FIGHTING AT TONGUE
They laid a trap for Cormac at Tongue, which Stangerd perceived,
though she did nothing to prevent it, since not a word was said of
him throughout their preparations. You do not ask a girl who respects
herself to talk of her heart-concerns to men. She will never do it. She
would as soon undress herself before them. Moreover, her father was
about the house all that afternoon, the last person in the world to
whom she could talk of Cormac.
The first thing was that Ord and Gudmund came to Tongue carrying
weapons of war. They had swords and shields. With them came Narve, who
had been out in the meadow since dinner-time, looking for them. He
brought a scythe over his shoulder.
They shut the front door, and shot one of the bolts. Then the scythe
was hung upon a nail, with the blade across the entry, and on the other
side of it two nails were driven aslant, so that a sword leaning upon
them cut across the corner of the door itself. Both of these things
must fall when the door was opened. Such preparations were made, and
the men sat about drinking mead, not saying very much above a whisper.
Ord tried to sit with Stangerd, who had her yarn to wind, but she was
very indignant, and would have nothing to say to him. Thorkel came
in and out, but towards the time when Cormac might be looked for, he
went into the kitchen, and waited there, peering. Stangerd saw him
through the crack of the door. She continued to wind her yarn, and
busied herself over it. She had no fear, however, for Cormac: it was
not that which troubled her. She was convinced of his better mettle
and more fortunate star. It would take stronger, stiller men than Ord
to put him down. But she was enraged at the injustice of her father,
that he should abet Ord’s jealousy, and knowing nothing against Cormac,
yet take rank against him. Because he didn’t relish song-making, was
song-making therefore shameful? Her heart burned in her breast, and the
edges of her cheek-bones burnt her cheeks.
The barking of the dogs declared the coming of her lover. Narve, the
fool, could not keep still. He jumped in the air and cracked his
fingers. Ord and Gudmund looked at each other, but said nothing. Then
presently they heard Cormac’s step in the court, and the sound of his
voice singing.
The door was tried. He found it bolted. He drave against it with some
staff or other which he was carrying. Gudmund tiptoed to the door
and shot back the bolt. Cormac drave into it again with his staff,
and it flew open. The scythe and the sword came down together and met
in midway, falling with a clash and shiver. Scythe, being heavier,
brake sword. Cormac stood, smiling and bright-eyed, looking on. He saw
Stangerd in her white gown, and was going directly to her over the
wreckage at the door when Thorkel bounced out.
He was in a high rage. He shook his hand at Cormac. “You worthless
rascal! You night-worker, get you gone! What have you been to this
house but a cause of scandal and bitterness? Get you gone with your
mouthful of folly and wind!”
Cormac laughed pleasantly, and made him worse.
“You grin, you grin, you bitch’s whelp! But there shall be a ruefuller
grinning for you before long.”
He went into his hall, and took Stangerd by the arm. “Up with you,
mistress, and come with me. Here is mischief enough for your fine eyes.
There shall be no more.”
She had risen, red and troubled herself. Holding her by the upper arm,
he bustled her through the hall and out by the women’s door. He thrust
her into the byre, and shut the door upon her, locking her in. “Stay
there, till we have scared out this gadfly skald,” he said.
* * * * *
Meantime Cormac had gone into the hall. Narve was not there; but at the
further end he saw the two brothers, with their bare swords on their
knees.
“What is afoot?” he asked, looking from one to the other; but they said
nothing.
He stood doubtfully, looking first at them, and then about the hall,
next at the ruins on the floor. He stirred them with his toe.
“When scythe and broad-sword come to blows,
Plain men take heart, and meadow-grass.
But there’s no pasture for the ass,
However fair the home-mead grows.
Cudgel your wits, I’ll cudgel your hides,
Ye greedy pair of hoody crows.”
They sat glum, glowering at him from beneath their brows. So far Cormac
had not been in a rage, but now he got suddenly angry. He walked up to
the brothers.
“What is the meaning of this foolery? What have I done to Thorkel or to
you that I should be received in this manner?”
Ord said, “You are not wanted here. Is it not plain enough? What more
can a man do than take his daughter out of the house the moment you
come into it?”
Cormac answered him: “He can see that worse men than myself are out
of it first. But he lets his house fill with smeary scamps, and then
bolts them in lest he lose one of them. You are none of you fit to
sweep the floor for Stangerd’s feet. You make that foul which was only
gritty with good dust before.” He turned suddenly and saw Narve in the
entry of the Bower. In a flash he was upon him, and had him by the ear.
“You--dish-washer--where is Stangerd?” He screwed his ear round, and
Narve writhed.
“She’s locked up in the byre then,” he said in a hurry.
Cormac loosed him, and went straight through the house and out of the
women’s door, where the maids were clustered together, and saw him go.
He shook the door of the byre, and called, “Stangerd, are you there?”
She answered him, “Yes, I am here.”
“I must see you,” he said; but she said, “No, no, you can’t get in.”
“Can I not?” said Cormac, and took a short run and butted into the door
with his shoulder. It burst at the lock.
