The Saga of Colm the Slave (17 page)

Geirrid came to Colm again, eyes wide
with fear. “He is walking! I have seen him!”

Colm tried to quiet his son. “No, no! He
is locked in his grave and can’t get out.”

“No! Not An!”

Then Colm thought he understood. He
searched for words to comfort Geirrid about Gudbrand and his death.
The boy had been a bully and unmannerly but Colm had to phrase that
in a way that would not make Geirrid think that he could kill
anyone he wished.

“It was Edgar! I saw him walk before me
along the pathway!”

Colm’s words choked in his throat and he
gulped at them. The blood drained from his face. Geirrid saw his
father’s reaction and there was no way now to lessen his fear. Any
words Colm could manage were overpowered by his expression.

Colm gathered himself. “Edgar has been
dead for more than three years, yet only now is he seen walking?”
Colm shook his head. “This is An, somehow. All of this began with
him and the mistreatment of his corpse. We must find a way to quiet
his spirit.”

Geirrid was not satisfied but he left
without saying anything more. Colm dropped his face into his hands
and recalled Edgar’s resignation, his composed appearance, as Bjorn
heaved him over the cliff. Then he thought of Grim clutching his
guts and waving his stump as he dropped to his knees, and the old
Frisian with the look of sorrow on his face as he realized he was
about to die, and Gunnlaug’s body sliding from the knife that had
touched his heart – if An had started a series of hauntings, then
there were many more to come. Colm knew he had to do something.

The next day, Colm rode over to
Thorolf’s farm and told him that dead men were walking. Thorolf sat
quietly, one eyebrow cocked, and heard Colm out. Then he said, “I
had not thought you would be the one to tell me ghost stories!
Bjorn has been off-balance ever since Aud died, but you are a
level-headed man.”

Colm picked his words carefully. “I have
seen nothing myself, but talk is everywhere and I think it would be
a good thing if it could be silenced.”

“All right,” said Thorolf, “Do you have
a plan?”

“An died in the Crossfield. I think we
should ask the advice of a Christian,” said Colm. “Thorkel Teitsson
is said to be Christian and it is said that he sometimes has
Christian visitors from abroad.”

“All right,” said Thorolf, “We will
visit Thorkell and see if he knows how to banish spooks.”

Thorkel Teitsson admitted to being a
Christian and to knowing something about that faith. He asked to
see the place where An’s body was found. So they travelled to the
Crossfield, Thorolf, Colm, Ketil, and some others. The three boys
that had discovered the corpse came with them and Geirrid pointed
out the exact spot where An had lain.

Thorkel examined the ground closely. He
crouched suddenly and picked up a small cross that lay on the
earth. The cross was made of two pieces of bone lashed together
with a strip of hide. “Was this beside the body?”

Men said it might be so. They hadn’t
noticed one cross among many and, anyway, their attention was
focused on An’s corpse.

“So, was An a Christian?” asked
Thorkel.

No one knew for certain but several said
that he might have been.

“Then perhaps this was his cross,” said
Thorkel. “Perhaps he came here to pray for his crippled body to be
straight and his pain to be relieved.” Thorkell looked around him.
“And if he did so, his prayers are answered and he lives now,
straight and whole in Paradise.”

“Then how is it his ghost walks?” asked
Thorolf.

“Perhaps there is something he left here
and he has returned for it.” Thorkel held the bone cross aloft.

They all went then to An’s gravesite.
They rolled the boulder away – it took several strong men – and
opened the grave. Thorkel cut open the sealskin shroud. They all
saw the skeleton inside. Thorkel placed the bone cross in An’s bony
hands. Then he showed everyone a small vial. “This is holy water,
blessed by a priest.” Thorkel sprinkled a few drops of the precious
fluid on An’s body while he recited a prayer in Latin that he had
memorized. “Now,” he said, “The dead will walk no more.”

And so it was. There were no more
hauntings in the district, not for a long time. Geirrid slowly
returned to normal and Colm was relieved. Still, at night, he lay
on his bench and felt the false penny weighing on his chest. He
thought of exchanging it for another token, a cross of Christ or a
hammer of Thor, but he had no faith in any of the gods anymore.
There were men and deeds, Colm thought. Fate might lock all in its
plan, but men must act regardless. Then they carried the weight of
their deeds for the rest of their lives like the thief in the moon
who would bend under his load of stolen wood forever. As they aged
and performed more actions, so men became more burdened. Colm felt
now the load he had made for himself pressing down on his breast
like the coin of lies, resting on his heart like a stone.

