Yes, when a
man grows old he has heard so much that is strange there's little more can
surprise him. They say the king in Mittagard has a beast of gold before his
high seat, which stands up and roars. I have it from Filif Eriksson, who served
in the guard down there, and he is a steady fellow when not drunk. He has also
seen the Greek fire used, it burns on water.
So, priest,
I am not unwilling to believe what you say about the White Christ—I have been
in England and France myself, and seen how the folk prosper. He must be a very
powerful god, to ward so many realms... and did you say that everyone who is
baptized will be given a white robe? I would like to have one. They mildew, of
course, in this cursed wet Iceland weath- er, but a small sacrifice to the houseelves
should—No sacri- fices? Come now! I'll give up horseflesh if I must, my teeth
not being what they were, but every sensible man knows how much trouble the
elves make if they're not fed.
... Well,
let's have another cup and talk about it. How do you like the beer? It's my own
brew, you know. The cups I got in England, many years back. I was a young man
then... time goes, time goes. Afterward I came back and inherited this, my
father's steading, and have not left it since. Well enough to go in viking as a
youth, but grown older you see where the real wealth lies: here, in the land
and the cattle.
Stoke up
the fires, Hjalt! It's growing cold. Sometimes I think the winters are colder
than when I was a boy. Thorbrand of the Salmondale says so, but he believes the
gods are angry be- cause so many are turning from them. You'll have trouble
win- ning Thorbrand over, priest. A stubborn man. Myself I am open-minded, and
willing to listen at least.
... Now
then. There is one point on which I must correct you. The end of the world is
not coming in two years. This I know.
And if you
ask me how I know, that's a very long tale, and in some ways a terrible one.
Glad I am to be old, and safely in the earth before that great tomorrow comes.
It will be an eldritch time before the frost giants march... oh, very well,
before the angel blows his battle horn. One reason I hearken to your preaching
is that I know the White Christ will conquer Thor. I know Iceland is going to
be Christian erelong, and it seems best to range myself on the winning side.
No, I've
had no visions. This is a happening of five years ago, which my own household
and neighbors can swear to. They mostly did not believe what the stranger told;
I do, more or less, if only because I don't think a liar could wreak so much
harm. I loved my daughter, priest, and after it was over I made a good marriage
for her. She did not naysay it, but now she sits out on the ness-farm with her
husband and never a word to me; and I hear he is ill pleased with her silence
and moodiness, and spends his nights with an Irish concubine. For this I cannot
blame him, but it grieves me.
Well, I've
drunk enough to tell the whole truth now, and whether you believe it or not
makes no odds to me. Here... you, girls!... fill these cups again, for I'll
have a dry throat before I finish the telling.
It begins,
then, on a day in early summer, five years ago. At that time, my wife Ragnhfld
and I had only two unwed children still living with us: our youngest son Helgi,
of seventeen win- ters, and our daughter Thorgunna, of eighteen. The girl,
being fair, had already had suitors. But she refused them, and I am not a man
who would compel his daughter. As for Helgi, he was ever a lively one, good
with his hands but a breakneck youth. He is now serving in the guard of King
Olaf of Norway. Besides these, of course, we had about ten housefolk—two Irish
thralls, two girls to help with the women's work, and half a dozen hired
carles. This is not a small steading.
You have
not seen how my land lies. About two miles to the west is the bay; the thorps
at Reykjavik are about five miles south. The land rises toward the Long Jokull,
so that my acres are hilly; but it's good hayland, and there is often driftwood
on the beach. I've built a shed down there for it, as well as a boathouse.
There had
been a storm the night before, so Helgi and I were going down to look for
drift. You, coming from Norway, do not know how precious wood is to us
Icelanders, who have only a few scrubby trees and must bring all our timber
from abroad. Back there men have often been burned in their houses by their
foes, but we count that the worst of deeds, though it's not unknown.
I was on
good terms with my neighbors, so we took only hand weapons. I my ax, Helgi a
sword, and the two carles we had with us bore spears. It was a day washed clean
by the night's fury, and the sun fell bright on long wet grass. I saw my garth
lying rich around its courtyard, sleek cows and sheep, smoke rising from the
roof hole of the hall, and knew I'd not done so ill in my lifetime. My son
Helgi's hair fluttered in the low west wind as we left the steading behind a
ridge and neared the wa- ter. Strange how well I remember all which happened
that day, somehow it was a sharper day than most.
When we
came down to the strand, the sea was beating heavy, white and gray out to the
world's edge. A few gulls flew screaming above us, frightened off a cod washed
up onto the shore. I saw there was a litter of no few sticks, even a baulk of
timber... from some ship carrying it that broke up during the night, I suppose.
That was a useful find, though, as a careful man, I would later sacrifice to be
sure the owner's ghost wouldn't plague me.
We had
fallen to and were dragging the baulk toward the shed when Helgi cried out. I
ran for my ax as I looked the way he pointed. We had no feuds then, but there
are always outlaws.
This one
seemed harmless, though. Indeed, as he stumbled nearer across the black sand I
thought him quite unarmed and wondered what had happened. He was a big man and
strangely clad — he wore coat and breeches and shoes like anyone else, but they
were of peculiar cut and he bound his trousers with leggings rather than
thongs. Nor had I ever seen a helmet like his: it was almost square, and came
down to cover his neck, but it had no nose guard; it was held in place by a
leather strap. And this you may not believe, but it was not metal—yet had been
cast in one piece!
He broke
into a staggering run as he neared, and flapped his arms and croaked something.
The tongue was none I had ever heard, and I have heard many; it was like dogs
barking. I saw that he was clean-shaven and his black hair cropped short, and
thought he might be French. Otherwise he was a young man, and good-looking,
with blue eyes and regular features. From his skin I judged that he spent much
time indoors, yet he had a fine manly build.
"Could
he have been shipwrecked?" asked Helgi.
