Grettir the Outlaw 15

Grettir the Outlaw 15

As already said, further up the valley, in a spot difficult to be

reached, stood the old fortress of some robbers, with many caves in the

sandstone about it very convenient for shelter. Now, it is not

improbable that some madman may have taken refuge in this safe retreat,

and may have come out at night in search of food, and carried off the

sheep of Thorhall. It may be that Glam caught him attempting to steal a

sheep, and fought with him, and was killed, and that in like manner

Thorgaut was killed. Then when people saw a great wild man wandering

about they thought it was Glam, whereas it was the man who had haunted

the region before Glam came there, and had killed Glam. This is the

simplest and easiest explanation of this wild and fearful tale.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XVI.*

 

*HOW GRETTIR SAILED TO NORWAY.*

 

 

_Olaf the Saint—Slowcoach with the Nimble Tongue—Slowcoach

insults Grettir—Ill Words—Death of Slowcoach—In Search of Luck_

 

 

Early in the spring of the year 1015, news reached Iceland of a change

of rulers in Norway. Olaf Harald’s son, commonly known as Olaf the

Saint, had come to be King of Norway; Earl Sweyn had been defeated in

battle and driven out of the country. Now Grettir was remotely

connected with the king, that is to say, his father’s grandfather was

brother to the grandfather of Asta, Olaf’s mother. The cousinship was

somewhat distant; but in those days folk held to their kin more than

they do now. Grettir thought that a good chance had opened to him for

doing well in Norway, so he resolved to leave Iceland, and enter the

service of his relative, the king. There was a ship bound for Norway

lying in Eyjafiord, and Grettir engaged a berth in her, and made ready

for the voyage.

 

Now his father Asmund was very old and feeble, and was well nigh

bedridden. He had given over the entire management of the farm to his

eldest son Atli, and to young Illugi, who was a few years younger than

Grettir. Atli was everywhere liked, he was such a prudent, peaceable,

and kindly man.

 

Grettir’s ill-luck still followed him; for, as it chanced, Thorbiorn,

the Slowcoach, the relation of Thorbiorn Oxmain, had resolved to go to

Norway also, and in the same ship. Now the Slowcoach may have been

overslow in his movements, but he was overnimble with his tongue, and he

was strongly advised either not to go in the same boat with Grettir, or,

if he did, to mind his words.

 

Such advice was thrown away on the Slowcoach, who, instead of practising

caution, in order to show himself off, began to brag of his strength,

and to say scurvy things of Grettir, which were duly reported by

tale-bearers to Grettir. Consequently, when Grettir arrived in the

Eyjafiord with his goods, he was not very amiably disposed towards the

Slowcoach. However Atli had impressed on him the necessity of

controlling himself, and Grettir was resolved not to quarrel with the

man unless he could not help it.

 

At the side of the shore, those who were about to sail had run up booths

and cabins for themselves and their stores. Many of those going in the

boat were chapmen, and they took with them goods with which to traffic

in Norway.

 

Just as the vessel was ready, and about to sail next day, Slowcoach

arrived, slow as usual, and after every one else was ready, and their

goods on board. As it was the last evening on shore, all the merchants

and seamen were sitting about their booths, when Thorbiorn Slowcoach

arrived, and rode along the lane between the wooden cabins. The men

shouted to him to know if he had any news to tell them.

 

Thorbiorn’s eye caught that of Grettir, who was sitting on a bench, and

he answered, "I don’t hear any news, except that the old idiot Asmund of

Biarg is dead."

 

This was not true; the old man was not dead, but very ill. Some of

those who heard him said, "That is sad news indeed, for he was a worthy

and honourable old man, and he could ill be spared."

 

"I don’t know that," said Thorbiorn with a scornful laugh.

 

"But how did he die? What did he die of?"

 

"Die of?" repeated the Slowcoach loud enough to be heard by Grettir.

"Smothered like a dog in the poky little kennel they call their hall at

Biarg. As for any loss in him, it is news to me that the world is not

well rid of dotards."

 

"These are ill words," said those who heard him. "No good man will speak

slightingly of old and blameless chiefs. Besides, such words as these

Grettir will not endure."

 

"Grettir!" scoffed Thorbiorn. "Before I face him I must see him use his

weapons better than he did last summer, when engaged with Kormak. Then

I put my elbow between them, and Grettir was but too ready to accept the

interference. I never saw a man before so shake in his shoes."

 

Thereat Grettir stood up, and controlling himself, said, "If I have any

faculty of foresight, Slowcoach, I see that you will not be smothered

with smoke like a dog. You should have done other than speak foul words

of very aged men. Gray hairs deserve respect."