12.Bjorn Dies

After the death of Aud, his first wife,
Bjorn alternated between frenzied action and deep melancholy.
People said that Aud stabilized the man, but that Gerda was too
much a girl to be able to steady him. They never said this to
Gerda’s face, though.

After Gudbrand’s death, Bjorn became
listless and moody. He showed little interest in his other
children. Hallvard was the eldest son now but there were two other
boys, Asgrim and Ahmund, and a girl, Marta, named for Gerda’s
mother who had also passed on. For twelve years, Gerda had been
either pregnant or nursing a newborn. People laughed and said Bjorn
was quite the old stallion but after Gudbrand’s death, Gerda had no
more children.

Each month that passed, Bjorn sank
deeper into sadness. Sometimes he burst into tears and could not
tell anyone the reason. Colm tried to speak to him as a friend but
there is a great gulf between former slave and one-time master.
Anyway, Bjorn said less and less to anyone any more until it became
a rare day that two sentences fell from his lips. One autumn during
harvest, four years after Gudbrand’s death, Bjorn banged his leg on
a stone. A great bruise formed on his shin and Bjorn said, “Well,
that will be the end of me.”

The bruise never healed but seemed to
grow larger every day. Gerda asked Bjorn if he thought he was
bewitched but he only shrugged in reply. That winter Bjorn’s entire
leg was swollen and black up to his hip. Gerda wrapped it in
poultices and healers visited with this remedy or that. Bjorn did
not send them away but he did not acknowledge their presence
either. He lay there silently while mud plasters or stewed herbs
were pressed against his flesh, he drank the concoctions the
healers brewed, but he said nothing. He died in silence before the
spring.

Colm told Gwyneth, “He died because of
Gudbrand.”

“You didn’t do that. And you had to
protect the one who did.”

Colm said nothing more but he believed
that, somehow, he was responsible for Bjorn’s death. Another to add
to the list, he thought.

“Buck up,” said Gwyneth. “Don’t give up
and die like Bjorn. He killed himself or, anyway, he let himself
die. You didn’t do it.”

Colm nodded. Then he held up his head
and smiled into Gwyneth’s face.

“There,” she said, “That’s the way I
like to see you.”

Gerda was a wealthy widow. She held
Bjorn’s farm – though her children had a claim on it – and since
her father, Thorolf, had no other surviving children, she stood to
inherit his godord, unless he sold it before he died.

One day Gerda rode to see Thorolf. “You
are getting on,” she said, “And will die before too many more years
pass.” Thorolf agreed that this was the case. “Your grandson
Hallvard is now thirteen,” said Gerda, “I think he will make a fine
godi. I want you to acknowledge him as heir.” Her words pleased
Thorolf a great deal for he loved his grandson very much but he did
not want to seem too enthusiastic. Thorolf knew that his daughter
was wilful and stubborn and that she would resist any attempt to
steer her onto a particular path. He had learned when Gerda was
young to wait until she was completely set on a course before
showing his approval. Now he said only that her words were
something to consider.

“Well, consider this,” said Gerda,
“Hallvard is too young now to be a decent godi so you must promise
to live another four years. In the meantime he will come to live
with you and, at the Althing, you will announce that he will be
your heir. Of course,” Gerda added, “If you insist on dying early I
might just re-marry and turn the godord over to a man who is a
stranger to you!” Gerda was a widow and, in theory, could remarry
at any time with or without her family’s approval.

Thorolf shook his head. “You drive a
hard bargain,” he said, “But I’ll hold up my end.” He agreed to her
terms and Hallvard came to live with him. Thorolf tried to teach
the boy all that he could and Hallvard soon seemed as wise as many
an older man. People said that he would make an excellent godi.

13.The Missing Cattle

Ketil Tree-Foot shared some upland
pasture with a farmer named Gunnar. It was fine grazing and they
both sent cattle there in the summer. They built a milk-shed there
and each farmer supplied a woman or two to live there during the
summer and milk the cows and make cheese and skyr. It was not too
far up the mountainside but a little difficult to get to since
there were treacherous cliffs and crevasses on the way.

