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: Eight
SOUTHAWAYS FROM HOF the land slopes down into a small shallow bay, whereof the bound and shield is the large hillock of green land, Ingolfshofdi. There Ingolf, the first settler of Iceland, stayed a winter while he searched for his pillar-seat. That next summer he found his pillar-seat far off to the west, and there he took land and settled, and left this land empty: so it remained until Hardbein came ashore here. Beyond the long hump of Ingolfshofdi was the sea.
Toward the mid-part of the day a horseman rode down toward that bay, and that was Erik Gudrudarson. He skirted the bay, went westaways above the shore, and brought his pony to a halt upon a grassy ridge. With his hand he shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare. Below him the long line of the strand stretched empty of life save for here and there a skua gull. Beyond that, farther to the west, was the beginning of the Skeidararsandur: that was a waste of black mud flooded with rain and meltwater, a treacherous place, whose few tracks led into hungry bogs. Erik shuddered: new to the district, he liked that place little.
He looked back to the strand. Then he saw a lone dark figure moving between the sea-stones and the black sands. A pony trailed behind. Olaf’s daughter gathered in the driftage for her father’s hall.
The big waves, angry and storm-fed, broke like giants’ fists upon the shore. The girl faced those waves and threw back her head; the long black strands of her unbound hair gleamed like dark rainbows. She leapt from rock to rock, dancing in and out of the waves’ grasp. There was a piece of wood awash there in the salt: the girl did up her skirts about her hips and waded after it. She was in and out of the water between Dufa and Unn, the kindest waves of Ran’s nine daughters. Out she came with the driftwood proudly towed behind. Erik leaned forward in the saddle, his mouth agape. The girl’s long white legs shone against the dark sands like icicles in dawn-light.
When Erik reached the level of the strand, the girl had let down her skirts again, so that only her shoes might be seen. She had not seen him yet, nor heard him in the thunder of the waves. He waved, and bellowed her a greeting with all his lungs.
She stopped. Her head came round, quick as a bird’s: the long eyes widened. The shoulders went down somewhat. She came up toward him grudgingly.
Erik loped down to her and took the line in hand. He wound it round his fists and over his shoulder and pulled the heavy driftwood up beyond the tide-mark. ‘Is not this day fair?’ he shouted happily to her.
She went past him and sat upon a flat lava-rock. ‘More than fair enough for shepherds and swine-keepers,’ she said. She stood up and led her pony down the beach. Erik unbound the log and threw it easily onto that pile she had made, and followed.
They went down the shore as far as Olaf had driftage-rights, and gathered the wood together; but Swanhild said little. Nor did she dance before the waves nor lift her skirts again. Erik too soon fell into stillness. Now he was sorry he had come down from his watching-place.
It was noontide, and all the storm-wood was gathered up into neat piles above the tide-marks. Swanhild took a wood-axe and a whetstone from her pony’s bag. Erik wiped at his brow.
‘Surely you do not mean to cut the wood yourself?’ he asked. ‘Would you not wish a rest?’
She answered, ‘If you are weary, then rest.’ She stroked the blade with the stone and began chopping at the wood. Her slender arms and thin shoulders had little more than bird’s-thew in them: not for that flew the axe any the slowlier. Only the smaller branches she cut: the large would be cut up at the stead, and their chips used for kindling. The biggest would be adzed and used for building.
Erik drew an axe from his bag and joined her. He matched her stroke for stroke and more: and his blows cut deeper. Soon her blows struck the ground more than the wood, and he knew she grew weary. Then he said, ‘Swanhild, it is late, and I would rest.’
She stuck the axe in a big log and wiped at her brow with her sleeve. Erik went to his pony and got out a skin of goat’s-milk and a half-loaf of bread. These they shared: sat on a rock and ate. Swanhild looked out to sea, but Erik did not. The stiff breezes caught the long black hair and threw it about: a few strands hit Erik in the face and whipped past. He thought of the tales they told at Hof of the girl’s mother. She must have been an odd one! It was said the Finns were the most sorcerous and trollwise folk in the world. He wondered if the daughter knew any of the mother’s spells.
Below them, quite close, a few terns went skittering across the sand. The girl swept up the crumbs in her skirts and cast them out to the birds. The terns took fright at this, but soon came back to peck charily at the brown crumbs.
‘I saw you not this morn at meat,’ he said. ‘No one knew whither you had gone. Then your father told me it was likeliest you were here. He said that this was a chore you ever liked.’
She did not look back at him, but asked the waves, ‘What do they, back there?’
He shook his head. ‘They are still talking over your father’s plan, like as if it were a house-thing. Yet Gudruda readies matters for giving the water with the holy priest. Olaf says they will take the water this afternoon.’
