HOW GUDRUDA WENT UP TO MOSFELL
Eric walked warily till he came to the dell where he had left
Skallagrim and the horses. It was the same dell in which Groa had
brewed the poison-draught for Asmund the Priest and Unna, Thorod’s
daughter.
“What news, lord?” said Skallagrim. “Thou wast gone so long that I
thought of seeking thee. Hast thou seen Gudruda?”
“Ay,” said Eric, “and this is the upshot of it, that in the spring we
sail for England and bid farewell to Iceland and our ill luck.”
“Would, then, that it were spring,” said Skallagrim, speaking
Brighteyes’ own words. “Why not sail now and make an end?”
“Gudruda has no ship and it is late to take the sea. Also I think that
she would let a time go by because of the blood-feud which she has
against me for the death of Björn.”
“I would rather risk these things than stay the winter through in
Iceland,” said Skallagrim, “it is long from now to spring, and yon
wolf’s den is cold-lying in the dark months, as I know well.”
“There is light beyond the darkness,” said Eric, and they rode away.
Everything went well with them till late at night they came to the
slopes of Mosfell. They were half asleep on their horses, being weary
with much riding, and the horses were weary also. Suddenly, Skallagrim,
looking up, caught the faint gleam of light from swords hidden behind
some stones.
“Awake, lord!” he cried, “here are foes ahead.”
Gizur’s folk behind the stones heard his voice and came out from their
ambush. There were six of them, and they formed in line before the
pair. They were watching the mountain, for a rumour had reached them
that Eric was abroad, and, seeing him, they had hidden hastily behind
the stones.
“Now what counsel shall we take?” said Eric, drawing Whitefire.
“We have often stood against men more than six, and sometimes we have
left more men than six to mark where we stood,” answered Skallagrim.
“It is my counsel that we ride at them!”
“So be it,” said Eric, and he spurred his weary horse with his heels.
Now when the six saw Eric and Skallagrim charge on them boldly, they
wavered, and the end of it was that they broke and fled to either side
before a blow was struck. For it had come to this pass, so great was
the terror of the names of Eric Brighteyes and Skallagrim Lambstail,
that no six men dared to stand before them in open fight.
So the path being clear they rode on up the slope. But when they had
gone a little way, Skallagrim turned his horse, and mocked those who
had lain in ambush, saying:
“Ye fight well, ye carles of Gizur, Ospakar’s son! Ye are heroes,
surely! Say now, mighty men, will ye stand there if I come down alone
against you?”
At these words the men grew mad with wrath, and flung their spears.
Skallagrim caught one on his shield and it fell to the earth, but
another passed over his head and struck Eric on the left shoulder, near
the neck, making a deep wound. Feeling the spear fast in him, Eric
grasped it with his right hand, drew it forth, and turning, hurled it
so hard, that the man before it got his death from the blow, for his
shield did not serve to stay it. Then the rest fled.
Skallagrim bound up Eric’s wound as well as he could, and they went on
to the cave. But when Eric’s folk, watching above, saw the fight they
ran down and met him. Now the hurt was bad and Eric bled much; still,
within ten days it healed up for the time.
But a little while after Eric’s wound was skinned over, the snows set
in on Mosfell, and the days grew short and the nights long. Once
Gizur’s men to the number of fifty came half way up the mountain to
take it; but, when they saw how strong the place was, they feared, and
went back, and after that returned no more, though they always watched
the fell.
It was very dark and lonesome there upon the fell. For a while Eric
kept in good heart, but as the days went by he grew troubled. For since
he was wounded this had come upon him, that he feared the dark, and the
death of Atli at his hand and Atli’s words weighed more and more upon
his mind. They had no candles on the fell, yet, rather than stay in the
blackness of the cave, Eric would wrap sheepskins about him and sit by
the edge of that gulf down which the head of the Baresark had foretold
his fall, and look out at the wide plains and fells and ice-mountains,
gleaming in the silver shine of the Northern lights or in the white
beams of the stars.