"His
clothes are dry and unstained," I said; "nor has he been wandering
long, for there's no stubble on his chin. Yet I've heard of no strangers
guesting hereabouts."
We lowered
our weapons, and he came up to us and stood gasping. I saw that his coat and
the shirt behind was fastened with bonelike buttons rather than laces, and were
of heavy weave. About his neck he had fastened a strip of cloth tucked into his
coat. These garments were all in brownish hues. His shoes were of a sort new to
me, very well cobbled. Here and there on his coat were bits of brass, and he
had three broken stripes on each sleeve; also a black band with white letters,
the same letters being on his helmet. Those were not runes, but Roman letters
thus: MP. He wore a broad belt, with a small clublike thing of metal in a
sheath at the hip and also a real club.
"Then
he must be a warlock," muttered my carle Sigurd. "Why else all those
tokens?"
"They
may only be ornament, or to ward against witchcraft," I soothed him. Then,
to the stranger. "I be Ospak Ullsson of Bollstead. What is your
errand?"
He stood
with his chest heaving and a wildness in his eyes. He must have run a long way.
Then he moaned and sat down and covered his face.
"H—he's
sick, best we get him to the house," said Helgi. His eyes gleamed—we see
so few new faces here.
"No...
no... " The stranger looked up. "Let me rest a moment "
He spoke
the Norse tongue readily enough, though with a thick accent not easy to follow
and with many foreign words I did not understand.
The other
carle, Grim, hefted his spear. "Have vikings landed?" he asked.
"When
did vikings ever come to Iceland?" I snorted. "It's the other way
around—"
The
newcomer shook his head, as if it had been struck. He got shakily to his feet
"What happened?" he said. "What happened to the city?"
"What
city?" I asked reasonably, "Reykjavik!" he groaned. "Where
is it?"
"Five
miles south, the way you came—unless you mean the bay itself," I said.
"No!
There was only a beach, and a few wretched huts, and—"
"Best
not let Hjalmar Broadnose hear you call his thorp that," I counseled.
"But
there was a city!" he cried. Wfldness lay in his eyes. "I was
crossing the street, it was a storm, and there was a crash and then I stood on
the beach and the city was gone!"
"He's
mad," said Sigurd, backing away. "Be careful... if he starts to foam
at the mouth, it means he's going berserk."
"Who
are you?" babbled the stranger. "What are you doing in those clothes?
Why the spears?"
"Somehow,"
said Helgi, "he does not sound crazed only frightened and bewildered.
Something evil has happened to him."
"I'm
not staying near a man under a curse!" yelped Sigurd, and started to run
away.
"Come
back!" I bawled. "Stand where you are or I'll cleave your
louse-bitten head!"
That
stopped him, for he had no kin who would avenge him; but he would not come
closer. Meanwhile the stranger had calmed down to the point where he could at
least talk evenly.
"Was
it the aitchbomb?" He asked. "Has the war started?"
He used
that word often, aitchbomb, so I know it now, though unsure of what it means.
It seems to be a kind of Greek fire. As for the war, I knew not which war he
meant, and told him so.
"There
was a great thunderstorm last night," I added. "And you say you were
out in one too. Perhaps Thor's hammer knocked you from your place to
here."
"But
where is here?" he replied. His voice was more dulled than otherwise, now
that the first terror had lifted,
"I
told you. This is Hfflstead, which is on Iceland."
"But
that's where I was!" he mumbled. "Reykjavik... what happened? Did the
aitchbomb destroy everything while I was unconscious?"
"Nothing
has been destroyed," I said.
"Perhaps
he means the fire at Olafsvik last month," said Helgi.
"No,
no, no!" He buried his face in his hands. After a while he looked up and
said. "See here. I am Sergeant Gerald Roberts of the United States Army
base on Iceland. I was in Reykjavik and got struck by lightning or something.
Suddenly I was standing on the beach, and got frightened and ran. That's all.
Now, can you tell me how to get back to the base?"
Those were
more or less his words, priest. Of course, we did not grasp half of it, and
made him repeat it several times and explain the words. Even then we did not
understand, except that he was from some country called the United States of
America, which he said lies beyond Greenland to the west, and that he and some
others were on Iceland to help our folk against their enemies. Now this I did
not consider a lie—more a mistake or imagining. Grim would have cut him down
for thinking us stupid enough to swallow that tale, but I could see that he
meant it.
Trying to
explain it to us cooled him off. "Look here," he said, in too
reasonable a tone for a feverish man, "perhaps we can get at the truth
from your side. Has there been no war you know of? Nothing which—well, look
here. My country's men first came to Iceland to guard it against the Germans...
now it is the Russians, but then it was the Germans. When was that?"
Helgi shook
his head. "That never happened that I know of," he said. "Who
are these Russians?" He found out later that Gardariki was meant.
"Unless," he said, "the old warlocks—"
"He
means the Irish monks," I explained. "There were a few living here
when the Norsemen came, but they were driven out. That was, hm, somewhat over a
hundred years ago. Did your folk ever help the monks?"
"I
never heard of them!" he said. His breath sobbed in his throat.
"You... didn't you Icelanders come from Norway?"
"Yes,
about a hundred years ago," I answered patiently. "After King Harald
Fairhair took all the Norse lands and—"
"A
hundred years ago!" he whispered. I saw whiteness creep up under his skin.
"What year is this?"
We gaped at
him. "Well, it's the second year after the great salmon catch," I
tried.
"What
year after Christ, I mean?" It was a hoarse prayer.
"Oh,
so you are a Christian? Hm, let me think... I talked with a bishop in England
once, we were holding him for ransom, and he said... let me see... I think he
said this Christ man lived a thousand years ago, or maybe a little less."
"A
thousand—" He shook his head; and then something went out of him, he stood
with glassy eyes—yes, I have seen glass, I told you I am a traveled man—he
stood thus, and when we led him toward the garth he went like a small child.
