The Saga of Colm the Slave (7 page)

Eystein said England was wealthy but
well-defended under Edgar the Peaceable and hard to raid
successfully. Scotland and West Britain were poor and kept that way
by constant raiding from the Norse settlements in the Hebrides. No,
said Eystein, the place for raiders now was on the continent.
Frankia was all right, though one might run into the dreaded
Frankish army, the best in the world west of Greekland and north of
Andalusia. Frisia, on the other hand, was disorganized and poorly
defended. In fact, the Franks had handed the place over to a Dane
to defend. He was a member of the Danish royal line and looking
back north to maybe push a relative off the throne. South, no one
was looking. There, a raider could slip through the channels
between the Frisian settlements. These people still had wealth from
their great days, two centuries before, and even now did enough
trading to make the place rich.

Eystein went on in this manner for a
time and Colm’s attention began to slip. Bjorn, he noticed, hung on
Eystein’s every word. There was food on the tables now, and beer,
and people were becoming merry. The slave Colm had sent to the
Trollfarm returned, breathing hard. Colm caught Bjorn’s eye and got
permission to give the man a cup of beer. Then he turned to Eystein
and made a little speech. He said this was not much of a gift,
compared to the one he had been given, but perhaps it might have
some special meaning to Eystein and he begged him to accept it.
Then Colm gave Eystein the scramasax, wrapped in a scrap of
leather.

Eystein unwrapped the knife slowly, then
held it up for all to see. The blade was almost two spans in
length, edged on one side, and clipped at an angle into a sharp
tip. It had runes on the blade, like Colm’s Frankish sword. In
fact, from the leather wrapping to the rune-marked steel, it was
much a lesser version of that weapon. Now Colm regretted his act.
He thought Eystein might think it mockery and Colm was afraid, for
he was only a freedman without any status to speak of.

But Eystein treated the blade
respectfully. He examined it closely and Colm thought once that he
was about to weep, though perhaps it was only the way his eyes
glittered in the firelight. Eystein pointed to some dark specks and
said they must be blood and passed it around for others to see.
Colm had cleaned the blade thoroughly and knew that there was no
blood on it, but he held his tongue. The knife passed to Thorolf,
who studied the runes carefully.

“Can you read those?” asked Bjorn.

“Maybe. These are Christian symbols
here.” Thorolf looked up at Colm. “Where did this knife come
from?”

“England, I think. I got it from an
Englishman.” A little ripple of laughter ran around the men’s table
as they speculated on how Colm the killer might have taken this
weapon. Colm did not tell them that he had stolen it from the
belongings of an English slave who died. He died of a bellyache,
clutching his middle, not from any fight or weapon blow, but there
was no use speaking of that.

“English,” said Thorolf, “Well, then, I
think these runes say something like…” He looked up to judge the
effect. Every eye in the hall was on him. “I think they say,
‘Mankiller’”

“Well named!” said Eystein.

“I thought you would like it,” said
Thorolf, with a slight smile, as he handed the scramasax back. Colm
heard something behind those words, a little disdain perhaps, and
he sensed Grani tense behind him. But Eystein gave no sign of
noticing, just grinned the wider as he handled the knife.

Colm felt a touch on his shoulder and
turned to face Grani’s blue eyes. “That was a well-considered
gift,” said Grani. “Well done.” His lips smiled but his eyes never
lost their hardness.

Colm muttered some thanks at the kind
words and settled back to his beer. Bjorn was talking. He said, “A
man should go raiding once in a while!” He had been drinking
heavily and his speech was slurred.

Thorolf said, “Plenty of work for a man
to do on his farm without shipping out who knows where.”

Bjorn said, “The world is full of people
to see and things to do.” He quoted Havamal, the Words of the Wise
One, “‘He who has traveled and seen the world knows the hearts of
men.’”

Thorolf replied, “‘A man is his own
master at home, no matter how small his hut.’ And better he knows
his neighbors well than any foreigners.”

Bjorn: “‘A man who fears death and
avoids battle has a sad old age.’”

And Colm thought, “‘The more a man
drinks, the less he knows…’” For he could tell where this was
headed.

Bjorn said, “Eystein has invited me to
go with him on his next voyage.”