The black-haired girl cast out more crumbs.
‘Was it not freezing cold there in the waves?’ he asked.
‘Colder than it will be for them this afternoon.’
‘You must love those birds greatly, Swanhild, you feed them so much.’
‘Oh yes,’ she gave answer. ‘Sometimes I love them so, I wish I might take them in my hands and break off their little heads. But they only titter and fly off, and next season return to mock me more.’
‘Swanhild! What do you mean, that you say such a thing?’
‘What I say.’ She wiped her hands, and stood. Her skirts caught the wind and billowed wide behind her. ‘I am no tern, Erik: call me skua rather.’ She went down to the water’s edge and gathered a handful of stones: cast them down into the maw of the waves. Erik had never seen a girl throw so well: she must have done this a great deal. Erik followed after her and sat above her in the sand.
‘It was said they might take out the fish-boat later, but the sea looks over-rough to me,’ he said over the billows’ roar. ‘I wonder what it is, that makes men sail out of sight of the land, where they cannot pick their days. What do they do in storms? That seems wondrous to me, and frightening.’
‘That seems wondrous to me, and thrilling,’ she mocked. ‘The land is dull,’ she said then, turning: ‘the sea will ever eat it whole. But those men that live upon the sea’s very face, and snatch livelihood from its jaws, they defy one greater. What are we here but clever beasts, little better than our flocks? But a sailor, be he chapman or rover...’ She caught his look and colored; turned again to the sea.
‘There was a sailor at Breidamerk, an Easterling,’ Erik said. ‘The men told his tidings this morn at meat. They told many of his tales.’
‘Yes?’ she asked carelessly. ‘And what man-gossip did he spread.’
Erik thought on it. ‘One tale he told, was how Jarl Haakon the Mighty died two summers ago.’
She looked to him, and he smiled. ‘Tell it me then, Erik: for ever did I love the tales of that great man, of how he battled Gunnhild’s sons and defied the kings of the Danes, shattered the Jomsvikings’ host, cast out the Cross priests and upheld the gods in all his ways, and gave the finest blood-offerings. That he died have we heard; of the true facts, none. No doubt he died in a manner seemly to his state.’
‘I knew not you put such store by him,’ Erik said. ‘Then this tale will please you ill; yet the Easterling knew of it firsthand, so we may well trust in it. He said, that Jarl Haakon took the wife of a man named Brynjulf for his bedmate; and when he had his fill of her, sent her back home with gold and gifts, as was his custom; and it was said she went unwillingly. But then had Haakon set his eye upon Gudrod: she was the wife of Orm Lyrgja; he was a mighty bonder.
‘Haakon sent men to Orm, and they bade Orm send his wife with them to the jarl. But Gudrun says she will not go unless Jarl Haakon sends Thora of Rimol to fetch her. Then Orm sent out the war-arrow; and Brynjulf met with him, and there was then such ill-will against the jarl from all these husbands that all the bonders rose up and went against the jarl. The jarl gets word of this: goes with his men into a deep dale, and there hides. Therefrom he sent his men to seek his son Erlend, that had the jarl’s ships.
‘But by then Olaf Trygvason was come to Norway, and he sought the kingdom: he fights against Erlend Haakonarson and slays him. Then came Olaf Trygvason before the bonders and he said, ‘Long have I harried in the Eastlands, and have great strength in Wendland and in England: from England have I come. And you may not know me now, but my father you knew, and he was King Trygvi Olafson: and my father’s grandfather you knew, and he was King Harald Hairfair the Mighty.’ The farmers took him for their king: and he bade them scour the lands and get for him Haakon the jarl.
‘Haakon lay now in the dale with but one man beside him, and that was his thrall Thormod Kark. One night Kark has a dream; and Haakon deemed the meaning of that dream was that his son Erlend was slain. Therewith he made his way a’nights to Rimol. There Haakon sent Thormod Kark in to Thora: she was foremost of the jarl’s mistresses. She came out and greeted the jarl with great show of happiness. She told him the bonders then met with Olaf Trygvason, but she would shelter him: but that that was a place they would soon come upon. She hid him then beneath her swine-sty. Over the cave-mouth Thora put boards and muck and drove swine over it, and none might know of it. Haakon abides there with Thormod Kark the thrall, and they had food and a lamp.
‘That next day Olaf Trygvason comes with his men to Rimol and looked in all those buildings, but found not the jarl. He gathered Thora’s servants in the garth, before the swine-sty, and told them he would reward with the greatest honor and wealth any man that slew Jarl Haakon or brought him to Hladir. Haakon and Thormod Kark lay in the swine-sty and heard Olaf’s words; then Haakon stood and called on Odin, and vowed him all for victory; for Haakon knew Olaf Trygvason for a follower of the Christ. But Odin gave the jarl no answer, no matter what he promised. Then Haakon sits again and was gloomy. Thormod Kark looked at him, and said no word.
