* * *
TOWARD MID-DAY THE mists began to rise, so that they rolled above their heads like ship-awnings. Then Swanhild bade Skarphedin tell her of what life was like there in those lands overseas, in the Dane-land and the Swede-realm. So he told her, but she minded him ill.
Then all at once she spoke up and bade him, ‘Tell me again how it will be.’
‘Twice now I have told you,’ he said. ‘Njal gives me two ships and lading, and the men to handle them: one ship’s lading I will sell for him, but the other is ours. I saw the ships: even now they lie at Hofn in the Hornfirth and await us.’
‘Then why do we go west?’
‘For this, that Njal’s bonders bear ill-will toward me; also, that none of the Westfirth men may know our path. Njal would see this done peacefully, and for his sake I left it so. By Dyraholae the Door-hole, at Reynisdrangar, there is a man, Holmstein Codcatcher. Mostly he gets his living from fishing and catching driftage; but Njal has money out with him. Now, some of Njal’s men wait there for us with a skiff, and they will ferry us round to hornfirth. And none knows the whole of this but Njal and these men, and you and I.’
‘And you trust in Njal now to keep to his word?’
‘He is my foster-brother.’
‘What you say is well enough. But I wish Thorold Skeggi’s son still lived; and as for this Njal, I do not trust his fairest deeds.’
‘Now you sound like that old witch, hangs about Njal’s hall: old Ragnhild the Foul, and few deserve that giftname more. She cursed Njal when I was there, and said something of silver owed her. But if he shall be good enough to keep such an old foul bitch about him, and she a bitter unfriend of his, why should he prove stingy with his brother?’
‘You hold Thorold’s axe,’ she said, ‘and his ring.’
He said nought to that. But after awhile he asked her what went wrong with her.
‘I shiver,’ she answered. ‘It seemed to me then that I rode in a long cave under the earth to a damp beclouded strand, and the cold of the ice all around reached out to clasp me.’
‘It will be colder still, in the Swede-realm.’
‘Skarphedin, is it long upon the sea? And do the waves rock the ship harshly?’
‘Not long, nor are the swells overstrong.’
‘Skarphedin, where should we go in the Swede-realm? Have you comrades there? Will the new King be kind to us?’
‘He will be kind enough, I ween. Swanhild, again it seems you are unhappy: tell me then, is this rather your wish, that you fared homeward?’
‘No,’ she answered after a bit; ‘but where you go, there will I follow after.’
All that afternoon there were clouds, but toward even the sun came out before it fell. Then sunlight poured through the rack: all the land burst into colors against the gray and pink-hued sky. They looked up northward, and there rose the Myrdaljokull, and Katla, the kettle: and the volcano’s reek billowed to the clouds, like as it ever did, and never stopping. The ice of the glacier shone like thick cream, and the green fields glowed, and even the rocks seemed fair and beckoning. Swanhild looked upon that, and for a long while said nought. And now the sun fell closer into the hills, and the light waxed all the more beguiling and weird; and as they fared onward their shadows raced ahead of them a long way.
Then Swanhild spoke in a small girl’s voice, and she said, ‘That never before did I see this land so wondrous or so fair. Only, tell me one thing, husband, and that is this: why then does the ice on those fells run with blood?’
Skarphedin looked at her and saw her face. Then he said to her, ‘Once more it seems you are unhappy: tell me then, is this not rather your wish, that you fared homeward?’
She looked at him glancingly: shook her head. ‘But are you not glad to be going, Skarphedin?’
‘That much I will tell you,’ he answered, ‘when I am gone.’
So they fared onward.
Now they went along above the strand-line and the Sands there, and the terns there hunted fish, and the skuas hunted terns. Hard and gleaming ran the sea. Deep was the tang of salt in the air. And now at a distance out to sea they might make out Reynisdrangar, the Rowan-Stacks. But all the land there, bogs and waste, was thick with gloom, though in the sky the clouds glowed like ember-piles, and the sea cast back that light. Very mild was the air; the winds were very tame.
And soon enough they had crossed all the Sands and reached Dyraholae the Door-Hole, that rose like an isle of good pasture out of the Sands’ waste; and there on the west side Holmstein Codcatcher had his fish-hut.
That hut was midway up the hill, above the boat-sheds. a short garth ran before the hut, but by the hut’s door a torch was burning. On the wall before the garth sat one of Holmstein’s fish-boys. Skarphedin rode before him and bade him call Holmstein out.
