written of the Icelandic sagas relates to the
history of this valley. The Hvamsfiord is by nature wonderfully
protected against western storms, for the entrance is almost blocked to
the west by a countless multitude of islands, of which only one is
moderately large, and to the north-west is not only a grassy promontory,
but also a natural breakwater of three long narrow islands.
Outside the cluster of islands are eddies and whirlpools, and the
passage between them is not always safe; but when a vessel has passed
through between the islets it enters as into a wide beautiful inland
lake, the shape of which is that of a boot, with the sole to the east
and the toe turned up north. Moreover, along the north side of this
sheltered firth are high and steep hills that screen from the water all
gales sweeping from the Pole; and in the glens and under the crags of
these hills exposed to the south are beautiful woods of birch.
Formerly in Iceland the woods were much more extensive than they are
now; for the old settlers found in them plenty of fuel, and the
birch-trees grew to a fair size. Now, alas, with fatal want of
consideration, the trees have been so cut down that the woods are rare
and the trees are small. There is hardly a birch-tree whose top one
cannot touch when riding through a wood on a little pony no bigger than
a Shetlander.
Exactly at the toe of the boot is a rich grassy basin, where two streams
flow into the fiord, and here is a beautiful view from the water. One
sees in front the green basin, and above it rise the mountains to
Skeggoxl, a cone covered with eternal snows and with glaciers streaming
down its flanks. Here, in a sweet sheltered nook, basking in the sun,
in spring with the river-side and the marshes blazing with immense
marigolds, and with the short grass slopes speckled with blue tiny
gentianella, is the farm, and near it the wooden church of Hvam. In
another part of the basin is a settlement called Asgard, the "Home of
the gods;" for those who settled there first thought the spot so
delightful, so warm, that they named it after the sunny land of fable,
where it was said that their ancestors, the hero-gods of the northern
race, had lived in the east before ever they crossed Russia and settled
in Norway. Asgard to their minds was Paradise.
Paradise in Iceland is not a paradise elsewhere; nevertheless, to one
who has travelled over barren hills and between glaciers, this warm nook
with its green grass and woods of glistening birch was a place of
inexpressible charm. Now, just to the east, where would come the ball
of the toe, looking across the end of this still blue lake-like fiord,
up the valleys to the snows of Skeggoxl, is the farm of Learwood, in a
grassy flat by the water, backed by birchwood and hills, and screened
from the east as well as from the north winds. Here lived Thorstein
Kuggson. Kuggson's mother was the daughter of Asgeir, the father of
Audun of Willowdale, with whom Grettir had a tussle on the ice, and whom
he afterwards upset with his foot when he was carrying curds. Kuggson
through his father was related to the influential and wealthy family in
the Laxdale, whose history is well known through the noble saga that
relates the story of that valley.
Grettir spent the autumn with his relative Kuggson. Now, whilst he was
there he fell to talking one day with Kuggson about his trial of
strength with Audun, and Grettir said how glad he was that nothing had
come of it. It was said that he was a man of ill-luck; yet luck had
befriended him on that occasion in sending Bard to interrupt the
struggle before both lost their tempers and the quarrel became serious.
Then said Kuggson: "You remind me of the story of Bottle-back, which, of
course, you know."
"It is many years since I have heard the tale," answered Grettir; "for,
indeed, I can be little at home now, and am out of the way of hearing
stories of one's forefathers. Tell me the tale."