SWEIN BIORNSON’S HEIRS.
Morning came and they were stirring. Thorstein found it hard to awake;
but as he rubbed his eyes and shook himself, there came over him the
thought of Raineach and how he had left her: and he was bitterly ashamed.
He ran to his mother, and “Mother,” said he, “I have been both knave and
fool.”
“What now, barn?” said she.
“Mother,” said he, “I had a gold ring in my hand, and I dropped it in the
ale vat.”
“Never heed it, barn,” said she: “thou wilt have gold rings enough, and
that thou wilt see before to-day is done. And thy old one will land up
when the ale is drunk.”
“Mother,” he said, “there was a young lass with me as I came along the
road: and I left her hard by Crakeford; for she was weary, she said, and
would come no farther.”
“A lass, barn? What, thou art young to lead lasses up and down. But lads
will be men nowadays, no sooner than they are out of swaddling clothes.
And what sort of a lass may she be?”
“She’s a good lass, mother, and a kind one to me: and I’d liefer by far
lose ring or ring-finger.”
“What then, lad? I’ll say nay to nothing, now I have thee home: but be
guided. Here we are all throng as throng can be, and folk to break their
fast: and men-folk are aye fractious on the morrow of a feast until they
be served. And there’s the settlement to follow, and a gey work it will
be to get through unless Orm be more reasonable than I fear. Let me send
one of our men to lait thy lass, and bestow her in one of the thrall’s
cots until we get these guests off our hands: or if thy mind is to fetch
her here upon us all, maybe Asdis Asmund’s daughter will give her a share
of her bed. That’s a bonny lass, Thorstein.”
“Nay, mother,” answered he, stuttering, “I doubt Asdis will give us no
thanks for thrusting a stranger upon her: and Raineach—”
“What?” said his mother: “is it an Irish woman?”
“Never mind what, mother, now: but I say she will be better suited
elsewhere than here, until this turmoil is over, and then.”
The first thing was their breakfast, which was a great meal with the
North-folk then-a-days, and the set-out was well nigh as big as at supper
time. Next thing was the settlement, and division of the dead man’s
goods; to be done before the neighbours, fair and square and above-board:
for in those days they had no lawyers and writings and such-like, either
for the making of laws or for the conveying of property, and all was
done by word of mouth and deed of hand in the presence of witnesses,
whose testimony was the only token of the continuance of a custom or the
assurance of ownership.
After question asked and answered about debts the dead man might owe, and
after sundry to whom he had lent money or goods had repaid them in bags
of silver or ells of cloth they came to the division of the estate. It
was their use for the widow to take one part in three, both of the land
and goods. After some talk, they climbed the howe and parcelled out the
whole land-take of Swein Biornson, both wild-wood and cleared land: and
coming down from the howe they all walked over the grounds as they had
measured them out from above, beating the boundaries, and planting staves
or stones from point to point along. And this side of the line, up-bank
towards Greenodd, was to be Unna’s, and the other side was to be for the
rest of the heirs.
Of furniture and movable things, ornaments and apparel and household
gear, they carried out a third part and stood them in a heap in one of
the sheds, until it should be settled where Unna would bestow herself and
her goods. Then she chose out her third part of the thralls, both men and
maids, and set them aside. And by that time the morning was spent, and
the mid-day drinking was served to them in the disordered garth. But to
the younger folk all this was a holiday-making, and it was merriment to
see arks opened and goods shifted, and the thralls set out in a line and
chosen: and to hear the maids say “Oh mistress, take me!” and to one and
another the mistress replying “Nay, lass; I know thee too well.”
So then they talked about what should be done as between the three lads;
until one said, “It has been done before, neighbours, and it is often
a good custom, for the first-born to get house and land, and for the
younger to take the movable goods. Now here we have three lads: and
if we set all that remains in three shares, namely house and land and
farming-stock to one share: and the ship and all that belongs to it,
boats and boat-sheds, tools and tackle and such-like, to another share:
and lastly if we reckon up silver and gold, apparel and furniture and
such chattels to the third share: then I say we shall not be far from
a fair parting of the estate. And I say that if Orm Sweinson takes the
house and farm, he will do well: and if Hundi takes the ship and goes
abroad, he is like to thrive: and if Thorstein the child gets the money
and movables, he will be well set up.”
At this Orm boggled somewhat, for said he, “An empty house is cold
cheer.” But Thorstein answered, “Why, brother, we can mend that. Give me
and my goods house-room, and I will give thee the help of me and mine.”
And so said Unn, for she was loath to leave the old spot, and Orm knew
right well what a manager she was. And so they settled it, without more
ado, and went down to the field for a game of wrestling.
There they played until supper time, and Thorstein acquitted himself
right well, though he was hardly fifteen years of age and far from full
grown. But his life on the fells had hardened him, so that Hundi Snail,
as they called him because he was easy and fat, went down under the
youngster: and even Orm was thrown twice out of thrice; at which he was
vexed, though he said little. So to set matters right Unna bade them in
to supper: and as they went up to supper said Asmund to Thorstein, “A
word with thee, my lad.”
“Say on, master,” says he.
“Look you now,” says Asmund. “Thou hast been these three winters away,
and no doubt we shall hear of thy doings. But one thing I see, and that
is, thou hast not lost thy time.”
“Thank you kindly,” says Thorstein.
“But,” says Asmund, “take a word from one who knows. It is not all of us
who have the trick, like thy poor father, of being soft to friends and
sour only to foes: and even betwixt brothers things do not always fall
as one would. Now, was it quite wise in thee to throw thy brother Orm,
think’st thou, those two times? Was not once enough?”
“What!” said he, “I threw him fair.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Asmund. “Fair is foul in such matters. Riddle me that,
lad. But when thou comest to know Orm a bit better, from serving him a
month or two—”
“Serving him?” cries Thorstein.
“Well, what else? since he is master of the house, and a masterful man at
any time. But when thou hast need of a friend and a friendly roof over
thy head, take thy money-bags, if aught be left in them, and hie thy ways
over to Asmundarlea. Say no more, my lad, but bear it in mind.”
So they went to supper, and Asdis sat again by Thorstein, daintier than
ever, and not a bit put out with him: and he was a deal more at his
ease. And while men drank after supper, said she, “Bonny things, master
wrestler, I spied among thy goods: and a lucky lad is the getter of them.”
“Aye,” said he, “they are fine enough, I suppose.”
“Would it be asking over much to have a sight of them once again before
we go? There’s a stitch in some of thy hangings I would be glad to learn.”
So he brought an armful and cleared the table where they sat, and she
fingered the embroideries and praised them, and praised him, until he had
given her a good half of them in spite of her nays.
“What,” she said at last, “I’ll see no more if everything I touch is to
be given me. But in one of thy kists, I saw a fine draught-board. Shall
we have a game?”
[Illustration: A LESSON IN FOX AND GEESE]
“I doubt,” said he, “I have forgotten how to play.”
“Oh,” said she, clapping her hands, “then I’ll teach thee, master
mountain bear: and that will be fun, for it’s dull for us poor lasses if
you men do nought but drink till bedtime and aboon.”
So he found the draught-board and the carved knaves, and they played fox
and geese until he learned something of the trick of it. Then she said,
“Nay, thou art fairly my master. I’ll teach no more. Let us play rightly
as folk do, and stake a trifle on a game or two.”
Well, the end was she won a good bit more of Thorstein’s fineries, and
carried a great heap off to bed with her. And if she was pleased, so was
he, at finding any way to please so pretty and dainty a creature.