Then the boy went in, and soon a man came out and he gave them good greeting.
‘Do you know me, then?’ asked Skarphedin.
‘Well enough,’ answered Holmstein, for that was he: ‘you are Skarphedin the outlaw.’ Then he asked if they would alight there?
‘That I would gladly,’ answered Skarphedin. ‘But first I would ask this of you, Holmstein, what kind of welcome will we get here, fair or foul?’
Holmstein said he had no grudge against them. ‘But it is the way of this household to give good guesting to any man, so that he works me no ill. Still, I had little looked to find you at my doorstone.’
‘That is well, then,’ said Skarphedin. ‘But tell me further this, whether you have any other guests to home?’
‘You will have seen their boat. Four others are here; they reached here yestereve, from Bergthorsknoll, but before that from the east, from the Hornfirth. But I will let them tell their own tale. How of you, Skarphedin? What errand brings you this way?’
‘We are bound for the Westfirths, to find a ship for the Swede-realm,’ Skarphedin answered. He alighted, and then helped Swanhild down.
The red gleam of the torchlight lighted in his hair and turned it all fiery, like to red gold; but there was a sudden fear in her black eyes, and she caught at him.
Now of Holmstein Codcatcher there is this to be told, that he was the most famous of men for fishing, though a man of few kin. To him men from all the neighboring districts would send their sons, to man his boats and learn how to beguile the fish. Then there were two score or so such boys dwelling with Holmstein, and many of them were come out into the garth to gawk upon Skarphedin. These now Holmstein set to looking after their horses and gear; but Skarphedin and Swanhild he brought to the door.
Now they went in and cast their eyes about the hut. That was a small low hut, and over all the walls and from the cross-beams were hung nets and tackle and hooks, boat oars, fish-knives, and whale-spears. The boards were set with meat and bowls, and over the fire kettles boiled with broth, for the household had even then sat down to table. Along one side of the boards, where the highseat was, the benches were empty, but on the other side the benches were half-full, where the guests sat.
There were four of them, as Holmstein had said. Swanhild knew them all for Njal’s men. But in the midst of them was Killer-Hrap, and he sat facing the highseat, in the seat of honor.
Then Holmstein Codcatcher looked about, and seemed not to know how to go on; ‘for here it seems to me no easy way, that I have two doughty guests here, but a fitting seat for only one; and it seems unlikely either will wish to give way to the other.’
‘Few riddles yield no answer,’ said Skarphedin, grinning. Then he went along the boards on the house-side. A stout pine mast saved from the billows, and planking from a cheaping-ship’s broad side: that was Holmstein Codcatcher’s highseat. There were barnacles over all its back, like dried-up stars, and it smelled strongly of the sea. There Skarphedin sat, and seated Swanhild alongside him.
Now, as soon as ever he had lighted eyes on Skarphedin, Hrap’s brow had come down, and his mouth bent to one side, and he seemed all eagerness to see what they would do. Now h
e laughed aloud; but Skarphedin only smiled, and showed him all his teeth, that were big and ugly as never before. Then Hrap did not laugh.
Swanhild stared into the fire. She would not look at Hrap nor at his men. But she held her husband’s arm fast, and laid her head against his shoulder.
But Holmstein said that that was well, and sat himself farther up the board, past Swanhild on the house-side. So they set to table.
Nine women dwelt with Holmstein there, and these were their names: Himingloefa, Dufa, Blodughadda, Hefring, Unn, Hronn, Bylgja, Bara, and Kolga. Those were not their birth-names, but gift-names Holmstein gave them, for a joke: those also were the names that Rann, the wild goddess over sea-storms, gave unto her waves.
Holmstein’s nine were the best of boat-women and fish-wives, and were garbed in costly ornaments and sea-borne raiment fetched from shipwrecks thereabouts. They had been mending the fish-nets whenas Skarphedin and Swanhild came in, but now they went back and forth and served all those to table.
For awhile there was no talk for eating. But after awhile Hrap spoke up, and he said, ‘Long has it been now since we two saw each other, Skarphedin, for I was not with Njal when you came a-guesting. Still, I have a boon to thank you for: you slew Trygvi Kari’s son, and since then Njal made me his grieve.’
‘Twice I was with Njal, and no man spoke of you either time,’ said Skarphedin; ‘still, “askers seldom like answers.” But maybe you went the rounds of the district, and toted up all the old men you happened on. And yet I spoke long with Njal, and he said nought of you being his grieve.’