You can see
for yourself, priest, that my wife Ragnhild is still good to look upon even in
eld, and Thorgunna took after her. She was is tall and slim, with a dragon's
hoard of golden hair. She being a maiden then, it flowed loose over her
shoulders. She had great blue eyes and a small heart-shaped face and very red
lips. Withal she was a merry one, and kind-hearted, so that all men loved her.
Sverri Snorrason went in viking when she refused and was slain, but no one had
the wit to see that she was unlucky.
We led this
Gerald Samsson—when I asked, he said his fath- er was named Sam—we led him home,
leaving Sigurd and Grim to finish gathering the driftwood. There are some who
would not have a Christian in their house, for fear of witchcraft, but I am a
broad-minded man and Helgi, of course, was wild for any- thing new. Our guest
stumbled like a blind man over the fields, but seemed to wake up as we entered
the yard. His eyes went around the buildings that enclosed it, from the stables
and sheds to the smokehouse, the brewery, the kitchen, the bath- house, the
god-shrine, and thence to the hall. And Thorgunna was standing in the doorway.
Their gazes
locked for a moment, and I saw her color but thought little of it then. Our
shoes rang on the flagging as we crossed the yard and kicked the dogs aside. My
two thralls paused in cleaning out the stables to gawp, until I got them back
to work with the remark that a man good for naught else was always a pleasing
sacrifice. That's one useful practice you Christians lack; I've never made a
human offering myself, but you know not how helpful is the fact that I could do
so.
We entered
the hall and I told the folk Gerald's name and how we had found him. Ragnhfld
set her maids hopping, to stoke up the fire in the middle trench and fetch
beer, while I led Gerald to the high seat and sat down by him. Thorgunna brought
us the filled horns.
Gerald
tasted the brew and made a face. I felt somewhat of- fended, for my beer is
reckoned good, and asked him if there was aught wrong. He laughed with a harsh
note and said no, but he was used to beer that foamed and was not sour.
"And
where might they make such?" I wondered testily.
"Everywhere.
Iceland, too—no... " He stared emptily before him. "Let's say... in
Vinland."
"Where
is Vinland?" I asked.
"The
country to the west whence I came. I thought you knew ... wait a bit—" He
shook his head, "Maybe I can find out—have you heard of a man named Leif
Eiriksson?"
"No,"
I said. Since then it has struck me that this was one proof of his tale, for
Leif Eriksson is now a well-known chief; and I also take more seriously those
tales of land seen by Bjarni Herjulfsson.
"His
father, maybe Tfoilr the Red?" asked Gerald.
"Oh
yes," I said. "If you mean the Norseman who came hither because of a
manslaughter, and left Iceland in turn for the same reason, and has now settled
with other folk in Greenland... "
"Then
this is... a little before Leif's voyage," he muttered "The late
tenth century."
"See
here," demanded Helgi, "we've been patient with you, but this is no
time for riddles. We save those for feasts and drinking bouts. Can you not say
plainly whence you come and how you got here?"
Gerald
covered his face, shaking.
"Let
the man alone, Helgi," said Thorgunna. "Can you not see he's
troubled?"
He raised
his head and gave her the look of a hurt dog that someone has patted. It was dim
in the hall, enough light com- ing in by the loft windows so no candles were
lit, but not enough to see well by. Nevertheless, I marked a reddening in both
their faces.
Gerald drew
a long breath and fumbled about; his clothes were made with pockets. He brought
out a small parchment box and from it took a little white stick that he put in
his mouth. Then he took out another box, and a wooden stick from it which burst
into flame when scratched. With the fire he kindled the stick in his mouth, and
sucked in the smoke.
We all
stared "Is that a Christian rite?" asked Helgi.
"No...
not just so." A wry, disappointed smile twisted his lips. "I'd have
thought you'd be more surprised, even terrified."
"It's
something new," I admitted, "but we're a sober folk on Iceland. Those
fire sticks could be useful. Did you come to trade in them?"
"Hardly."
He sighed. The smoke he breathed in seemed to steady him, which was odd,
because the smoke in the hall had made him cough and water at the eyes.
"The truth is... something you will not believe. I can scarce believe it
myself."
We waited.
Thorgunna stood leaning forward, her lips parted.
"That
lightning bolt—" Gerald nodded wearily. "I was out in the storm, and
somehow the lightning must have struck me in just the right way, a way that
happens only once in many thou- sands of times. It threw me back into the
past."
Those were
his words, priest I did not understand, and told him so.
"It's
hard to see," he agreed. "God give that I'm only dream- ing. But if
this is a dream, I must endure till I wake up... well, look. I was born one
thousand, nine hundred and thirty-two years after Christ, in a land to the west
which you have not yet found. In the twenty-third year of my life, I was in
Iceland as part of my country's army. The lightning struck me, and now ... now
it is less than one thousand years after Christ, and yet I am here—almost a
thousand years before I was born, I am here!"
We sat very
still. I signed myself with the Hammer and took a long pull from my horn. One
of the maids whimpered, and Rag- nhild whispered so fiercely I could hear.
"Be still. The poor fellow's out of his head. There's no harm in
him."
I agreed
with her, though less sure of the last part of it The gods can speak through a
madman, and the gods are not al- ways to be trusted. Or he could turn
berserker, or he could be under a heavy curse that would also touch us.
He sat
staring before him, and I caught a few fleas and cracked them while I thought
about it. Gerald noticed and asked with some horror if we had many fleas here.
"Why,
of course," said Thorgunna. "Have you none?" "No." He
smiled crookedly. "Not yet—"
"Ah,"
she signed, "you must be sick."
She was a
level-headed girl. I saw her thought, and so did Ragnhild and Helgi— clearly, a
man so sick that he had no fleas could be expected to rave. There was still
some worry about whether we might catch the illness, but I deemed it un-
likely; his trouble was all in the head, perhaps from a blow he had taken. In
any case, the matter was come down to earth now, something we could deal with.