It chanced that Eric had bidden the men who stayed with him to build a
stone hut upon the flat space of rock before the cave, and to roof it
with turves. He had done this that work might keep them in heart, also
that they might have a place to store such goods as they had gathered.
Now there was one stone lying near that no two men of their number
could move, except Skallagrim and one other. One day, while it was
light, Eric watched these two rolling the stone along to where it must
stand, and it was slow work. Presently they stayed to rest. Then Eric
came and putting his hands beneath the stone, lifted, and while men
wondered, he rolled the mass alone, to where it should be set as the
corner stone of the hut.
“Ye are all children,” he said, and laughed merrily.
“Ay, when we set our strength against thine, lord,” answered
Skallagrim; “but look: the blood runs from thy neck—the spear-wound has
broken out afresh.”
“So it is, surely,” said Eric. Then he washed the wound and bound it
up, thinking little of the matter.
But that night, according to his custom, Eric sat on the edge of the
gulf and looked at the winter lights as they played over Hecla’s snows.
He was sad and heavy at heart, for he thought of Gudruda and wondered
much if they should live to wed. Remembering Atli’s words, he had
little faith in his good luck. Now as Eric sat and thought, the bandage
on his neck slipped, so that the hurt bled, and the frost got hold of
the wound and froze it, and froze his long hair to it also, in such
fashion that when he went to the cave where all men slept, he could not
loose his hair from the sore, but lay down with it frozen to him. On
the morrow the hair was caked so fast about his neck that it could only
be freed by shearing it. But this Eric would not suffer. None, he said,
should shear his hair, except Gudruda. Thus he had sworn, and when he
broke the oath misfortune had come of it. He would break that vow no
more, if it cost him his life. For sorrow and his ill luck had taken so
great a hold of Eric’s mind that in some ways he was scarcely himself.
So it came to pass that he fell more and more sick, till at length he
could not rise from his bed in the cave, but lay there all day and
night, staring at the little light which pierced the gloom. Still, he
would not suffer that anyone should touch his hair. And when one stole
upon him sleeping, thinking so to cut it before he woke, and come at
the wound, suddenly he sat up and dealt the man such a buffet on the
head that he went near to death from it.
Then Skallagrim spoke.
“On this matter,” he said, “it seems that Brighteyes is mad. He will
not suffer that any touch his hair, except Gudruda, and yet, if his
hair is not shorn, he must die, for the wound will fester under it. Nor
may we cut it by strength, for then he will kill himself in struggling.
It is come to this then: either Gudruda must be brought hither or Eric
will shortly die.”
“That may not be,” they answered. “How can the lady Gudruda come here
across the snows, even if she will come?”
“Come she can, if she has the heart,” said Skallagrim, “though I put
little trust in women’s hearts. Still, I ride down to Middalhof, and
thou, Jon, shalt go with me. For the rest, I charge you watch your
lord; for, if I come back and find anything amiss, that shall be the
death of some, and if I do not come back but perish on the road, yet I
will haunt you.”
Now Jon liked not this task; still, for love of Eric and fear of
Skallagrim, he set out with the Baresark. They had a hard journey
through the snow-drifts and the dark, but on the third day they came to
Middalhof, knocked upon the door and entered.
Now it was supper-time, and people, sitting at meat, saw a great black
man, covered with snow and rime, stalk up the hall, and after him
another smaller man, who groaned with the cold, and they wondered at
the sight. Gudruda sat on the high seat and the firelight beat upon her
face.
“Who comes here?” she said.
“One who would speak with thee, lady,” answered Skallagrim.
“Here is Skallagrim the Baresark,” said a man. “He is an outlaw, let us
kill him!”
“Ay, it is Skallagrim,” he answered, “and if there is killing to be
done, why here’s that which shall do it,” and he drew out his axe and
smiled grimly.
Then all held their peace, for they feared the axe of Skallagrim.