‘It was never my kinsman’s way to tell all to every comer,’ answered Hrap.
‘How comes it then that we find you here?’
Now Hrap smiled, and he said, ‘For this, that Njal sent us west in his boat to Bergthorsknoll, there to trade goods before winter’s onset. So we have done, and now go back east to the Hornfirth. And you, Skarphedin, what has brought you this way?’
‘We are bound for the Westfirths, to find a ship for the Swede-realm,’ Skarphedin answered. His voice was steady, and his eyes sharp on the other man’s face. Indeed it was the way between the looks of those two, like to men circling each other in a grappling-bout.
‘That seems unlikely, that you will have great luck there, for Yrsi has kinsmen thereabouts. But now our boat is light enough. Why don’t you come away east with us? For there are many ships at Hornfirth, and it seems to me Njal would deny you nought, for the sake of that close kinship that runs between you two.’ And when he said that, Killer-Hrap’s upper lip curled in a great sneer.
Then Skarphedin said, ‘that was spoken fair enough, and I will take your offer. But will Holmstein Codcatcher tend to our horses, and see them sent back safe to Hof?’
Holmstein said he would be glad to do so.
Now they cleared the boards, and Holmstein’s women went to and fro among them and served them mead. Skarphedin and Hrap watched each other through the smoke and reek of the bubbling kettles; but all this while Swanhild sat dumb at her place.
Then Holmstein and his fisher-boys and Njal’s men waxed merry, and they fell a-toasting one another, and long ran that drinking-bout into the night. Then all at once Hrap half-roused himself up out of his seat; Swanhild started, and looked upon him, and his eyes gleamed big and bright.
‘So,’ said he, looking her in the eye, ‘now it runs somewhat otherwise than when we met, you and I. But now we both are guests, and you can’t cast me out into the cold.’
Then Skarphedin grinned, and raised aloft his horn, and bade them all drink to Thor. There were glad answers to that, and all drank; but Njal’s men grumbled, and Hrap would not drink. Then Hrap called for a toast to the Christ.
‘Are you turned priest now, and will hallow us all?’ Skarphedin asked. ‘But that is odd, for you are still dressed like a man.’
‘Man enough, I ween,’ Hrap answered. ‘But what is that Thor you drank to? a trunk of wood, and nought else! But my god is King over all the lands of men, seas below and skies above; and here is his sign, whereby I will be spared. But you heathen all will be swallowed up by the earth and die, and that time is but a few years hence, for his thousandth year is hard upon us.’ And at that he brandished the brass cross he wore upon his necklet.
‘That was the last man I saw to wear such a thing, Trygvi Kari’s son, your foregoer. I met him in the wood, and then he was stealing sheep. He did not wander far from our meeting-spot, nor did his cross then help him very much. Still, it seems to me you would know far more of such things than I.’
Then Hrap scowled and muttered. But Holmstein bade his women go among them, and he patched it up with fair words, and so they waxed merry once more.
During all that drinking, one of Njal’s men, him that was on Hrap’s leftward side, leaned over and spoke into Hrap’s ear. They spoke in low tones, and over the clatter of the troughs their words did not go far. But Swanhild watched them as they spoke, and though she might not hear their words, even so she was sure of what they said.
‘Now, when shall it be?’ Hrap’s man mouthed.
Hrap scowled and answered, ‘Not now, but in the morning, so mind you be sharp and ready. And look for me to strike the first blow—that will be strongest, and our surest course.’
When she read those words from their mouths, Swanhild’s face waxed very pale, but she said no word then to her husband.
Soon thereafter the men began to nod off, and a stillness fell down over all that motley household. The dogs fell asleep, and then Holmstein’s fisher-boys, Holmstein and Njal’s men, and last of all Hrap: mead shut fast his eyes and his head lolled to one side, but his mouth fell agape and he snouked and snored, swine-drunk.
Then Skarphedin very mildly spoke on how short that evening’s sport had run; ‘but in Norway and in the halls of jarls, there the folk serve somewhat stronger stuff than this.’
Then the women saw to Holmstein and his boys: undressed them and bore them to bed. But those others, Njal’s men, they let lie on the benches on their cloaks. The women took back the horns and closed over the kettles, and then went off to bed. But Swanhild did not sleep that night a whit, nor Skarphedin.
For a long while they did not speak. Swanhild looked into the fire and watched the coals there as they fell. Her shoulders were drawn up and her eyes were slits, like as they had been most of that even; but she had touched none of the food those women had set before her.