As a godi,
a chief who holds sacrifices, it behooved me not to turn a stranger out.
Moreover, if he could fetch in many of those little fire-kindling sticks, a
profitable trade might be built up. So I said Gerald should go to bed. He
protested, but we manhandled him into the shut-bed and there he lay tired and
was soon asleep. Thorgunna said she would take care of him.
The next
day I decided to sacrifice a horse, both because of the timber we had found and
to take away any curse there might be on Gerald. Furthermore, the beast I had
picked was old and useless, and we were short of fresh meat. Gerald had spent
the day lounging moodily around the garth, but when I came in to supper I found
him and my daughter laughing.
"You
seem to be on the road to health," I said.
"Oh
yes. It... could be worse for me." He sat down at my side as the carles
set up the trestle table and the maids brought in the food. "I was ever
much taken with the age of the vikings, and I have some skills."
"Well,"
I said, "if you've no home, we can keep you here for a while."
"I can
work," he said eagerly. "I'll be worth my pay."
Now I knew
he was from a far land, because what chief would work on any land but his own,
and for hire at that? Yet he had the easy manner of the highborn, and had
clearly eaten well all his life. I overlooked that he had made no gifts; after
all, he was shipwrecked.
"Maybe
you can get passage back to your United States," said Helgi. "We
could hire a ship. I'm fain to see that realm."
"No,"
said Gerald bleakly. "There is no such place. Not yet."
"So
you still hold to that idea you came from tomorrow?" grunted Sigurd.
"Crazy notion. Pass the pork."
"I
do," said Gerald. There was a calm on him now. "And I can prove it—"
"I
don't see how you speak our tongue, if you come from so far away," I said,
I would not call a man a liar to his face, un- less we were swapping brags in a
friendly way, but...
"They
speak otherwise in my land and time," he replied, "but it happens
than in Iceland the tongue changed little since the old days, and I learned it
when I came there."
"If
you are a Christian," I said, "you must bear with us while we
sacrifice tonight—"
"I've
naught against that," he said. "I fear I never was a very good
Christian. I'd like to watch. How is it done?"
I told him
how I would smite the horse with a hammer before the god, and cut his throat,
and sprinkle the blood about with willow twigs; thereafter we would butcher the
carcass and feast. He said hastily:
"There's
my chance to prove what I am. I have a weapon that will kill the horse with...
with a flash of lightning."
"What
is it?" I wondered. We all crowded around while he took the metal club out
of his sheath and showed it to us. I had my doubts; it looked well enough for
hitting a man, perhaps, but had no edge, though a wondrously skilful smith had
forged ft. "Well, we can try," I said.
He showed
us what else he had in his pockets. There were some coins of remarkable
roundness and sharpness, a small key, a stick with lead in it for writing, a
flat purse holding many bits of marked paper; when he told us solemnly that
some of this paper was money, even Thorgtmna had to laugh. Best of all was a
knife whose blade folded into the handle. When he saw me admiring that, he gave
it to me, which was well done for a shipwrecked man. I said I would give him
clothes and a good ax, as well as lodging for as long as needful.
No, I don't
have the knife now. You shall hear why. It's a pity, for it was a good knife,
though rather small.
"What
were you ere the war arrow went out in your land?" asked Heigi. "A
merchant?"
"No,"
said Gerald. "I was an... engineer... that is, I was learn- ing how to be
one. That's a man who builds things, bridges and roads and tools... more than
just an artisan. So I think my knowledge could be of great value here." I
saw a fever in his eyes, "Yes, give me time and I'll be a king!"
"We
have no king in Iceland," I grunted. "Our forefathers came hither to
get away from kings. Now we meet at the Kings to try suits and pass new laws,
but each man must get his own redress as best he can."
"But
suppose the man in the wrong won't yield?" he asked.
"Then
there can be a fine feud," said Helgi, and went on to relate with
sparkling eyes some of the killings there had lately been. Gerald looked
unhappy and fingered his gun. That is what he called his fire-spitting club.
"Your
clothing is rich," said Thorgunna softly. "Your folk must own broad
acres at home."
"No,"
he said, "our... our king gives every man in the army clothes like these.
As for my family, we owned no land, we ren- ted our home in a building where
many other families also dwelt."
I am not
purse-proud, but it seemed me he had not been hon- est, a landless man sharing
my high seat like a chief. Thor- gunna covered my huffiness by saying.
"You will gain a farm later."
After dark
we went out to the shrine. The carles had built a fire before it, and as I
opened the door the wooden Odin ap- peared to leap forth. Gerald muttered to my
daughter that it was a clumsy bit of carving, and since my father had made it I
was still more angry with him. Some folks have no understand- ing of the fine
arts.
Nevertheless,
I let him help me lead the horse forth to the al- tar stone. I took the
blood-bowl in my hands and said he could now slay the beast if he would. He
drew his gun, put the end behind the horse's ear, and squeezed. There was a
crack, and the beast quivered and dropped with a hole blown through its skull,
wasting the brains a clumsy weapon. I caught a whiff of smell, sharp and bitter
like that around a volcano. We all jumped, one of the women screamed, and
Gerald looked proud. I gathered my wits and finished the rest of the sacrifice
as usu- al. Gerald did not like having blood sprinkled over hi 3 but then, of
course, he was a Christian. Nor would he take more than a little of the soup
and flesh.
Afterward
Helgi questioned him about the gun, and he said it could kill a man at bowshot
distance but there was no witch- craft in it, only use of some tricks we did
not know as yet.
Having
heard of the Greek fire, I believed him. A gun could be useful in a fight, as
indeed I was to learn, but it did not seem very practical iron costing what it
does, and months of forging needed for each one.
I worried
more about the man himself.
And the
next morning I found him telling Thorgunna a great deal of foolishness about
his home, buildings tall as mountains and wagons that flew or went without
horses. He said there were eight or nine thousand thousands of folk in his
city, a burgh called New Jorvik or the like. I enjoy a good brag as wefl as the
next man, but this was too much and I told him gruffly to come along and help
me get in some strayed cattle.