She was alarmed; her eyes were bright. “Oh, you are mad to act so! My
father will set on you.”
“He will not, then,” said Cormac, and took her in his arms. He had
never been so eager to hold and kiss her before. He had always seemed
afraid of her, but now he was not at all afraid. Stangerd was glad of
him, and very proud. Her father did not come near them, and there they
stayed till it grew dusk. Then she bade him go for fear they should set
upon him in the dark; and Cormac himself thought it was the better way.
“Farewell, my sweet,” he said, with his lips to hers. “I think I never
loved you like this before.”
“No,” she said, kissing him.
“You were Goddess to me,” he told her; “but now you are woman.”
“I like it better,” she said.
He felt a sudden chill at the heart. He knew--something told him
certainly--that it was not so good a way. Then he left her and went
through the house to go home. The house was empty so far as he could
see.
Beyond the court there were the meadows stretching downwards to the
brook, with stone walls about them. Then came the valley-bottom where
rushes grew and some sycamore-trees. Beyond the water the hill rose;
and here was your path if you were going to Melstead.
Stangerd went to the door presently, and watched Cormac go through the
meadows.
He went fast, vaulting wall after wall. She wasn’t sure, but she
believed that Thorveig’s sons were waiting for him in the bottom. When
Cormac came to the last wall she was sure; for he stood on the top of
it and remained standing for a while. Then when he jumped down, and she
could only see his head and shoulders, she saw the men come out of the
trees. Her father was not one of them. They were Ord, Gudmund, and
Narve. Ord aimed a spear at him. She saw it fly.
* * * * *
Cormac had seen the ambush before he got to the last stone wall. He
stood on it that the ambushmen might know that he saw them and come out
into the open. They all came out together, but when they were within
hurling distance, they separated. Narve hung back in some alder bushes,
Gudmund went to the left, and Ord to the right. Cormac jumped off the
wall and went between them. He had an axe.
Ord ran a little way forward and hurled his spear. Cormac met it with
the axe, and it glanced off and stuck in the moss. Then Gudmund, who
had been running, doubled up, came behind him to cut him off from the
wall; but Cormac was too quick for him, and was on him like a gust of
wind. He swung his axe as the spear came, and cut it in half as if
it had been a bulrush; then he whirled the axe round backhanded and
caught Gudmund in the neck with it, and brought him down. If he had not
been giving ground at the moment his head had been off. As it was, the
blade did not hit true; but he gushed blood from nose, mouth, and ears,
and fell like a stone.
Cormac turned and waited for Ord, who, having shot his spear, now came
at him with a sword.
Stangerd, watching by the door, turned quickly when she heard a man’s
foot in the hall, and saw her father coming out with his bill. Her eyes
burned.
“What are you going to do, father?” she said.
“Get out of my way, you!” he answered; but she would not. She came to
him and caught both his wrists. He raved at her; but she held on.
“You shall not--you shall not! It is shameful to be four against one.”
He swore he would be the death of her; but she cared nothing now.
Narve came up the court on tiptoe, white as a cloth. “Master, hold you
there! ’Tis all over,” he said. “Cormac has slain Ord, and, as for
Gudmund, I doubt he’ll never move again. Fierce work! Bloody work!” He
stared about him at the dusk. “We set our feet on a snake. That’s what
we did. And he’s bitten us to the bone.” Then he shuddered, and covered
his face. Stangerd let go of her father’s wrists and went into the
house.
* * * * *
It was true. Ord was no match for Cormac with any weapon; and sword
has no chance with axe if the axe-bearer knows his business. He never
touched Cormac, who, after two feints, split his head open.
This was the first man Cormac had ever killed. He looked thoughtfully
at the body, his rage having left him, and then went over to the
brother.
He believed him to be dead too; but he was not actually dead, though he
died in a few days. His rage had left him--no, not his rage, for he
had had none. He had been very excited. That moment on the wall when he
saw the three come out of the trees had been the greatest pleasure he
had ever known. But now all this was gone, and a feeling of disgust, as
if he had tasted something sour and stale, was in him. There seemed a
tarnish upon Stangerd’s gold. He would not think of Stangerd.
He found his axe-haft wet with Ord’s blood, and the space ’twixt
forefinger and thumb was wet too. He shuddered once or twice. It was
all a nasty business. He wondered: Should he leave those two things
alone there under the stars, or sit by them until it was light?
Gudmund’s face showed in the dark--for it was almost night by now--as
if there was a light within it. But Ord’s case was the worse. Ord had
no face now--only horrible parts of a face. He could not bear to look
at Ord, or help looking at him. He took off his coat and covered
Ord’s head and shoulders with it. For Gudmund he had to content
himself with boughs from a sycamore-tree. He was very careful of them,
having no feeling against them. They had attacked him; he had provoked
nothing--but he did not feel at all justified. A beastly business--and
Stangerd involved in it. To-morrow he would tell their mother; for the
present his coat was testimony enough that this was no murder.
He went home full of thought; but no verses came into his head, since
none were in his heart. He told his brother what he had done. Thorgils
said there was no shame to him.