 

"I don’t think more of your foresight than I do of the wisdom of your

old fool of a father," said Thorbiorn.

 

The end was that they fought. The insult was too gross to be endured,

and Grettir felt it incumbent on him to strike for his father’s honour.

The fight did not last long; the Slowcoach was slow in his fighting,

slow of hand, only not slow of tongue, and Grettir’s sharp sword wounded

him to death.

 

Slowcoach was buried in the nearest churchyard; and the chapmen gave

Grettir credit for having restrained himself as long as possible, and

allowed that, according to the ideas of the time, he was justified in

fighting and killing the Slowcoach for his spiteful and strife-provoking

words. But Grettir was not pleased, he regretted the contest, because

he knew that it left occasion of strife behind, which might occasion

Atli trouble. Thorbiorn Oxmain would, lie feared, be sure to take up

the quarrel, and then Atli would have to pay a heavy fine in silver to

atone for the death.

 

The vessel set sail, and reached the south of Norway. There Grettir

took ship in a trading keel, to go north to Drontheim, because he heard

that the king was there, and his heart beat high with hopes that Olaf

would acknowledge him as a cousin, and would take him into his

body-guard, and treat him with honour; and that so, though he had had

ill-luck in Iceland, good luck might attend him in Norway.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XVII.*

 

*THE HOSTEL BURNING.*

 

 

_Aground in the Fiord—The Light over the Water—Grettir Swims

Across—The Fight for Fire—The Burned Hostel—At Drontheim_

 

 

There lived a man named Thorir at Garth in Iceland who had spent the

summer in Norway when Olaf returned from England, and he had stood in

great favour with the king. He had two sons, and at this time both were

well-grown men.

 

Thorir left Norway for Iceland, where he broke up his ship, not

intending again to go a seafaring. But when he heard the tidings that

Olaf was king over the whole of Norway, then he deemed it would be well

for his sons to go there and pay their respects to the king, and remind

him of his old friendship for their father.

 

On reaching Norway much about the same time as had Grettir, they took a

long rowing-boat, and skirted the coast on their way north to Drontheim.

They preceded Grettir by a few days. On reaching a fine fiord, in which

there was shelter from the gales that began to bluster violently with

the approach of winter, the sons of Thorir ran in their boat, and as

there was a large wooden hostelry there built for the shelter of

weather-bound travellers, they took refuge in it, and spent their days

in hunting and their nights in revelry.

 

Now it so fell out that Grettir’s merchant ship came into this same

fiord one evening and ran aground on the opposite shore to that on which

was the hostel. The night was bitterly cold; storms of snow drove over

the country, whitening the mountains. The men from the ship were worn

out and numbed with cold, and they had no means of kindling a fire.

Then, all at once, they saw a light spring up on the opposite side of

the firth, twinkling cheerfully between the trees. This was a sight to

make them more eager for a fire, and they began to wish that some one of

their number would swim across and bring over a light.

 

"In the good old times there must have been men who would have thought

nothing of swimming across the streak of water at night," said Grettir.

 

"No comfort to us to know that," said one of the crew. "It does not

concern us what may have been in the past, we are shivering in the

present. Why do you not get us fire?"

 

Grettir hesitated. The night was very like that on which he had fought

with Glam: the same full moon, with snow-laden clouds rolling over its

face for a while obscuring it, and then the full glare falling over the

face of earth again; and, unaccountably, a sense of doubt and depression

had come over him, as though that evil adversary were now about to

revenge his downfall upon him. He looked round suddenly, for he thought

that the fearful eyes were staring at him from out of the black shadows

of the fir-wood.

 

The rest of the crew united in urging him, and at length, reluctantly,

Grettir yielded. He flung his clothes off, and prepared himself to

swim. He had on him a fur cape, and a pair of wadmal breeches. He took

up an iron pot, and jumped into the sea and swam safely across.

 

On reaching the further shore, he shook the water off him, but before

long his trousers froze like boards, and the water formed in icicles

about the cape. Grettir ascended through the pine-wood towards the

light, and on reaching the hostel from which it proceeded, walked in

without speaking to anyone, and striding up to the fire, stooped and

began to scrape the red-hot embers into his iron pot. The hall was full

of revellers, and these revellers were the sons of Thorir and their

boat’s crew. They were already more than half intoxicated, and when they saw a wild-looking man enter the hall, half naked and hung with icicles, they thought he must be a troll or mountain-spirit.