After a day
scrambling around the hills I knew well enough that Gerald could scarce tell a
cow's prow from her stern. We almost had the strays once, but he ran stupidly
across their path and turned them so the work was all to do again. I asked him
with strained courtesy if he could "rillr, shear, wield scythe or flail,
and he said no, he had never fived on a farm.
That's a
pity," I remarked, "for everyone on Iceland does, un- less he be
outlawed."
He flushed
at my tone. "I can do enough else," he answered. "Give me some
tools and I'll show you metalwork well done."
That
brightened me, for truth to tell, none of our household was a very gifted
smith. "That's an honorable trade," I said, "and you can be of
great help. I have a broken sword and sev- eral bent spearheads to be mended,
and it were no bad idea to shoe all the horses." His admission that he did
know how to put on a shoe was not very dampening to me then.
We had
returned home as we talked, and Thorgunna came angrily forward. "That's no
way to treat a guest, father!" she said. "Making him work like a carle,
indeed!"
Gerald
smiled. "I'll be glad to work," he said. "I need a... a stake...
something to start me afresh. Also, I want to repay a little of your
kindness."
That made
me mild toward him, and I said it was not his fault they had different customs
in the United States. On the mor- row he could begin work in the smithy, and I
would pay him, yet he would be treated as an equal, since craftsmen are val-
ued. This earned him black looks from the housefolk.
That
evening he entertained us well with stories of his home; true or not, they made
good listening. However, he had no real polish, being unable to compose even
two lines of verse. They must be a raw and backward lot in the United States.
He said his task in the army had been to keep order among the troops. Helgi
said this was unheard-of, and he must be a brave man who would offend so many
men, but Gerald said folk obeyed him out of fear of the king. When he added
that the term of a levy in the United States was two years, and that men could
be called to war even in harvest time, I said he was well out of a country with
so ruthless and powerful a king.
"No,"
he answered wistfully, "we are a free folk, who say what we please."
"But
it seems you may not do as you please," said Helgi.
"Well,"
he said, "We may not murder a man just because he offends us."
"Not
even if he has slain you own kin?" asked Helgi.
"No.
It is for the... the king to take vengeance on behalf of us all."
I chuckled.
"Your yarns are good," I said, "but there you've hit a snag. How
could the king even keep track of all the murders, let alone avenge them? Why,
the man wouldn't even have time to beget an heir!"
He could
say no more for all the laughter that followed.
The next
day Gerald went to the smithy, with a thrall to pump the bellows for him. I was
gone that day and night, down to Reykjavik to dicker with Hjalmar Broadnose
about some sheep. I invited him back for an overnight stay, and we rode in- to
the garth with his son Ketill, a red-haired sulky youth of twenty winters who
had been refused by Thorgunnau.
I found
Gerald sitting gloomily on a bench in the hall. He wore the clothes I had given
him, his own having been spoiled by ash and sparks.
what had he
awaited, the fool? He was talking in a low voice with my daughter.
"Well,"
I said as I entered, "how went it?"
My man Grim
snickered. "He has mined two spearheads, but we put out the fire he
started ere the whole smithy burned."
"How's
this?" I cried. "I thought you said you were a smith."
Gerald
stood up, defiantly. "I worked with other tools, and better ones, at
home," he replied. "You do it differently here."
It seemed
he had built up the fire too hot; his hammer had struck everywhere but the
place it should; he had wrecked the temper of the steel through not knowing
when to quench it Smithcraft takes years to learn, of course, but he should
have admitted he was not even an apprentice.
"Well,"
I snapped, "what can you do, then, to earn your bread?" It irked me
to be made a fool of before Hjalmar and Ketill, whom I had told about the
stranger.
"Odin
alone knows," said Grim. "I took him with me to ride after your
goats, and never have I seen a worse horseman. I asked him if he could even
spin or weave, and he said no."
"That
was no question to ask a man!" flared Thorgunna. "He should have
slain you for it!"
"He
should indeed," laughed Grim. "But let me carry on the tale. I
thought we would also repair your bridge over the foss. Well, he can just
barely handle a saw, but he nearly took his own foot off with the adz."
"We
don't use those tools, I tell you!" Gerald doubled his fists and looked
close to tears.
I motioned
my guests to sit down. "I don't suppose you can butcher a hog or smoke it
either," I said.
"No."
I could scarce hear him.
"Well, then, man... what can you do?"
"I—" He could get no words out.
"You were a warrior," said Thorgunna.
"Yes that I was!" he said, his face kindling.
"Small use in Iceland when you have no other skills," I
grumbled,
"but perhaps, if you can get passage to the east- lands, some king will
take you in his guard." Myself I doubted it, for a guardsman needs manners
that will do credit to his master; but I had not the heart to say so.
Ketill
Hjalmarsson had plainly not liked the way Thorgunna stood close to Gerald and
spoke for him. Now he sneered and said: "I might even doubt your skill in
fighting."
"That
I have been trained for," said Gerald grimly. "Will you wrestle with
me, then?" asked Ketill. "Gladly!" spat Gerald.
Priest,
what is a man to think? As I grow older, I find life to be less and less the
good-and-evil, black-and-white thing you say it is; we are all of us some hue
of gray. This useless fellow, this spiritless lout who could even be asked if
he did women's work and not lift ax, went out in the yard with Ketill Hjalmarsson
and threw him three times running. There was some trick he had of grabbing the
clothes as Ketill charged... I called a stop when the youth was nearing
murderous rage, praised them both, and filled the beer-horns. But Ketill
brooded sullenly on the bench all evening.
Gerald said
something about making a gun like his own. It would have to be bigger, a cannon
he called it, and could sink ships and scatter armies. He would need the help
of smiths, and also various stuffs. Charcoal was easy, and sulfur could be
found in the volcano country, I suppose, but what is this saltpeter?