There was a wind about the hall, and through the gables and the smoke-hole came the breaking of the sea.
Then at last Swanhild spoke, and she said, ‘I knew that this would be how it must fall out. When my father took Gudruda again to wife, and when Njal won that man’s lawsuit, and when you slew the sheep-thief, then I knew that it must end so. I knew it. I did. And you, Skarphedin, how ran your dreams last night?’
‘Peace, wife,’ he answered. ‘What the gods give, that I take.’
‘Will you die, then?’
‘ “Death is a hall with a hundred doors.” ’
‘Aye, so men say—but now, here, you will die, you, Skarphedin. And there is baseness here and betrayal.’
‘That may well be. But even so I will hear nought from you about Njal.’
‘Skarphedin,’ she said, and now her words seemed whispers, ‘Thrice before now you asked me a thing, and each time I refused it. Now I would take back my words. Let us slip out of this hut so that they may not hear us, let us take our ponies, let us turn our backs to these. Anywhere I will go with you, and you will lead and I will follow after, but for here and now. But now I beg you, give way to me on this. Thrice you offered, but now I will accept.’
But he answered, ‘That what I offered you before, that I cannot offer now. But neither will you go out of here, nor bridle the ponies, nor turn your back to these: but you will stay, and see all done that will be needful.’
‘Is this what men speak of, when they say a man is fey?’ she asked, and her words came from deep in her throat like g
roaning. ‘So you will die then, and forsake me. Oh, I will say no words against Njal Long-Nose,’ she added, unsweetly, ‘But I do curse myself for all my moods.’
Now for awhile that night wore on. Then it seemed very soon that the hall brightened and the dawn came.
Two
NJAL’S MEN AND fisher-boys laded the boat on the strand while the others ate. And when they came back into the hut, then everyone went out and down the strand. There was heavy mist off the waves that morn.
Swanhild walked alongside Skarphedin, and they went foremost. He wore a helmet on his head, and a byrnie of ring-mail over his kirtle, and that was scarlet. He wore also bright hose, and a goodly belt, and his hair was bound by a riband; over his shoulder he had a blue cloak, and at his belt he had a short sword and his axe.
Swanhild wore a coal-blue dress of fine seaborne stuff, and it shimmered as she walked: down the front it was cut so low it showed most of her breast. Round the hem, just over where the undershift came out, bands of crimson and purple were woven onto it. She wore a purple cloak over her shoulders, and its hood showed crimson. She wore too her mother’s silver belt, and a wimple.
Now Swanhild spoke to Skarphedin in a low voice: ‘Let us go somewhat apart from these, or else behind them. Then we may watch them that they work us no tricks.’
‘That I will never do,’ answered Skarphedin. ‘But I will not follow on such men’s heels, but go aboard that boat and to my brother.’
Now Hrap spoke up from behind them, very near: ‘Little sailing you will do, forest-man: but I think you will fall not far from here.’ With that he drew his sax and smote Skarphedin with it, a fell blow: the byrnie’s rings burst under it, and the weapon cut into the back. Swanhild fell aside, but Skarphedin stepped forward briskly, so the blade did not bite deep.
Skarphedin grinned, and held aloft his axe. ‘That is not the oar you were meant to pull at,’ he said to Hrap. ‘Still, what else but back-blows might be looked for from such a thing as you?’
Then they fell to. Njal’s men fought alongside Hrap.
Swanhild sat on her heels in the sand, and lay her hands upon her knees and looked on. There was a stillness about her body but no peace. Her eyes grew like slits and she leaned forward, into the wind, and her mouth was a little agape, and her look was far away.
One of the Breidamerkers went at Skarphedin, but Skarphedin caught the blow on his shield: he struck back and the axe cut through the lower part of the Breidamerker’s shield and bit into his leg so that it was taken right off. That man fell and died there.
A second struck at Skarphedin, but Skarphedin spun about on one heel. Then in one blow he cut away all that man’s shield: with a second hewed off his head.
The third man threw his shield in the way, but that was an ill cast, and now two are slain, and the third taken to his heels. Skarphedin laughed.
Hrap had hung back a ways, but now he stepped forward, then stopped; Skarphedin moved, and Hrap stepped back. But Hrap took up a spear and threw that. Skarphedin caught it in the air and cast it back, and the spear drove through Hrap’s shield and came out of his back. Hrap fell and was dead at once.