Thorolf said, “You would be sorely
missed here.”

“Still, I am going,” said Bjorn, “And
Colm is coming with me!”

Eystein turned to Colm with a great
toothy grin. “With all my heart, I would have you by my side!”

Colm’s heart sank for he knew he could
not refuse his former master. He looked desperately toward the
women’s table but could not pick out Gwyneth’s face in the low
light.

Thorolf said, “If I cannot talk sense to
you, then so be it.” He looked toward Colm, “At least you
remembered that ‘the best gear to pack on a voyage is good
sense’.”

Bjorn huffed, “You think I am a
fool?”

Thorolf shook his head. “I think there
is enough talk. If this is to be, then I wish you good fortune and
a swift return.” He took Bjorn’s arm. “You will be missed and I
shall feel the loss until you come back.” And he spoke with such
feeling that Bjorn quieted. But Colm felt only a growing chill of
apprehension and fear.

Colm and Gwyneth had planned to spend
the night at Bjorn’s farm but now they wished to speak privately so
they walked back to the Trollfarm. It was very late and the dew had
begun to fall. Colm said, “I can’t refuse. I am only a
freedman.”

Gwyneth nodded. “I know. There is
nothing to be done. I will go and stay at Bjorn’s place while you
are away. Not much will be done on our farm.”

“I will do what I can before… Ah,
Gwyneth, don’t cry!”

“It’s just that… I was so happy. I
thought my life would go well.”

Colm seized her. “We will be happy
again. I swear it! Your life will go as well as I can make it.”

Gwyneth nodded but tears ran down her
face. “Just come back to me. Whatever happens, whatever you have to
do, come back here.”

“Of course I’ll come back. Don’t worry,
Gwyneth, I’ll come back because you are here.” Then he took her
hand and they walked on slowly back to their ramshackle farm.

The ship slid along the channel through
the fog. Brush and thick weeds scraped the hull on both sides. Then
the bow raised slightly as it pushed up onto a sand bar. Men jumped
out and dragged the vessel up through the brush past the tidemark.
Bjorn and a few others stayed behind to guard the ship. Colm moved
forward with the rest, silent in the mist, swords drawn. As they
worked their way uphill, the fog thinned.

A man suddenly appeared before them, a
woodcutter carrying an axe. He opened his mouth to shout but
Eystein brought his sword down in a blow that split the man open
from his shoulder halfway down his chest. Eystein yanked his sword
free from the body and, without a sound, led them forward
again.

The village began to be visible now,
about a dozen small thatch-roofed houses and some out-buildings.
Not much livestock, Colm judged, these were fisher-folk. The
townspeople could be seen now, here and there. A man mending a net,
two women having an animated, arm-waving conversation, children
playing… Someone saw the raiders and shouted. Everyone looked their
way. Then Eystein yelled and charged in, the others following.

Colm ran forward, sword in his hand.
People ran screaming, some into the brush, some into the water. He
saw a man cut down, and a woman. An old man suddenly popped up in
front of him, swinging a club. Without thinking, Colm swung back at
the man. His sword bit through the man’s leg above the knee. Blood
gushed from the cut, the man looked down at his collapsing leg and
Colm saw the expression on his face, a look of loss and sorrow, as
he realized he was going to die. The man fell, blood still pumping
from his leg. Then the blood slowed. Then it stopped flowing
altogether.

Colm looked up. The village was almost
clear. Most of the people had run off. A few women had run into
their houses, perhaps to grab an infant, now they were trapped
inside. Grani Lopear stood over a man whose head was bleeding,
poking him with a knife, trying to get the man to reveal where
hoards of valuables might be hidden. Eystein gestured at Colm and
some others, pointing to the area around the village. Colm nodded.
He walked past the houses, looking for villagers hiding in the
brush. He saw a man running, about forty yards away. A raider
chased him and brought him down with a swing of his sword.