Also, being
suspicious by now, I questioned him closely as to how he would make such a
thing. Did he know just how to mix the powder? No, he admitted. What size would
the gun have to be? When he told me at least as long as a man I laughed and
asked him how a piece that size could be cast or bored, even if we could scrape
together that much iron. This he did not know either.
"You
haven't the tools to make the tools to make the tools," he said. I don't
know what he meant by that "God help me, I can't run through a thousand
years of history all by myself."
He took out
the last of his little smoke sticks and lit it. Helgi had tried a puff earlier
and gotten sick, though he remained a friend of Gerald's. Now my son proposed
to take a boat in the morning and go up to Ice Fjord, where I had some money
out- standing I wanted to collect. Hjalmar and Ketill said they would come
along for the trip, and Thorgunna pleaded so hard that I let her come along
too.
"An
ill thing," muttered Sigurd. "All men know the landtrolls like not a
woman aboard a ship. It's unlucky."
"How
did your father ever bring women to this island?" I grinned.
Now I wish
I had listened to him. He was not a clever man, but he often knew whereof he
spoke.
At this
time I owned a half share in a ship that went to Nor- way, bartering wadmal for
timber. It was a profitable business until she ran afoul of vikings during the
disorders while Olaf Tryggvason was overthrowing Jarl Haakon there. Some men
will do anything to make a living thieves, cutthroats, they ought to be hanged,
the worthless robbers pouncing on honest merchantmen. Had they any courage or
honesty they would go to Ireland, which is full of plunder.
Well,
anyhow, the ship was abroad, but we had three boats and took one of these.
Besides myself, Thorgunna, and Helgi, Hjalmar and Ketill went along, with Grim
and Gerald. I saw how the stranger winced at the cold water as we launched her,
and afterward took off his shoes and stockings to let his feet dry. He had been
surprised to learn we had a bathhouse did he think us savages? but still, he
was dainty as a woman and soon moved upwind of our feet.
There was a
favoring breeze, so we raised mast and sail. Ger- ald tried to help, but of
course did not know one line from an- other and got them tangled. Grim snarled
at him and Ketill laughed nastily. But erelong we were under way, and he came
and sat by me where I had the steering oar.
He had
plainly lain long awake thinking, and now he ven- tured timidly: "In my
land they have... will have a rig and rud- der which are better than this. With
them, you can crisscross against the wind."
"Ah,
so now our skilled sailor must give us redes!" sneered KetilL
"Be
still," said Thoigunna sharply. "Let Gerald speak."
He gave her
a sly look of thanlr^ and I was not unwilling to listen. 'This is something
which could easily be made," he said. "I've used such boats myself,
and know them well. First, then, the safl should not be square and hung from a
yardarm, but three-cornered, with the third corner lashed to a yard swivel- ing
from the mast Then, your steering oar is in the wrong place there should be a
rudder in the middle of the stem, guided by a bar." He was eager now,
tracing the plan with his fingernail on Thoigunna's cloak, "Witibt these
two things, and a deep keel going down to about the height of a man for a boat
this size a ship can move across the path of the wind... so. And another sail
can be hung between the mast and the prow."
Well,
priest, I must say the idea had its merits, and were it not for fear of bad
luck for everything of his was unlucky I might even now play with it. But there
are clear drawbacks, which I pointed out to him in a reasonable way.
"First
and worst," I said, "this rudder and deep keel would make it all but
impossible to beach the ship or sail up a shallow river. Perhaps they have many
harbors where you hail from, but here a craft must take what landings she can
find, and must be speedily launched if there should be an attack. Se- cond,
this mast of yours would be hard to unstep when the wind dropped and oars came
out. Third, the sail is the wrong shape to stretch as an awning when one must
sleep at sea."
"The
ship could lie out, and you could go to land in a small boat," he said.
"Also, you could build cabins aboard for shelter."
"The
cabins would get in the way of the oars," I said, "unless the ship
were hopelessly broad-beamed or unless the oarsmen sat below a deck like the
galley slaves of Mildagard; and free men would not endure rowing in such
foulness."
"Must
you have oars?" he asked like a very child.
Laughter
barked along the hull. Even the gulls hovering to starboard, where the shore
rose darkly, mewed their scorn. "Do they also have tame winds in the place
whence you came?" snorted Hjalmar. "What happens if you're becalmed
for days, maybe, with provisions running out "
"You
could build a ship big enough to carry many weeks' pro- visions," said
Gerald.
"If
you have the wealth of a king, you could," said Heigi. "And such a
king's ship, lying helpless on a flat sea, would be swarmed by every viking
from here to Jomsborg. As for leaving the ship out on the water while you make
camp, what would you have for shelter, or for defense if you should be trapped
there?"
Gerald
slumped. Thorgunna said to him gently: "Some folks have no heart to try
anything new. I think it's a grand idea."
He smiled
at her, a weary smile, and plucked up the will to say something about a means
for finding north even in cloudy weather he said there were stones which always
pointed north when hung by a string. I told him kindly that I would be most
interested if he could find me some of this stone; or if he knew
where it
was to be had, I could ask a trader to fetch me a piece. But this he did not
know, and fell silent. Ketill opened his mouth, but got such an edged look from
Thorgunna that he shut it again; his looks declared plainly enough what a liar
he thought Gerald to be.
The wind
turned contrary after a while, so we lowered the mast and took to the oars.
Gerald was strong and willing, though clumsy; however, his hands were so soft
that erelong they bled. I offered to let him rest, but he kept doggedly at the
work.