“Lady,” he said, “I do not come for slaying or such child’s play, I
come to speak a word in thine ear—but first I ask a cup of mead and a
morsel of food, for we have spent three days in the snows.”
So they ate and drank. Then Gudruda bade the Baresark draw near and
tell her his tale.
“Lady,” said he, “Eric, my lord, lies dying on Mosfell.”
Gudruda turned white as the snow.
“Dying?—Eric lies dying?” she said. “Why, then, art thou here?”
“For this cause, lady: I think that thou canst save him, if he is not
already sped.” And he told her all the tale.
Now Gudruda thought a while.
“This is a hard journey,” she said, “and it does not become a maid to
visit outlaws in their caves. Yet I am come to this, that I will die
before I shrink from anything that may save the life of Eric. When must
we ride, Skallagrim?”
“This night,” said the Baresark. “This night while the men sleep, for
now night and day are almost the same. The snow is deep and we have no
time to lose if we would find Brighteyes living.”
“Then we will ride to-night,” answered Gudruda.
Afterwards, when people slept, Gudruda the Fair summoned her women, and
bade them say to all who asked for her that she lay sick in bed. But
she called three trusty thralls, bidding them bring two pack-horses
laden with hay, food, drugs, candles made of sheep’s fat, and other
goods, and ride with her. Then, all being ready, they rode away
secretly up Stonefell, Gudruda on her horse Blackmane, and the others
on good geldings that had been hay-fed in the yard, and by daylight
they passed up Horse-Head Heights. They slept two nights in the snow,
and on the second night almost perished there, for much soft snow fell.
But afterwards came frost and a bitter northerly wind and they passed
on. Gudruda was a strong woman and great of heart and will, and so it
came about that on the third day she reached Mosfell, weary but little
harmed, though the fingers of her left hand were frostbitten. They
climbed the mountain, and when they came to the dell where the horses
were kept, certain of Eric’s men met them and their faces were sad.
“How goes it now with Brighteyes?” said Skallagrim, for Gudruda could
scarcely speak because of doubt and cold. “Is he dead, then?”
“Nay,” they answered, “but like to die, for he is beside himself and
raves wildly.”
“Push on,” quoth Gudruda; “push on, lest it be too late.”
So they climbed the mountain on foot, won the pass and came to that
giddy point of rock where he must tread who would reach the platform
that is before the cave. Now since she had hung by her hands over
Goldfoss gulf, Gudruda had feared to tread upon a height with nothing
to hold to. Skallagrim went first, then called to her to follow. Thrice
she looked, and turned away, trembling, for the place was awful and the
fall bottomless. Then she spoke aloud to herself:
“Eric did not fear to risk his life to save me when I hung over Golden
Falls; less, then, should I fear to risk mine to save him,” and she
stepped boldly down upon the point. But when she stood there, over the
giddy height, shivers ran along her body, and her mind grew dark. She
clutched at the rock, gave one low cry and began to fall. Indeed she
would have fallen and been lost, had not Skallagrim, lying on his
breast in the narrow hole, stretched out his arms, caught her by the
cloak and kirtle and dragged her to him. Presently her senses came
back.
“I am safe!” she gasped, “but by a very little. Methinks that here in
this place I must live and die, for I can never tread yonder rock
again.”
“Thou shalt pass it safe enough, lady, with a rope round thee,” said
Skallagrim, and led the way to the cave.
Gudruda entered, forgetting all things in her love of Eric. A great
fire of turf burned in the mouth of the cave to temper the bitter wind
and frost, and by its light Gudruda saw her love through the
smoke-reek. He lay upon a bed of skins at the far end of the cave and
his bright grey eyes were wild, his wan face was white, and now of a
sudden it grew red with fever, and then was white again. He had thrown
the sheepskins from his mighty chest, the bones of which stood out
grimly. His long arms were thrust through the locks of his golden hair,
and on one side of his neck the hair clung to him and it was but a
black mass.
