grettir the outlaw 27

grettir the outlaw 27

The farmer to whom he said this shook his head. "You don’t know of whom

you are speaking. If you were to kill him you would be well off,—six

marks of silver were set on his head, and Thorir of Garth has added

three more, so that there stand on him nine marks of silver."

 

"All things can be done for money," said Gisli; "and as I am a merchant

I’ll see to it. And when we meet—I’ll dress his skin for him."

 

The farmer said it would be well not to talk about the matter. Gisli

agreed. "I will abide this winter in Snowfell-ness," he said. "If his

lair is on my road thither I’ll look out for him, and dress his skin as

I go along."

 

Now, whether he talked in spite of the caution given him, or whether

some one overheard what he said, who was a friend of Biorn of Holm, is

uncertain. Any how Gisli’s threat reached the ears of Biorn, who at

once warned Grettir to be on his guard against the merchant.

 

"If he comes your way," said Biorn, "teach him a lesson; but don’t kill

him."

 

"No," said Grettir with a grim smile, "I’ll merely dress his skin for

him."

 

Now it happened one day that Grettir was looking out of the entrance to

his lair, when he saw a man with two attendants riding along the

highway. His kirtle was of scarlet, and his helmet and shield flashed

in the sun. Then it occurred to him that this must be the dandified

Gisli, of whom he had heard, so he came running down the shale descent

to the road. He reached the man, and at once he went to his horse,

clapped his hand on a bundle of clothes behind the saddle, and said,

"This I am going to take."

 

"Nay, not so," answered Gisli, for it was he. "You do not know whom you

are addressing."

 

"Nor do I care," said Grettir. "I have little respect for persons. I

am in poor and lowly condition myself, so low that I am driven to be a

highway robber."

 

Then Gisli drew his sword, and called to his men to attack Grettir, who

gave way a little before them. But he soon saw that Gisli kept behind

his servants, and never risked himself where the blows fell; so Grettir

put the two churls aside with well-dealt strokes, and went direct upon

the merchant, who, seeing that he was menaced, turned and took to his

heels. Grettir pursued him, and Gisli in his fear cast aside his

shield, then, a little further, threw away his helmet, and so as he ran

he cast away one thing after another that he had with him. There was a

heavy purse of silver at his girdle. This encumbered him, and as he ran

he unbuckled his belt and dropped it and the purse with it. Grettir did

not purposely come up with him; he could have outstripped him had he

willed, but he let the fellow run a couple of horse lengths before him.

The end of the Fell is above an old lava bed that has flowed from a

crater called Eldborg or the Castle of Fire, and like an old ruined

castle it looks. Gisli ran over this lava bed, jumping the cracks, then

dived through a wood of birch that intervened between the lava and the

river Haf. The stream was swollen with ice, and ill to ford. Gisli

halted hesitating before plunging in, and that allowed Grettir to run in

on him, seize him and throw him down.

 

"Are you the Gisli who were so eager to meet Grettir Asmund’s son?"

asked the outlaw.

 

"I have had enough of him," gasped the fallen man. "Keep my saddle-bags

and what I have thrown away, and let me go free."

 

"Hardly yet," said Grettir grimly. "I think something was said about

skin-dressing, that is not to be overlooked."

 

Then Grettir drew him back to the wood, took a good handful of birch

rods, pulled Gisli’s clothes up over his head, and laid the twigs

against his back in none of the gentlest fashion. Gisli danced and

skipped about, but Grettir had him by his garments twisted about his

head and neck, and continued to flog till the poor fellow threw himself

down on the ground screaming. Then Grettir let go, and went quietly

back to his lair, picking up as he went the purse and the belt, the

shield, casque, and whatever else Gisli had thrown away, also he had the

contents of his saddle-bags.

 

Gisli never came back to Fairwood Fell to ask for them. When he got on

his legs he ran up the river to where it was not so dangerous, swam it,

and reached a farmhouse, where he entreated to be taken in. There he

lay a week with his body swollen and striped; after which he went home,

and much was he laughed at for his adventure with Grettir.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XXIX.*

 

*THE FIGHT ON THE RIVER.*

 

 

_Angry Farmers—A Large Band of Men—The Marshmen are Driven

Back—The Attacking Party Reinforced—Fighting in

Desperation—Wearied but Unwounded—The Song of Victory_

 

 

Now, whilst Grettir was on Fairwood Fell, favoured by Biorn of Hit-dale,

his presence after a while became unendurable to the bonders who lived

in the marshes. He had been for two winters in his den on the hill, and

when they saw that he intended to remain there a third winter, and rob

them of sheep and whatever he needed, then they took counsel together

how they might rid themselves of the annoyance.

