The Saga of Colm the Slave (8 page)

A wooden palisade surrounded the trading
place. Armed men stood behind it and stared at the ship. The ship’s
crew, led by Grani Lopear, kept their hands on their weapons and
watched the guards behind the palisade. The slaves had been sold –
less than an ounce of silver for the four of them – and led away.
Along the beach, Eystein and Bjorn and some other men dickered over
the rest of the loot with a trader who was voyaging back to Norway.
After a time, they returned to the ship with a small sack of
coins.

Eystein had the largest share, of
course, since he owned the ship. Then others were called forward.
Bjorn had invested in the voyage; he got a larger cut than some
others. Colm’s name was called. Grani pointed him out to the rest
of the crew. Colm had found money and killed a man to boot! There
was a murmur of approval. Then Eystein gave Colm his share.

There were three silver pennies in his
hand. Colm could not read the writing on them but one that bore a
man’s head and a cross was English. Another, with no picture and
odd-looking runes, was a dirham from the East by way of Russia.
These were full-weight coins, good silver. They were creased in the
middle where they had been bent by men checking their quality. The
third coin was probably meant to be a Frankish penny. It was too
thick to be anything but poor metal but Colm made no complaint.

After the sharing-out, they built a
fire. Night was falling and there was a chill in the air. Eystein
bought a barrel of beer and the men began to drink and brag over
the deeds they had done that day.

Colm sat on a rock near the shore. The
moon was huge on the horizon and the water shone and sparkled. Colm
could see the thief in the moon quite clearly. He was bent over and
carried a stick; the firewood that he had stolen was slung over his
back. “Thief above, thieves below,” thought Colm. He gripped the
silver pennies in his fist and thought, for a moment, of pitching
them into the sea. A sound made him turn his head and he saw Bjorn
walking slowly toward him.

Bjorn sat heavily on a rock beside Colm
and stared at the moon. For a time the men were silent. Then Bjorn
said, “The thief rises.”

Colm nodded. “We think the same
thought.”

Bjorn said, “Perhaps this will be a
different thought: I am leaving off raiding and going back to
Iceland.”

“Oh! I would go with you!” Colm caught
himself. “I want to go home.” Home! And so it was, that rundown
farm on the faraway island, that was home!

“Yes,” said Bjorn, “Home.” He shook his
head. “I am a farmer, not a raider. I need to tend my farm.”

“Yes!” Colm nodded.

Bjorn looked over the water and sighed.
“Thorolf offered me his daughter in marriage. This was a little
after Aud died.”

“I would have thought he’d look to
Eystein for that.” Gerda had been betrothed to Eystein’s brother
who was murdered.

“Thorolf doesn’t like raiders. And, I
think, it may be he has thoughts that Magnus’ family is not one to
be close to. Anyway, linked by marriage or not, Magnus is committed
to him since Thorolf represented him in the action at Althing.”

Colm nodded. This was a lot of
information. He resolved to keep Bjorn’s opinions to himself.

Bjorn went on. “I didn’t want to marry
again. I have grown children. I grieved for Aud. I was ready to
become old. Then Eystein asked me to go raiding. I thought… I
thought, perhaps I will be killed! And that seemed all right to me
then.”

The two men sat silently, watching the
moon rise. Bjorn said suddenly, “I have never killed a man.”

“That makes you no less,” said Colm. He
thought of Gunnlaug who had sneered before he was killed and he
thought of the old man in the village and the terrible look of
sorrow on his face.

“No,” Bjorn nodded, “I see it now for
what it is. Thorolf has wisdom.” He sat quietly for a while. “I am
going back and marry Gerda. She is young and foolish but perhaps I
can manage to get her pregnant and that will cause her to grow up
some.”

“I want to go back, too,” said Colm
again.

“All right. That trader who bought the
goods, we can get passage with him. I kept back an iron kettle and
tripod to use on the trip and a small sack of grain, mostly oats.
We can eat porridge all the way home.”

“Here,” said Colm, “I’ll pay the rest
when I can.” He held out the silver pennies to Bjorn, who nodded
absently. Colm said, “I need to return Eystein’s sword.”

“Why?” Bjorn was surprised. “You used
it, you did your share. No, Eystein will be insulted if you return
his gift.”

“I don’t want to be in his debt.”

