The Saga of Colm the Slave (6 page)

“That might be fair. But what would your
share be for granting him the land?”

“Also a tenth. For ten years.” He turned
to Colm. “So what do you say? Will you take on this obligation? In
ten years the farm is yours without burden.”

Colm’s head blazed with ideas like a
fire spreading in a strawpile. He could see the farm – his farm –
with fields and herds, the house made whole… “I want…” Colm choked.
He remembered old Edgar stuttering and caught himself straight and
spoke up: “I want you to give me the slave Gwyneth. I will pay!” he
added quickly.

Bjorn made a face. “I can see you need a
woman around the place, but that slave is important to my wife
right now and tends her in her illness.”

Colm nodded. “She will owe you seven
years of labor.”

Thorolf laughed, “Another bargain, this.
But do you want her free or do you want her a slave?”

“If Bjorn gives her to me as a slave I
will free her. Whether he frees her or I do, I will then marry
her.”

“I see,” said Bjorn. “Well, let me speak
with my wife and see what she says. I know she likes this
girl.”

Colm’s eyes swam and he sank to his
knees. Freedom! Land! Gwyneth! All he dreamed of now come to him!
Thorolf chuckled, “Best stand up, man. You’ll get blood on your
trousers.”

Colm realized he was kneeling in the
bloody dirt next to Gunnlaug’s body. And what was he doing anyway,
here on his knees like a slave? He fought to keep back tears and
rose to look clear-eyed into the other faces, free man to free
man.

4.The Silver Pennies

Aud died that autumn. First, she seemed
to swell up, then to shrivel away. Tumors broke out all over her
body. She was in great pain for a while before she died. Colm
wondered how her gods could allow this woman to suffer such agony –
unless, of course, this was the White Christ’s punishment on her
for being a pagan. That raised another problem: if Jesus had struck
down this woman to demonstrate his power to unbelievers, then he
was more to be feared than Thor or Frey, who could not protect Aud
from this terrible death. But Colm thought, even if Jesus was more
powerful than the pagan gods, he himself would not willingly serve
a master who so cruelly abused a good woman just to win a
point.

Aud was well-respected and many people
gathered at her dying. There, on her deathbed, Aud granted freedom
to Gwyneth. She called witnesses and swore Gwyneth to be a free
woman. Gwyneth stayed with Aud through to the end when she was in
horrible pain. Gwyneth made her as comfortable as possible and,
when Aud was dead, wept because she felt truly attached to her.

Colm’s feelings were more complex. On
the one hand Colm thought that Aud’s freeing of Gwyneth earned her
sainthood in whatever faith truly existed, on the other, Aud’s
death meant that Gwyneth was free to marry!

So they wed, Colm and Gwyneth, after Aud
was buried, by announcing that fact to newly bereaved Bjorn, who
nodded and waved a hand to them as he wiped away his tears with the
other, for Aud and he had loved each other for a long time. Their
children were grown and far away and he had no one to comfort
him.

The newly-weds walked down the valley,
swinging their arms together, laughing but apprehensive. They had
both been enslaved as children and now they feared freedom a bit.
But freedom was exhilarating, too! So, they were excited as they
walked together the miles to the Trollfarm. They were excited and
they were apprehensive; they were so full of feelings that
happiness was only another one, mixed in with the rest.

The Trollfarm was Colm’s own place now
in exchange for rent. It was Gwyneth’s own house to run as she
pleased. But she worried that she’d do poorly as a housewife; her
chickens not lay and her children not thrive. And Colm, too,
worried whether he would be able to manage after paying out twenty
percent of his increase every year for seven years and ten percent
for another three. Then he tried to determine how much difference
ten percent would make and whether, when he had paid in for seven
years, he could cease to worry. Then he thought of how his holding
would increase and he thought of Gwyneth beside him, her palm a
little damp now, and wondered how long until they got to his
farmhouse. He picked up the pace and noticed Gwyneth wasn’t
lagging.

Colm had made some repairs. He tried to
fix the damaged roof, but now it required a season’s growing over.
Of course, even after the sod covered a roof, it still leaked, but
that one part would leak worse than the rest, probably forever.
Colm had tried to repair the benches, too. Most of the bench-boards
were missing. Wood was in short supply and Colm felt lucky that
people had not totally stripped the Trollfarm. Anyway, he had
managed to set up some benches at the drier end of the house. There
was a firepit there and plenty of dung for fuel.