Watching
him sway back and forth, under the dreary creak of the tholes, the shaft red
and wet where he gripped it, I thought much about him. He had done everything
wrong which a man could do thus I imagined then, not knowing the future and I
did not like the way Thorgunna's eyes strayed to him and rested there. He was
no man for my daughter, landless and penniless and helpless. Yet I could not
keep from liking him. Whether his tale was true or only a madness, I felt he
was honest about it; and surely there was something strange about the way he
had come. I noticed the cuts on his chin from my razor; he had said he was not
used to our kind of shaving and would grow a beard. He had tried hard. I
wondered how well I would have done, landing alone in this witch country of his
dreams, with a gap of forever between me and my home.
Perhaps
that same misery was what had turned Thorgunna's heart. Women are a kittle
breed, priest, and you who leave them alone belike understand them as well as I
who have slept with half a hundred in six different lands. I do not thmlr they
even understand themselves. Birth and life and death, those are the great
mysteries, which none will ever fathom, and a woman is closer to them than a
man.
The ill
wind stiffened, the sea grew iron gray and choppy un- der low leaden clouds,
and our headway was poor. At sunset we could row no more, but must pull in to a
small unpeopled bay and make camp as well as could be on the strand.
We had
brought firewood along, and tinder. Gerald, though staggering with weariness,
made himself useful, his little sticks kindling the blaze more easily than
flint and steel. Thorgunna set herself to cook our supper. We were not warded
by the boat from a lean, whining wind; her cloak fluttered like wings and her
hair blew wild above the streaming flames. It was the time of light nights, the
sky a dim dusky blue, the sea a wrinkled metal sheet and the land like
something risen out of dreammists. We men huddled in our cloaks, holding numbed
hands to the fire and saying little.
I felt some
cheer was needed, and ordered a cask of my best and strongest ale broached. An
evil Norn made me do that, but no man escapes his weird. Our bellies seemed all
the emptier now when our noses drank in the sputter of a spitted joint, and the
ale went swiftly to our heads. I remember declaiming the death song of Ragnar
Hairybreeks for no other reason than that I felt like declaiming it.
Thorgunna
came to stand over Gerald where he slumped. I saw how her fingers brushed his
hair, ever so lightly, and Ketill Hjalmarsson did too. "Have they no
verses in your land?" she asked.
"Not
like yours," he said, looking up. Neither of them looked away again.
"We sing rather than chant. I wish I had my guitar here that's a kind of
harp."
"Ah,
an Irish bard!" said Hjalmar Broadnose.
I remember
strangely well how Gerald smiled, and what he said in his own tongue, though I
know not the meaning: "Only on me wither's side, begorra" I suppose
it was magic.
"Well,
sing for us," asked Thorgunna.
"Let
me think," he said. "I shall have to put it in Norse words for
you." After a little while, staring up at her through the windy night, he
began a song. It had a tune I liked, thus:
From this
valley they tell me you're leaving,
I shall miss your bright eyes and sweet smile.
You will carry the sunshine with you,
That has brightened my life all the while... .
I don't remember the rest, except that it was not quite
decent.
When he had finished, Hjalmar and Grim went over to see if
the meat
was done. I saw a glimmering of tears in my daughter's eyes. "That was a
lovely thing," she said.
Ketill sat
upright. The flames splashed his face with wild, running hues. There was a
rawness in his tone: "Yes, we've found what this fellow can do: sit about
and make pretty songs for the girls. Keep him for that, Ospak."
Thorgunna whitened,
and Helgi clapped hand to sword. I saw how Gerald's face darkened, and his
voice was thick: "That was no way to talk. Take it back."
Ketill
stood up. "No," he said, "HI ask no pardon of an idler living
off honest yeomen."
He was
raging, but he had sense enough to shift the insult from my family to Gerald
alone. Otherwise he and his father would have had the four of us to deal with.
As it was, Gerald stood up too, fists knotted at his sides, and said,
"Will you step away from here and settle this?"
"Gladly!"
Ketill turned and walked a few yards down the beach, taking his shield from the
boat Gerald followed. Thor- gunna stood with stricken face, then picked up his
ax and ran after him.
"Are
you going weaponless?" she shrieked.
Gerald
stopped, looking dazed. "I don't want that," he mumbled.
"Fists."
Ketill
puffed himself up and drew sword. "No doubt you're used to fighting like
thralls in your land," he said. "So if you'll crave my pardon, I'll
let this matter rest"
Gerald
stood with drooped shoulders. He stared at Thor- gunna as if he were blind, as
if asking her what to do. She handed him the ax.
"So
you want me to kill him?" he whispered.
"Yes," she answered.
Then I knew she loved him, for otherwise why should she
have cared
if he disgraced himself?
Helgi brought him his helmet He put it on, took the ax, and
went
forward.
"How is this," said Hjalmar to me. "Do you stand by the
stranger,
Ospak?"
"No," I said, "He's no kin or oath-brother of mine. This is not
my
quarrel."
"That's good," said Hjalmar. "I'd not like to fight with you, my
friend. You
were ever a good neighbor."
We went forth together and staked out the ground. Thor-
gunna told
me to lend Gerald my sword, so he could use a shield too, but the man looked
oddly at me and said he would rather have the ax. They squared away before each
other, he and Ketill, and began fighting.
This was no
holmgang, with rules and a fixed order of blows and first blood meaning
victory. There was death between those two. Ketill rushed in with the sword
whistling in his hand. Gerald sprang back, wielding the ax awkwardly. It
bounced off KetHTs shield. The youth grinned and cut at Gerald's legs. I saw
blood well forth and stain the ripped breeches.
It was
murder from the beginning. Gerald had never used an ax before. Once he even
struck with the flat of it. He would have been hewed down at once had Ketill's
sword not been blunted on his helmet and had he not been quick on his feet. As
it was, he was soon lurching with a dozen wounds.
"Stop
the fight!" Thorgunna cried aloud and ran forth. Helgi caught her arms and
forced her back, where she struggled and kicked till Grim must help. I saw
grief on my son's face but a malicious grin on the carle's.
Gerald
turned to look. Ketill's blade came down and slashed his left hand. He dropped
the ax. Ketill snarled and readied to finish him, Gerald drew his gun. It made
a flash and a barking noise. Ketill fell, twitched for a moment, and was quiet.