 

One day in the winter of 1023, Grettir came down from his place of

vantage, and went over the marshes to a farm called Acres, and drove

away from it two bullocks fit for slaughtering, and several sheep, and

he had got on with them some way over the marshes, on his way to his

lair, before the farmer at Acres was aware of his loss; he had taken six

wethers beside from another farm named Brookbend. This angered the

farmers greatly, and they sent a message to the chief man of the

district, Thord at Hitness, and urged him to waylay Grettir before he

could reach his den. Thord shrank from doing anything; however, they

pressed him so much that at last he consented to let his son Arnor go

with them. Then messengers were sent throughout all the country side,

to every farmer who was concerned. And it was so planned that two

bodies of men should march to the taking of Grettir, one on the right,

the other on the left bank of the Hit River, so as to take him for

certain.

 

Grettir was soon aware that the country was roused. He was not alone,

he had two men with him—one the son of the farmer at Fairwood Fell, with

whom he was on good terms, the other a farm-servant. They advised him to

desert the cattle and sheep and run for it, cross the river and take

refuge in his place of vantage; but this Grettir was too proud to do.

 

Presently he could see coming on behind him a large band of men, about

twenty in all, under Thorarin of Acres and Thorfin of Brookbend. Now,

as these were pursuing him over the marshes, up the opposite side of the

river came Arnor, the son of Thord of Hitness, and with him a farmer

named Biarni of Jorvi.

 

Grettir managed to reach the river before his enemies came up with him,

and he had also time to secure a place of vantage. This was a ness of

rock that ran out into the river, or round which the river swept, so

that he was protected by the water on all sides but one. Grettir said

to the two men with him, that they must guard his back, see that none

came up the sides in his rear, and then he took his short-sword in both

his hands, planted his feet wide apart on the rock, and prepared to sell

his life dear.

 

The party headed by Thorarin of Acres and Thorfin of Brookbend came up,

twenty in all,—but more were coming, for Thorarin had begun the pursuit

before all the farmers were collected, and he knew that a body of some

twenty or thirty more would arrive before long. Thorarin himself was an

old man, and he did not enter into the fray, but urged on his men.

 

The fight was hard. Grettir was not easily reached where he stood, and

he smote at all who approached. Some of the Marshmen fell, and several

were wounded. In vain did they attempt to dislodge him by combined

rushes, he drove them over the edge into the water, or cut them down

with his sword. At last his arm was weary, and he called to the

farmer’s son to step into his place. He did so, and held the ground

valiantly, whilst Grettir rested. Then the party drew back,

discomfited. At that moment up came the fresh body of men under Thrand,

the brother of Thorarin of Acres, and Stonewolf of Lavadale. These

egged on their men eagerly, and they thought they would obtain an easy

victory, for Grettir had been fighting for some time, and was weary.

 

Then Thorarin of Acres called out and advised delay.

 

"For," said he, "the third party of men under Arnor and Biarni of Jorvi

have not come up on the other side of the river."

 

This piece of advice was rejected by the newcomers. What did they want

with more men? They were a large party, fresh and untired, and Grettir

had but two men with him, and they were wearied with fighting. So the

signal was given for the onslaught.

 

Then Grettir saw that he must either jump into the river, swim across,

and desert the sheep and bullocks he had driven there, or use almost

superhuman exertions to defend himself.

 

His position was, indeed, desperate; for, even if he did hold his own

against this second body of men, a third was on its way up the other

bank of the river to intercept him on his way up to the Fell. For one

moment he hesitated, and then was resolved. No, he would not run. He

would die there, and die only after having strewn the ground with his

foes. Foremost among his assailants was Stonewolf of Lavadale, and

Grettir made a sudden rush at him, and with a tremendous stroke of his

sword he clove his head down to the shoulders. Thrand, who sprang

forward to avenge him, Grettir struck on the thigh, and the blow took

off all the muscle, and he fell, crippled for life. Then Grettir fell