So they built up the fire and lay on the
benches and everything was just as it should be until an hour or
two after dark. Then there was a howl outside, a strange sound –
not a dog and there were no wolves on this island. Colm leapt from
the bench and pulled on his trousers. He grabbed up his scramasax
and crouched by the doorway. Then he heard other sounds: a jangle
of iron bands on a ring, the thick boom of a homemade drum, howls
and shouts. He looked back at the bench where Gwyneth, laughing,
was pulling on her skirts.

They walked outside to find nine slaves,
men and women, cheering and yelling at them. Gwyneth ran forward to
embrace the women, who were all her friends, and Colm walked over
to the men, once his fellow slaves but now creatures of a lower
order. He slapped hands and greeted the other young men and he saw
the envy and the admiration in their eyes, envy and admiration for
him, Colm, the slave who won a farm, a woman, and his freedom. Colm
decided to ignore the envy and gently mock the admiration, which
diminished the one as it increased the other. But he was a little
ashamed that he could not offer hospitality; he had neither beer
nor food to offer. Then the slave women unwrapped their parcels and
there was cheese and meat and even some beer, enough for everyone
to have a taste. No doubt these were victuals purloined from Aud’s
funeral feast, but that is the slave’s rightful portion and not to
be denied. After some time spent feasting and laughing and talking
of things no one would remember later, the slaves left and Colm and
Gwyneth tumbled onto the bench again.

The next morning, they were both
reflective. Colm said, “I have no marriage price for you.”

Gwyneth said, “I have no dowry for
you.”

Colm, sweet-talking man, said, “But I
have a morning-gift for you.” He took Gwyneth by the hand and out
the door and they stood in the front yard, completely naked, and
Colm said, “All of this, all of it, this is your morning-gift.”

Gwyneth looked about her at the field
that had not been mowed in years. At the lack of animals in the
yard, no pigs, no chickens, not even a dog. At the damaged roof on
the longhouse and she asked, straight-faced, “Am I supposed to be
pleased or horrified?”

Colm looked around and began laughing.
“Whichever it is, I feel the same way.” He gathered himself up and
put on his farmer face. “But we will build this up! Sheep, cattle,
hay…”

“Chickens!”

“…Chickens. Pigs, horses, goats… I think
there’s a place where you can grow barley! That’s something! We can
brew beer and…” Colm caught himself waving his arms about and
looked at Gwyneth who regarded him, hand on hip, with her eyes
narrowed and a smile on her lips. They looked at each other for a
silent moment, then ran back inside.

Colm mowed the home field. It was hot in
the sun but days were running shorter. The grass might not dry
properly. Anyway, it was full of dried grass from years of neglect.
How would that affect the hay? But Colm discovered that if he
pitched the grass on top of the stone fence, away from the ground,
it dried more quickly. Gwyneth helped, too, and Colm mowed the
faster for seeing her work beside him. Most of the home field was
good hay before the snow fell.

That winter, Colm’s ewe delivered twins.
Often a first-time mother will not bear twins successfully, but
Colm and Gwyneth saw the ewe through her birthing and coddled her
so that she was able to nurse both lambs. The lambs thrived. All
this work, all this excitement, everything came along one thing
after another so that Colm and Gwyneth never had much opportunity
to reflect how happy they were and how delicious they found life to
be! Then, in the spring, Bjorn came to see Colm.

Gwyneth was tugging loose fleece from
the ewe when she saw the horse approaching. She watched for a
minute, recognized Bjorn, called Colm, and went in to prepare what
food she could to welcome her guest who was also the former master
of Colm and herself.

Bjorn got directly to the point.
“Eystein has returned from raiding.” Eystein was brother to
Halldor, who had been murdered by Gunnlaug. “He wants to meet
you.”

Colm nodded and gestured to his house.
“He is welcome.”

Bjorn said, “He, and others, will visit
my place soon. You and your wife come, too.”

Colm thought first that Bjorn meant his
house was not good enough to entertain Eystein and his father,
Magnus, a wealthy farmer. Then he thought that Bjorn was honoring
him as a guest. He weighed the two thoughts and decided to take
honor above insult. After all, he owed Bjorn much.