“You owe him nothing. Anyway, sooner or
later, he’s going to charge into some place and get a spear in his
guts. Then we’ll hear no more of him.” Bjorn considered. “Let me do
the talking. I’ll tell Eystein that I need you as a travelling
companion.” Bjorn looked at him, “And I do, Colm. I need someone to
help me home. Anyway, I’ll tell Eystein you have no option, that
way no one will think the less of you.”

“I care nothing for what people think.”
A freed slave has no reputation to lose.

Bjorn smiled. “Even so, let me speak.
Now,” he said, rising, “We should go talk to Eystein before he gets
too drunk to listen. Here,” Bjorn held out his hand. “You’d best
hang onto these. We’ll have other expenses, no doubt.” He dropped
the silver pennies back into Colm’s hand. Then the two men walked
back to the fire where the others were shouting and laughing.

5.The Berserk Feud

When Colm got back from raiding, it was
almost winter and there was little to be done on the farm. The ewe
and her daughter had just come into season and needed breeding and
there was a decision to be made about whether to geld the young ram
or not. “I waited for you to come back,” said Gwyneth. “I didn’t
want to decide without you.”

“Then I’m glad to be here,” said Colm,
“But what are your thoughts?” In truth, he would have supported any
decision of Gwyneth’s and called it perfect; he could not question
the choices she made in his absence – better he had been here to
make them himself!

“Well, sometimes I think one way, then I
think the other.” She glanced at old Edgar who sat down the bench,
studying his bowl as though to raise more skyr within it. Edgar had
been a slave long enough to know that he should speak only when
spoken to.

“Do you have thoughts on this, Edgar?”
The old man still seemed hesitant. “After all,” Colm nudged, “You
have more experience in these matters.”

Edgar cleared his throat and began a
long discussion of the pros and cons. He was toothless and his
words were sometimes difficult to understand but the choice was
clear enough: a ram to impregnate the ewes would mean not having to
ask for this service from another’s animal; on the other hand,
every flock required a wether or two to protect it and show some
sense to the ewes, who were taken up with lambs and milk, and the
rams, whose brains were all balls. There was no question, this
year, of slaughtering the animal for meat – that must await the
time that there were so many sheep that this kind of decision would
be a simple, everyday occurrence. Then something Edgar said caught
Colm’s ear.

“You say that Ketil has a good ram?”

“He has a spotted brown. Both its
parents were spotted, too. His dam bears twins two times in three
and gives an extra week’s milk. His sire had many offspring, good
wethers and breeders, too.”

“You think we should breed to this
ram?”

“Oh, aye…” Edgar shrugged. Colm knew
there was more to be said.

“What else?”

“Well, Ketil has some doubts about
breeding to this ram. Last season, many births were strange,
including a two-headed ewe.”

“Is the ram cursed?”

Edgar shrugged, “Who can say? But…” He
shrugged again.

Colm called up patience and wheedled old
Edgar into speech.

“Well,” said the old man, “The old ram,
this one’s sire is gone. Oh, that was a feast! He was heavy with
meat.” A trickle of saliva ran from Edgar’s mouth as he recalled
feeding on whatever scraps were allowed him.

“So all of Ketil’s sheep are from the
one ram?”

“Aye,” said Edgar, “And now this young
one’s doing all the tupping.”

“Ah!” said Colm. “You think he needs to
breed out.”

“Well, I believe Ketil thinks so. These
things happen when there is no new blood. Or when the animal is
cursed, of course.”

“Of course.” Colm’s mind raced. “You
think he might trade this ram for mine?”

Edgar raised guileless eyes. “Well, now,
that would be a good trade!” He shook his head. “You are a smart
one to come up with that idea.”

Colm smiled. “Gwyneth, is there more
skyr? I see Edgar’s bowl is empty.”

Laughing, Gwyneth went to fetch the old
man some more food.

Colm had been surprised, when he
returned from raiding, to find Gwyneth at the Trollfarm. He had
thought she would stay at Bjorn’s steading. And, at first, Gwyneth
had lived there, working at chores around the place. But Gwyneth
finally determined to stay in her own house and she was a free
woman, free to go wherever she wished. She got Edgar to help at the
Trollfarm and live with her after the sheep came down from summer
pasture. There was not enough work at Bjorn’s farm during the
winter for all his slaves and Edgar staying at the Trollfarm meant
one less mouth for Bjorn to feed.