Directly before him, Colm noticed a
slight movement in the thick undergrowth. Carefully he parted the
weeds with his sword. A boy looked defiantly back at him. He was
about ten, and held a little girl close, his sister perhaps. She
was white and shaking with fear. The boy met Colm’s gaze without
blinking, jaw set. Slaves, thought Colm, they would be sold as
slaves. All at once he recalled himself grabbed by an arm and
hauled from his hiding place by a raider whose hand was sticky with
blood. The terror of that moment flooded his mind so that his
vision went white and his heart thudded. When the memory
diminished, he did not know for a little time where he was. Then
his eyes cleared and Colm found himself gazing into the faces of
the Frisian children. He raised a finger to his lips and closed the
grass back over them.

Colm stumbled back into the village.
Bodies lay here and there on the ground, among them the man Grani
had been torturing. The iron smell of blood was in the air. Women
were screaming in some of the houses. Eystein, grinning, directed
some of the young men into one of them. Other men were going house
to house and looting them.

Colm walked into one of the thatched
huts. The floor was packed earth but it was covered with clean
straw. Some bedding was rolled up in a corner, but a few covers
still lay as if their occupant had just risen. There was one low
stool. The master’s chair, thought Colm. There was no other
furniture. A pot hung from an iron tripod over the small fire pit.
Colm lifted the lid. Porridge. A small wooden chest sat against one
wall. Flowers and birds were carved in a band around the top. They
had been painted once but now the colors were faded. This belonged
to the woman of the house who had brought it, filled with cloth and
women’s tools, to her wedding and the hopes of her new life. Ah,
well, thought Colm, we all may hope. He lifted the lid and rummaged
inside.

There was a cape and a woman’s good
dress and a pair of leather shoes. Colm thought of taking the dress
for Gwyneth, but decided not. He pulled the chest toward the fire
to look inside more closely. Something about the floor under the
chest caught his eye. Everywhere else the floor was packed down but
here, Colm thought, was some loose earth. He began digging at it
with his sword, then became aware that someone was behind him.

“Found something?” Grani Lopear dropped
onto his knees next to Colm and began scrabbling in the dirt. A
piece of cloth came into view. “Ha!”

Grani pulled the cloth out of the hole
and unfolded it. There were coins wrapped in the cloth: a few bits
of copper – some more or less round, some shapeless scraps – a
single silver English penny, and a halfpenny and a quarter that had
been clipped from silver coins.

Grani looked up at Colm and grinned. “I
knew you were a fellow worth watching!” He grabbed the coins up in
his hand. “I’ll add these to the lot for sharing out.” He gestured
toward the chest. “Bring that outside. And the pot. Someone might
want breakfast. Then we’ll take the pot and that tripod it hangs
on.”

I am quite the fellow, I am, thought
Colm. Oh yes, I can find all the treasure a poor man can hide. He
stopped himself thinking and grabbed the cooking gear. The hot
metal tripod burned his hand but he only gripped it tighter as he
dragged it from the hut.

Outside the sun was high and men had
begun to sweat as they piled up the Frisians’ belongings. Eystein
started sending men back to the ship with armloads of loot. Grani
walked about, gathering the coins and small valuables that had been
discovered. A sense of urgency began to build and men began looking
over their shoulders. They were afraid, thought Colm, afraid that
the men out fishing might return, or that local forces might turn
up, someone who could put up a fight. He hoisted the small chest
onto his shoulder and headed back to the ship.

The deck was heaped with stuff –
household goods, stools, bloody clothing – when they shoved off and
set sail for a safe place to share out the loot. They had taken
only four slaves: three women and a boy of thirteen or fourteen. A
slack expression and confused smile signalled that the boy was
feeble-minded, probably the reason he was not out on the boats with
the others. The women had ceased to weep and now stared at nothing
with hollow eyes. One had a dress front stained with milk. Her baby
had not been taken. Colm thought that there would not be a high
price on these slaves.

Some of the crew began casting sideways
glances at the takings. There were very few valuable things and
most of the men would not want to be burdened with piles of cheap
cloth and much-mended furniture.

Eystein caught the mood and made his way
back to the tiller. Facing forward, he addressed his crew. “There’s
a place a few hours from here – we could make it before dark –
where we can sell these goods. Then we’ll add the money to the
coins we already have and share them out. What do you say? Or
should we sort out this stuff among us?” The men shouted No! They
preferred the cash. “Good!” said Eystein, “That will leave us more
room to take on loot from the next place.” The men cheered.