He raved loudly in his madness. “Touch me not, carles, touch me not; ye
think me spent and weak, but, by Thor! if ye touch my hair, I will
loosen the knees of some. Gudruda alone shall shear my hair: I have
sworn and I will keep the oath that I once broke. Give me snow! snow!
my throat burns! Heap snow on my head, I bid you. Ye will not? Ye mock
me, thinking me weak! Where, then, is Whitefire?—I have yet a deed to
do! Who comes yonder? Is it a woman’s shape or is it but a
smoke-wraith? ‘Tis Swanhild the Fatherless who walks the waters.
Begone, Swanhild, thou witch! thou hast worked evil enough upon me.
Nay, it is not Swanhild, it is Elfrida; lady, here in England I may not
stay. In Iceland I am at home. Yea, yea, things go crossly; perchance
in this garden we may speak again!”
Now Gudruda could bear his words no longer, bur ran to him and knelt
beside him.
“Peace, Eric!” she whispered. “Peace! It is I, thy love. It is Gudruda,
who am come to thee.”
He turned his head and looked upon her strangely.
“No, no,” he said, “it is not Gudruda the Fair. She will have little to
do with outlaws, and this is too rough a place for her to come to. It
is dark also and Atli speaks in the darkness. If thou art Gudruda, give
me a sign. Why comest thou here and where is Skallagrim? Ah! that was a
good fight—
Down among the ballast tumbling
Ospakar’s shield-carles were rolled.
But he should never have slain the steersman. The axe goes first and
Skallagrim follows after. Ha, ha! Ay, Swanhild, we’ll mingle tears.
Give me the cup. Why, what is this? Thou art afire, a glory glows about
thee, and from thee floats a scent like the scent of the Iceland meads
in May.”
“Eric! Eric!” cried Gudruda, “I am come to shear thy hair, as thou
didst swear that I alone should do.”
“Now I know that thou art Gudruda,” said the crazed man. “Cut, cut; but
let not those knaves touch my head, lest I should slay them.”
Then Gudruda drew out her shears, and without more ado shore off
Brighteyes’ golden locks. It was no easy task, for they were thick as a
horse’s mane, and glued to the wound. Yet when she had cut them, she
loosened the hair from the flesh with water which she heated upon the
fire. The wound was in a bad state and blue, still Eric never winced
while she dragged the hair from it. Then she washed the sore clean, and
put sweet ointment on it and covered it with napkins.
This done, she gave Eric broth and he drank. Then, laying her hand upon
his head, she looked into his eyes and bade him sleep. And presently he
slept—which he had scarcely done for many days—slept like a little
child.
Eric slept for a day and a night. But at that same hour of the evening,
when he had fallen asleep, Gudruda, watching him by the light of a
taper that was set upon a rock, saw him smile in his dreams. Presently
he opened his eyes and stared at the fire which glowed in the mouth of
the cave, and the great shadows that fell upon the rocks.
“Strange!” she heard him murmur, “it is very strange! but I dreamed I
slept, and that Gudruda the Fair leaned over me as I slept. Where,
then, is Skallagrim? Perhaps I am dead and that is Hela’s fire,” and he
tried to lift himself upon his arm, but fell back from faintness, for
he was very weak. Then Gudruda took his hand, and, leaning over him,
spoke:
“Hush, Eric!” she said; “that was no dream, for I am here. Thou hast
been sick to death, Eric; but now, if thou wilt rest, things shall go
well with thee.”
“_Thou_ art here?” said Eric, turning his white face towards her. “Do I
still dream, or how comest thou here to Mosfell, Gudruda?”
“I came through the snows, Eric, to cut thy hair, which clung to the
festering wound, for in thy madness thou wouldst not suffer anyone to
touch it.”
“Thou camest through the snows—over the snows—to nurse me, Gudruda?
Thou must love me much then,” and he was so weak that, as he spoke, the
tears rolled down Eric’s cheeks.
Then Gudruda kissed him, weeping also, and, laying her face by his,
bade him be at peace, for she was there to watch him.