‘That night Olaf Trygvason went from Rimol to Hladir. Thormod Kark awoke in the middle-night, and Jarl Haakon says to him, ‘Poor dreams have you had: for while you slept, your face was now white as whey and now black as earth.’ Thormod Kark said it was a thing of no matter: ‘Only I dreamt I was before King Olaf Trygvason in Hladir, and he put a gold necklet over my head.’ Jarl Haakon answered and said, ‘Olaf Trygvason will set a blood-red ring about your throat that time you come before him. We two were born of an hour: now you would not betray me?’ Kark said nay; but after that they lay both awake, and did not snuff the lamp.
‘At length Haakon the jarl fell asleep, and Kark watched him. The jarl twitched horribly in his sleep, and shrieked so that Kark waxed sick with terror: leaps up and draws his knife from his belt and sticks it in the jarl’s throat and cuts it out.
‘That even Thora came to the cave-mouth and called down to Haakon. Kark answered and said the jarl slept. ‘Why then does your voice quaver so?’ asked Thora: and straightway bids her men uncover the cave. Kark leaped out with the jarl’s head before him; and they all shrank back, even Thora. So Kark ran into the woods. The next day he reached Hladir, and there Olaf Trygvason had set himself as King and outlawed all those men yet faithful to Jarl Haakon. Thormod Kark gave the King Haakon’s head, and told him all that had gone on between Jarl Haakon and himself. The Easterling at Njal’s was there then: he heard this tale of Kark’s own mouth.’
Swanhild asked in a low voice, so that Erik was unsure he heard her rightly above the waves, ‘And what did young King Olaf Trygvason then?’
‘He bade his men take Kark away and strike off his head. And afterwards he takes both heads to Nidarholm. That, they say, is an island where they hang thieves and mankillers of the Thrandlaw. King Olaf strung up the two heads, and all his men cast stones at them and made many a jest.’
‘And Thora of Rimol?’
‘She saw that the day had been lost for her, and bade all her folk go from Norway into the Swede-realm. But she had dug a great howe, and there lay with the body of Jarl Haakon and died. Later the bonders dug up the howe and drew out the jarl’s body and burned it; but Thora’s body they would not touch, for that they said she looked as though she only slept.’
‘That was a noble lady,’ said Swanhild. ‘Such an end befits her. Yet of this tale of the Easterling’s, I know not whether I would believe it.’
‘There were others at Breidamerk, they say,’ Erik told her. ‘And the skipper was there as well: and all held to that tale.’
The blackhaired girl shrugged, and put her face back to the sea. She took up another handful of stones and threw them singly into the waves. Now her arm threw harder and more awkwardly to Erik’s eye.
‘So much will I well believe,’ she said: ‘and that is what was said of that Christ-loving King. His deeds do not amaze me.’
‘He labors well for his god and faith. Now they say he has ordered that the home gods should be banished from his realm, and his armies tear down the temples and take the lands from all men that still give blood-offerings.’
Swanhild laughed. ‘So did King Haakon Athelstane’s-Fosterling, and King Harald Graypelt and those others of Gunnhild’s sons; yet little more will this new King win, I trow. Soon, Erik, I think the bonders will be little-pleased in their bargain, that they traded Jarl Haakon the Mighty for this Olaf Trygvason.’
‘Swanhild,’ Erik asked then, haltingly, ‘should I now follow the Christ?’
She looked at him, and straightway he rued asking. ‘I thought that was all set out.’
‘It is in my mother’s eyes. I took the water with her, and I bear a cross. But now I am a man. I must choose my path. So I ask your rede.’
‘You should not ask me that.’ Her manner now was odd, and Erik did not know how to understand her.
‘But why not? You are clever, Swanhild, more than I. You would not give me ill counsel.’
‘I never give aught but ill counsel. Ask my father that.’
‘But you seem to think so ill of it. And yet I have never seen you give an offering at the temple, either; and you will drink no mead nor ale. What then is so wrong with the Christ? Our ways are well, but they are more stories of dead men than of God. Did you ever see any of them, Odin or Thor or Freyr or Freyja or Frigga or any of them? Did you ever see land-sprites or Norn-women or elves or dwarves or Valkyries?’
‘No.’
‘Then what is there in this, that you look down on it? Why does your father’s will wound you so? There are heathen in Norway and the Swede-realm, Iceland, and the new settlements on Greenland: nowhere else. All else in the world are Christ’s men. What strength can Odin have that he is unable to halt the priests? What good did it do for Jarl Haakon, that he so supported the temples?’