Bjorn’s longhall was packed. Marta, wife
of the chieftain, Thorolf, sat in the place of honor on the women’s
bench -- Aud’s place, when Aud was alive. Her daughter Gerda and
the unmarried young women took their places on one side of her.
Ingveld, wife to Magnus and mother of the murdered Halldor, sat on
the other side ahead of the other married women. Gwyneth took her
place at the very end of the bench. She held her chin high and her
back erect. Colm ached for her though there was nothing he could do
to help Gwyneth’s status except improve his own. Ingveld went down
to Gwyneth’s place and took her hand and said some words that
caused Gwyneth to smile. Colm smiled, too.

The place of honor on the men’s bench
was held by Bjorn, the host, and beside him sat Thorolf, his
chieftain. On Bjorn’s other side sat Magnus, Ingveld’s husband. No
couple was more unlike: soft-spoken and diplomatic Ingveld and
choleric Magnus given to anger and invective. Beside Magnus sat his
son, Eystein the raider. Big and broad-shouldered, with a hint of
his father’s anger flickering in his eyes, Colm wondered if Eystein
had inherited any of his mother’s wisdom.

Next to Eystein sat his lieutenant,
Grani Lopear. The top of Grani’s right ear was gone and a white
scar ran across the side of his head and down his cheek to the
corner of his mouth. He had the coldest, sharpest blue eyes Colm
had ever seen. A single glance pierced you to the marrow. He
glanced at Colm now, then stood up and gestured for the other men
below him to move down the bench. If any man objected to this
slight, he did not say so to Grani’s face. Grani beckoned Colm
forward to sit between him and Eystein.

Two seats from the host! This was honor!
At least, it was honor for him. Those who had to move down the
bench had other feelings, perhaps. But Colm took his place without
looking at them.

Eystein rose and embraced Colm and
kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed him by the shoulders and made a
great roaring speech. Colm was so overcome that he missed the words
but he took their meaning: Eystein welcomed him and thanked him and
loved him for avenging his brother’s murder. Colm had other motives
when he drove a knife into Gunnlaug’s heart but no one cared about
that.

Then Eystein reached under the bench and
hauled out a long parcel that he placed in Colm’s hands. A gift!
Colm was both honored and apprehensive. By accepting this gift, he
was indebting himself to Eystein, yet there was no possibility of
refusing it. Colm untied the knotted thong and unrolled the leather
wrapping. He knew already, from the weight, that he was probably
being given a weapon.

The gift was a sword, a fine Frankish
sword. Colm slid the weapon from its fleece-lined sheath and the
greased steel shone in the firelight. Runes were inscribed on the
blade – a magic spell, perhaps, or the swordsmith’s name – but Colm
could no more read them than he could any other kind of writing.
This was a valuable weapon, better than most men in the district
owned. Colm thanked Eystein warmly and received a friendly clap on
the back that would have sent him over the table if he hadn’t
sensed it coming and braced himself.

The men took their seats again and
Eystein pressed Colm to tell of how he killed the outlaw Gunnlaug.
Colm replied as directly as he could. He added no flourishes or
heroics. Gunnlaug had not held a weapon when Colm killed him.
Eystein made him tell again the part where Colm shoved the
scramasax under Gunnlaug’s ribs and thrust it up into his heart.
Colm was aware of Grani’s intense interest. The man never said a
word, but Colm could feel his eyes drilling into the back of his
head. Then, seized with inspiration, he beckoned a slave forward, a
man he knew, and asked him to run to the Trollfarm and fetch the
scramasax so that Eystein could view it.

Now the conversation became general.
Eystein spoke of raiding. It was no use going to Ireland anymore,
he said. The place was looted out. Anyway, the descendants of Ivar
who once ruled Ireland and the sons of King Harald Finehair were
invading now, one after the other it seemed, trying to establish
their own kingdoms. Ivar had many descendants and Harald had
fathered a great many sons so this state of affairs would continue
for a time.

Colm thought back to what he could
remember of Ireland before was taken into slavery. He tried to
decide if the country would do well under a Norwegian king, but
could not make up his mind. He had been a child when he was taken
and he had no knowledge of politics.