Ketil had a fine milch-cow named
Mikla-Tit. She had borne eight calves and always gave more milk
than other cows. She was smart, too, and the herd followed her as
it picked its way up to the summer pasture. Ketil swore that he
would feed her even after she dried up because she was so valuable
to him as herd-leader.

It was a fine summer with early warmth.
The grass grew rich and thick on the upland pasture and Ketil and
Gunnar sent their herds up a week earlier than usual. A young man
named Skeggi watched Ketil’s herd and an older slave woman, Berta,
worked in the milkshed. Gunnar sent up a man called Brand and a
young female slave, Arnfrith. Arnfrith was only about fifteen but
very skilled at dairying. For a while, everyone got on well and
both Ketil and Gunnar were pleased with the quantities of cheese
and milk they brought down the mountain.

Berta first noticed that Mikla-Tit was
missing from the herd when the cattle came in for milking. She
called to Arnfrith but the girl was nowhere to be found. She looked
for Skeggi and Brand but they did not answer her call either. Berta
counted the herd. Besides Mikla-Tit another cow was missing.
Troubled, Berta set about milking.

After a while, Arnfrith showed up at the
shed. She was breathless from running. “Where have you been?”
grumbled Berta. Arnfrith’s eyes widened and she began shaping an
excuse for being late. “Oh, never mind,” said Berta, “Get on with
the milking.” After a while she said, “There’s two cows missing.”
Arnfrith shrugged. She knew nothing about it.

After the herd was milked, Berta went
looking for Skeggi. She found him asleep in a haypile. “Get up, you
lazy scoundrel!” She kicked him and he rose from the hay. “Have you
seen Mikla-Tit?”

Skeggi was all attention. “What do you
mean? Isn’t she with the herd?”

“No. Another cow is gone as well, one of
Ketil’s, I think. Take a look and make certain.”

So Skeggi examined the cattle and their
markings and confirmed that the missing cow was indeed one of
Ketil’s. “Where’s Brand?”

“You tell me!” snapped Berta. “You two
good-for-nothings have let two of our master’s cows disappear. Now
you’ll have to go explain to him!”

Skeggi hung his head. The next day,
after the morning milking, he followed the cows up to their pasture
and searched the area, but he could not find Mikla-Tit. Nor was
Brand anywhere to be seen. There was nothing else for it. Skeggi,
heart in his throat, went to tell Ketil what had happened.

Ketil was angry and cuffed Skeggi’s
face. “What do you mean, missing?” he shouted and took another
swing at the boy. Skeggi fell to his knees and Ketil leaned down
and hit him some more, still yelling. Finally Ketil stopped.
Breathing hard, he said, “We’ll go up the mountain and look.”
Skeggi nodded, blood streaming down his face.

They searched the path leading from the
sheds to the pasturage and gave particular attention to the cliffs
that it skirted. The path wound along a great crevasse for a
hundred yards or so at one point and men examined the lip above the
crevasse for signs that a cow had gone over. And they scanned the
rocks below for signs of either Brand or a dead cow; nothing could
survive that fall. But all the searching failed to turn up any sign
of man or beast. They kept looking until it was dark then picked
their way back down the mountain. Ketil was very upset. He sent a
runner to tell Gunnar what had happened.

The next morning, early, Ketil again
went up to search the mountain. Gunnar was already there. Around
noon, when they had found no sign of the missing cattle, Ketil
spoke some words that had been souring in his skull. “Well, it’s no
mystery what happened.”

“How is that?” Gunnar was uncertain what
to make of these words.

“Your man has run off with my cows,
that’s what happened.”

“That could not be! Brand has been with
me for years. He is loyal and trustworthy.”

“Now he has violated that trust,” said
Ketil.

“I think not.”

“You would say that, seeing as it’s your
man that’s run off with the livestock.”

Now Gunnar grew angry. “My man, yes! And
a capable and responsible man, too. Which is why I sent him up here
after I learned that you were sending a good-for-nothing boy to
work the herd.” Ketil swelled with rage but Gunnar ignored him.
“Tell me,” he said, “Just where was your man when the cattle
vanished?”