His lower jaw was blown off and the back of his head gone.
There came
a long stillness, where only the wind and the sea had voice.
Then
Hjalmar trod forth, his face working but a cold steadi- ness over him. He knelt
and closed his son's eyes, as token that the right of vengeance was his.
Rising, he said. "That was an evil deed. For that you shall be
outlawed."
"It
wasn't magic," said Gerald in a numb tone. "It was like a... a bow. I
had no choice. I didn't want to fight with more than my fists."
I trod
between them and said the King must decide this mat- ter, but that I hoped
Hjalmar would take weregjld for Ketill.
"But I
killed him to save my own life!" protested Gerald.
"Nevertheless,
weregild must be paid, if Ketill's kin will take it," I explained.
"Because of the weapon, I think it will be doubled, but that is for the
King to judge."
Hjalmar had
many other sons, and it was not as if Gerald be- longed to a famfly at odds
with his own, so I felt he would agree. However, he laughed coldly and asked
where a man lacking wealth would find the silver.
Thorgunna
stepped up with a wintry calm and said we would pay it. I opened my mouth, but
when I saw her eyes I nodded. "Yes, we will," I said, "in order
to keep the peace."
"Then
you make this quarrel your own?" asked Hjalmar.
"No,"
I answered "This man is no blood of my own. But if I choose to make him a
gift of money to use as he wishes, what of it?"
Hjalmar
smiled. There was sorrow crinkled around his eyes, but he looked on me with old
comradeship.
"Erelong
this man may be your son-in-law," he said. "I know the signs, Ospak.
Then indeed he will be of your folk. Even helping him now in his need will
range you on his side."
"And
so?" asked Helgi, most softly.
"And
so, while I value your friendship, I have sons who will take the death of their
brother ill. They'll want revenge on Ger- ald Samsson, if only for the sake of
their good names, and thus our two houses will be sundered and one manslaying
will lead to another. It has happened often enough erenow." Hjalmar
sighed. "I myself wish peace with you, Ospak, but if you take this
killer's side it must be otherwise."
I thought
for a moment, thought of Helgi lying with his skull cloven, of my other sons on
their garths drawn to battle be- cause of a man they had never seen, I thought
of having to wear byrnies every time we went down for driftwood and never
knowing when we went to bed whether we would wake to find the house ringed in
by spearmen.
"Yes,"
I said, "you are right, Hjalmar. I withdraw my offer. Let this be a matter
between you and him alone."
We gripped
hands on it.
Thorgunna
gace a small cry and fled into Gerald's arms. He held her close. "What
does this mean?" he asked slowly.
"I
cannot keep you any longer," I said, "but belike some crofter will
give you a root Hjalmar is a law-abiding man and will not harm you until the
King has outlawed you. That will not be before midsummer. Perhaps you can get
passage out of Ice- land ere then."
"A
useless one like me?" he replied bitterly.
Thorgunna
whirled free and blazed that I was a coward and a perjurer and all else evil. I
let her have it out, then laid my hands on her shoulders.
"It is
for the house," I said. "The house and the blood, which are holy. Men
die and women weep, but while the kindred live our names are remembered. Can
you ask a score of men to die for your own hankerings?"
Long did
she stand, and to this day I know not what her an- swer would have been. It was
Gerald who spoke.
"No,"
he said. "I suppose you have right, Ospak... the right of your time, which
is not mine." He took my hand, and Helgf'ss. His lips brushed Thorgunna's
cheek. Then he turned and walked out into the darkness.
I heard,
later, that he went to earth with Thorvald Hallsson, the crofter of Humpback
Fell, and did not tell his host what had happened. He must have hoped to go
unnoticed until he could arrange passage to the eastlands somehow. But of
course word spread — I remember his brag that in the United States men had
means to talk from one end of the land to an- other. So he must have looked
down on us, sitting on our lonely garths, and not known how fast word could get
around. Thorvald's son Hrolf went to Brand Sealskin-boots to talk about some
matter, and of course mentioned the stranger, and soon all the western island
had the tale.
Now if
Gerald had known he must give notice of a manslay- ing at the first garth he
found, he would have been safe at least till the King met, for Hjalmar and his
sons are sober men who would not kill a man still under the protection of the
law. But as it, was, his keeping the matter secret made him a murderer and
therefore at once an outlaw. Hjalmar and his kin rode up to Humpback Fell and
haled him forth. He shot his way past them with the gun and fled into the
hills. They followed him, having several hurts and one more death to avenge. I
wonder if Gerald thought the strangeness of his weapon would unnerve us. He may
not have known that every man dies when his time comes, neither sooner nor
later, so that fear of death is useless.
At the end,
when they had him trapped, his weapon gave out on him. Then he took up a dead
man's sword and defended himself so valiantly that Ulf Hjalmarsson has limped
ever since. It was well done, as even his foes admitted; they are an eldritch
race in the United States, but they do not lack manhood.
When he was
slain, his body was brought back. For fear of the ghost, he having perhaps been
a warlock, it was burned, and all he had owned was laid in the fire with him.
That was where I lost the knife he had given me. The barrow stands out on the
moor, north of here, and folk shun it, though the ghost has not walked. Now,
with so much else happening, he is slowly being forgotten.
And that is the tale, priest, as I saw it and heard it. Most men think Gerald Samsson was crazy, but I myself believe he did come from out of time, and that his doom was that no man may ripen a field before harvest season. Yet I look into the future, a thousand years hence, when they fly through the air and ride in horseless wagons and smash whole cities with one blow. I think of this Iceland then, and of the young United States men there to help defend us in a year when the end of the world hovers close. Perhaps some of them, walking about on the heaths, will see that barrow and wonder what ancient warrior lies buried there, and they may even wish they had lived long ago in his time when men were free.
Vielen Dank für das Lesen!
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