‘Erik, you ask no questions I do not.’
‘And doesn’t your father like this as well? Hasn’t he said so?’
‘He has said so.’
‘Then I don’t understand you. I know that you will never take the Cross; nor do I think that seemly. Yet – you have nought against the Christ?’
She sat beside him on the black sand and bent her head over her knees: and her hair fell like a cloak about her and covered the sand; only it was blacker than the sand.
‘Erik, you are a goodly young man, and you should make a home in this world. This outland cult will come: it came to the Dane-land, and it has come to Norway; now it reaches these shores. Ships bring it, and the chapmen. All the traders bow to it: even the men that vow by Thor and Niord will be prim-signed, so that they may trade with the southern kingdoms. Iceland will not stand against it: that I see plain, now my father has yielded. Would you put yourself apart, like Thorgrim or Orvar-Odd? They are old men, and will be forgiven old men’s ways. You, Erik, are young. Your mother would grieve if you went not her way: so too my father. And it would win you the love of none. So would it set you amongst men as if you rode a little boat far out to sea, and sought a land you would never reach to, for that the waves had already gulped it down. Would that be your wish?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘Well then.’ She lifted her head and put back the long strands of hair from her eyes. Down among the sands of the barrier-islands some skuas were fighting over fish-heads washed up by the storm.
She said, ‘Once I saw a whale upon this beach. Rare are they hereabouts. A storm drove him in, up over the sand-isles; yet then the tide slacked, and the whale might not swim back, and so he died in the sun. Then came my father and all the carles with axes, and hewed the meat and blubber off him in great chunks, like as if they cut peat. There were Easterlings in a boat, and a quarrel started; yet my father was their master, and made them take his leavings. In the end there was left nought but the bones, and them the skuas perched upon. But the carlines followed their husbands and gathered up the bones as well; and that is why our knives have all bone handles hereabouts. There his bones lay – there.’ And she pointed.
Erik saw the outline of her face, wan and bleak, bone-hued, set against the wind like a flat sail. She put her arms about her knees and stared out over the waves. All at once Erik felt a great sadness for her.
‘Swanhild,’ he said, ‘why do you ever gaze out to sea? Even from Hof you are scarce able to keep from looking that way. What hope you to find there? What is there to see?’
She smiled, but did not look at him. One arm stretched forth. ‘There.’
‘Where?’ He shaded his eyes and peered into the blue-gray glitter. Far, far out, a tiny red sail bobbed. ‘That is but a ship.’
‘Oh, yes. And I am but a woman, and the sea but water, and Odin but a god.’
He could not riddle her words, but feared to ask their meaning. He did not like her very much then. Away out on the horizon the ship went on, crossing to the west. It was likely she went to the West Firths; else maybe the storm had blown her northward, and she was bound for Greenland. Swanhild sat staring at it as if she had forgotten all about Erik.
‘Swanhild – guess what else the Easterling told.’
‘Is that a riddle, Erik?’ she asked after a bit. ‘I am unskillful at them.’
‘No, but it was why those men were at Breidamerk. They had come to give Njal this word, that Skarphedin abode in Norway, and sought passage back to Iceland.’
She turned and stared at him. He grinned, pleased.
‘Skarphedin the outlaw? Kalf-Back’s son?’
He nodded.
She shook her head. ‘Now I know those men for liars. Skarphedin was given the greater outlawry. It would mean his life to come back. There may be those outlaws that cannot get away; none such has ever returned. He has not been in Iceland for many years. He could not be so foolish. He would be slain.’
‘Ask your father. I am sure it was Skarphedin they named. But no skipper would give him a berth as yet.’
She stood and stepped to the waves’ reach. ‘Would he come on such a ship then, and easy as that, dare all men to kill him? He has no kin here I heard of. His wits are surely weak. Twenty years ago and more he was outlawed, when I was still a little girl. I can scarce remember it. Why should anyone want to come back?’ She shook her head wearily. ‘Come, Erik. They will look for us at home.’ She went to the woodpile.
Erik brushed the black sand from his knees. ‘I will swear by Christ, then,’ he said with firmness. ‘So a man believes in one, it little matters which. From faith come courage and mighty deeds. So Kjartan says. Yet Swanhild, this too I wish, that you might take the Cross too and be sprinkled with us.’
‘Think you I don’t wish that too?’ she asked. ‘Erik, if I might believe in a wave in the sea, and that it smiled or scowled at me, then you should never have known me here.’ She did not let him answer, but mounted her pony and rode on up the hill.