So Colm was surprised to find Gwyneth
and the old man at the Trollfarm when he returned. He wasn’t
jealous. Edgar was far past the age to threaten any woman’s honor –
not that Gwyneth would have been blamed if she had taken a lover –
but he was also too old to defend a woman, as well.

Colm had said so much to Gwyneth and she
blazed back at him, “You think I am defenceless? No man enters this
house unless I allow it!”

Colm knew that Gwyneth had killed a man,
two winters past, something they never spoke about. And he spotted
the spear placed near the doorway, where the house was easiest to
defend. And he noted the spearhead, sharper than a dagger, placed
near Gwyneth’s workplace, where she spun what wool she had. Still,
he recalled the broken Frisian women taken as slaves and knew how
futile her defence would prove against a gang of raiders. But he
loved her when she showed spirit and decided not to say anything
that might cause her to feel weak.

Gwyneth had spun the wool she gathered
from the three sheep they owned and traded the thread for a hen and
now the yard was full of chickens. There was a dog, too, from
somewhere, always ready to growl or bark a warning at any and every
intruder on the place, so Gwyneth named him Gagarr. Colm had been
surprised when he returned to the Trollfarm, to see it looking like
a real farm with life everywhere. Some hay had been harvested
though much of the crop had been left to rot in the cold rain of
autumn. Colm cut it down so that it would not choke the new grass
in the spring. He saw that far more had been harvested than old
Edgar could manage alone and Colm supposed that Gwyneth had picked
up men’s tools and done work that, strictly speaking, was forbidden
her. Not that women were ever punished for unlawfully doing men’s
work or handling weapons. It would take a courageous man to ever
bring such an action and risk the wrath of all women everywhere for
the rest of his days! So Colm said nothing about the matter. This
was another of those things that both knew but neither
mentioned.

Ketil came by to examine Colm’s ram. The
animal gratified his owner by bleating and butting against the
fence that kept him from the ewes that he could smell. Ketil said,
“Well, he seems lively enough. I suppose he’s up to the job.”

The ewes were well along in heat now and
Colm wanted to breed them soon, but he wished to avoid seeming
anxious or in a hurry. He thought Ketil was willing to trade even
up but if he sniffed out an advantage, he would take it and demand
that the deal be sweetened. Now Ketil said, “Of course, my ram is a
proven breeder.”

Colm nodded. “Yes. How are his lambs
anyway?” He knew very well that several were deformed and hadn’t
survived long past their birth. Ketil chewed on an answer and Colm
added, “Just how old is he?”

“Only four. Well, this will be his fifth
breeding.”

Colm nodded thoughtfully as though
calculating how many years the ram had left. “Hmm…” He already knew
how old Ketil’s ram was, and its complete pedigree, too. Edgar was
a fount of knowledge.

“Ah, well, this ram seems well enough,”
said Ketil. He sighed a great sigh. “I’ll take a chance and swap
mine for yours.”

“Well…” Colm acted reluctant. “He does
have five more years of breeding in him than yours.” He glanced
sideways at Ketil, watching for a sign that there was an advantage
here that he could work.

“Four,” said Ketil firmly, “And my ram
is proven.”

Colm sighed, paused, nodded. “I suppose
this is a trade then.”

They slapped palms and agreed to meet
the next day, halfway between their farms, and exchange rams. Both
men were secretly pleased though neither let any sign of it
show.

The new ram proved energetic and
responsive, going straight to his work on being introduced to the
ewes. Colm and Gwyneth watched him perform for a time, then felt a
pressing need to go back inside the house. Old Edgar had already
determined that this was a time for privacy and gone off on some
errand or other.

Soon it was time for the Autumn
Sacrifice. Colm was a bit nervous – this would be his first
attendance as a free man and he was uncertain how to act. Also,
this was his second harvest at the Trollfarm and his rent was due.
The first harvest was not of much account – some hay, that was all
– and the second wasn’t much better since Colm had been raiding and
unable to work the place. Still, the flock increased from one to
three sheep and there was a little wool, all spun into thread now
by Gwyneth, and hay enough for the winter. Oh, and Gwyneth’s
chickens, more every time he looked, and eggs, though Gwyneth
traded most of the excess for cow’s milk and the tools she required
to handle the wool. She had card and comb, distaff and spindle, and
lacked only a loom to begin weaving. Colm kept an eye out for
proper sized wood to make one. Anyway Colm was apprehensive when he
approached Bjorn and Thorolf about the rent.