A sample from an early work, based on a medieval Icelandic saga.
© 1975 by asotir. All rights reserved.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License
Swan-Maiden: Ten
THAT NIGHT ROSE cloud-flecked and cold. The moon was thin and sharp. Its light sprinkled the land like a chessboard, and it gleamed from off the frosty peaks and rippled valleys of the glacier Vatnajokull.
But at Hof torches burned about the garth; and the folk stood out, drank mead and laughed. Some were dressed in goodly garb, but many wore the white. By the door stood a tun of mead: therein they dipped their horns and bowls freely.
And within the hall the long fire leaped higher, bright and hotly cheering. In the highseat sat Olaf and Gudruda, and great seemed their happiness: so great there were little tears in the corners of Gudruda’s eyes.
Food was heavy on the boards, pork and meats, lamb, fish boiled and roasted, bread and goose, eggs, curds, sweet-cakes, ripe cheeses. Men and women filled their troughs and emptied them more than once that night: and this only the first night of that feast. Even Thorgrim, full of mead and belching loudly, was merry, in spite of those sour glances he cast now and then over at the beardless priest.
They were crowded in the hall, for many had come and more were hourly looked-for. The bright firelight and the many lamps glowed and sparkled hazy through the mist of smoke and risen dust: cast glowing crowns over their heads, the wimples of married women and temple-ribands of the men.
Of them all, only Erik Gudrudarson seemed unpleased. He wandered about the garth and through the hall twice over, asking after Olaf’s daughter; but none knew where she hid. He went then out to the barn to count the bridles. He came out blushing, for he had happened across a couple rolling in the hay, and been roundly cursed by the man and laughed at by the woman, who cast a love-glance aftet him as he left.
The night fell colder, and folk filled the hall and emptied the garth. The hollow tun was put aside, and the hall waxed hot with fires and sweating bodies. There were riddles told, verses and stories; and prophecies and jests for the bridal couple. All the people came round before the high seat to offer well-wishes and words of cheer to them.
Then the men’s door swung open and flooded the hall with a bitter cold breath, and Swanhild came in.
Those before her fell still: opened a path before her, and she walked between them cold and chill as a Norn’s child. She did not look at them, but her face was grim. Before the bridal couple she came, as if it were her turn. An ill look, and maybe some fear, fell athwart Gudruda’s face whenas she beheld her stepdaughter. Swanhild was garbed as she had been that even, before her mother’s howe-mound: but there was blood upon the blue-black gown, and blood upon the silver belt: sprinkled over her in little fiery drops: and all of them still wet.
Olaf looked down on his daughter’s face and frowned. ‘Daughter, where were you?’
And she answered, ‘In the temple: and offered up a sheep to Odin, Lord of Hosts. Then I had men singe the sheep’s head: now it is cooking: then you may eat it. And that is my gift to you this night.’
There was somewhat of silence after that. Only Thorgrim shouted drunkenly from the far side, ‘Now, that was well done!’
Gudruda reddened and took her cross in hand. ‘I call that a wicked shameless deed.’ Swanhild looked up at her from out her slanting Finn’s-eyes, and smiled, and showed her teeth points.
‘No good will come of it,’ Olaf muttered. It was then, in the silence, that hoofbeats sounded from the yard. Olaf half rose. ‘Go see who that is.’
They returned saying, ‘It is Ulf Haraldsson, and he would speak to you, Olaf, out in the garth.’ Ulf was one of those who had gone to Breidamerk with Olaf for the arvel-feast; he had stayed behind to be with his wife’s kin there.
‘Do not go, husband,’ said Gudruda. ‘Surely these tidings are not so needful that they cannot wait.’
‘I will not leave Ulf out in the night,’ Olaf said. ‘Nor will I flee what seeks me out.’ He stood, took from Rannveig a woolen cloak, and went out.
Swanhild stood by herself, deeper into the hall. Erik started to go to her, but stayed himself and turned aside. Then Thorgrim neared her with a bowl of mead.
‘Will you drink, Olaf’s-daughter?’
She looked up at him. ‘Do you not know by now I do not drink, Thorgrim? Or has that mead addled your old brain?’
He shrugged and sat beside her, supping at the mead himself. Then he said, ‘My thanks for what you did this night: more than one should have thought on it. In five days the blood-offering for strength and victory is due, and we shall make it, Westman priest or no. Will you be a ninth, and see the gods reddened? One of Hardbein’s kin ought to be there for it.’
But bitterly she answered him, ‘For what? Those are only poles of wood.’
IN THE YARD Olaf greeted Ulf and gave him a horn. That Ulf took thankfully and drank off at a swallow.
‘Now,’ said Olaf, ‘what is the word you bear, and is it well or ill?’
‘I see little enough of cheer in it,’ answered Ulf. ‘Njal Thoroldsson has granted shelter to Killer-Hrap. He vowed his help in the lawsuit, gave him a silver ring and has betrothed him to one of his cousins, Alof. Hrap grew drunk with this. He boasted then of his ill-will for this hall. And Njal sat there across from him, and nodded, and said never a word against him.’
Olaf went up and down before the halls, twisting at his beard. He had heard already of Hrap’s coming to his hall. ‘What time was this?’
‘Only this forenoon.’
‘Yet maybe Njal knew not my wife had thrown this fellow out.’
‘That I deem unlikely: Hrap himself told the tale, and Njal nodded when he heard. I know not how Hrap could have reached the Breidamerk so swiftly. I rode as hard as ever I might to give you warning. But sure enough, Njal was no slower with his favors than Hrap or I with a horse.’
Olaf nodded. There were no wet gleams from his eyes now, but they glinted from beneath his brows, like two swords whose peace-strings have burst. ‘Tell me then, what the priests at Breidamerk had to say of this.’
‘What should they say? Hrap holds to the cross, and Njal says he granted him mercy. The tale is, Hrap turned Christ-man grieving over all his slayings. But no necklet changes such a man.’
‘There we are of a mind.’
They went back into the hall. Olaf crossed through the folk and sat again in the carven highseat beside his bride. The dark woolen cloak fell across Olaf when he sat there, his face dark like night over the white shirt. Gudruda watched him with worry in her eyes. Olaf did not look at her.
‘Well,’ he said at length. ‘Now Njal has taken on Killer-Hrap as one of his kinsmen, the very day after we vowed there should be peace between us.’
‘You see, father?’ asked Swanhild. Some would have said she laughed.
Olaf scowled. For a space his waxing rage took the years from him: his eyes flashed like copper mallets now, and his face fell dark as blood. ‘Was this what you prayed for, daughter?’ he asked.
She said nought: but there was for a twinkling a spark of fear in her eyes, and she looked away. Then she looked back and gave her father stare for stare, until at last it was Olaf who looked away. Then the black-haired girl shrugged and stood and walked to the women’s door. She put a mantle about her shoulders, and went out once more into the night.
