CHAPTER XLI
THE END OF THE OUTLAW
The Shadow of Death – Thorbiorn and his Foster-mother – The Hook sails for Drangey – Out in the Gale – The Unguarded Ladder – Glaum is Captured – The Brothers' last Evening – Defending the Hut – Grettir Wounded – Illugi Taken – The Notch in the Sword – Illugi vows Vengeance – Death of Illugi
The weather became daily worse, and a fierce north-east wind raged over the country, bearing with it cold and sleet, and covering the fells with the first snows of winter. Grettir inquired every night if the ladder had been drawn up, according to order. Glaum answered churlishly, "How can you expect folk to live out in such a storm as this? Do you think they are so eager to kill you that they will jeopardize their lives in trying to do this? It is easy to see that a little cut was all that lacked to let your courage leak out."
Grettir answered, "Go! and do not argue with us; guard the ladder as you have been bidden!"
So Illugi drove the churl from the hut every morning, notwithstanding his angry remonstrances; and Glaum was in the worst of humours.
The pain became more acute, and the whole leg inflamed and swollen, signs of mortification appeared, and wounds opened in different parts of the limb, so that Grettir felt that the shadow of death hung over him. Illugi sat night and day with his brother's head on his shoulder, bathing his forehead, and doing his utmost to console the fleeting spirit. A week had elapsed since the wound had been made.
Now, Thorbiorn Hook was at home, ill-pleased at the failure of all his schemes for dispossessing Grettir of the island.
One day his foster-mother came to him, and asked whether he were ready now to pay his final visit to the outlaw?
Thorbiorn replied that he had paid quite as many visits to him as he liked, and that he should not go to Drangey again till Grettir left it; and then, with a sneer he asked his foster-mother whether she wanted to have her second leg broken, and was not satisfied with the fracture of one.
"I will not go to Drangey myself," answered the old woman. "That is unnecessary. I have sent him my salutation, and by this he has received it. Speed away now to Drangey, and find how he relishes my message. But I warn you, you must go now or you will be too late."
Thorbiorn would not listen; he said that her advice last time had led to no advantage when he followed it, and that the weather was too bad to go out in.
"You need go but this once," said the crone. "The storm is of my sending, and is sent to work my ends."
Finally he allowed himself to be persuaded. So he got together men, and asked his neighbours to help him; and a large vessel was manned. That is to say, the other farmers consented to lend him men, but none of them would accompany him themselves. The Hook took twelve of his own men; his brother, Hialti, lent him three; Erick of Gooddale sent one man; Tongue-stone furnished him with two; another, named Halldor, let him have six. Of all these, the only two whose name need be mentioned are Karr and Vikarr.
Thorbiorn got a large sailing-boat for his purpose, and started from Heron-ness. None of the men were in good spirits, as the weather was bad; moreover, they had no liking for their leader. By dusk the boat was afloat, the sail spread, and they ran out to sea. As the wind was from the north-east, they were under the lee of the high cliffs, and were not exposed to the full violence of the storm.
Heavy scuds of rain and sleet swept the fiord; the sky was overcast with whirling masses of vapour, charged with snow, and beneath their shadow the waters of the firth were black as ink. For one moment the clouds were parted by the storm, the rowers looked up, and saw the heavens tinged with the crimson rays of the northern light. A flame ran along the cordage, and finally settled on the masthead of the vessel, swaying and dancing with the motion of the boat. It was that electric spark, which is called in the Mediterranean S. Elmo's fire.
A line of white foam marked the base of Drangey; and now and then a great wave from the mouth of the fiord boomed against the crags, and shot in spouts of foam high into the air. Along the western shore of the firth, which was exposed to the full brunt of the gale, the mighty billows were beaten into white yeasty heaps of water. From the top of Drangey one tiny spark shone from the window of the hovel where lay the dying outlaw.
Now let us look again at Grettir.
He had been in less pain that day. Illugi had not left him, but remained faithful at his post.
The thrall, Glaum, had been sent out as usual to collect fuel and to watch the ladder, and to draw it up at nightfall. But instead of doing as he was bidden, the fellow laid himself down at the head of the steps, under a shelter-hut of turf that had been there erected, and went to sleep.
When Thorbiorn and his party reached the shore, they found to their content that the ladder had not been removed.
"Good luck attends on those who wait," said The Hook "Now, my fellows! the journey will not prove as bootless as you expected. Up the ladder with you! and let us all be cautious and bold!"
So they ascended, one after the other, The Hook taking the lead. On reaching the top he looked into the shelter-hut, and there found Glaum, asleep and snoring. Thorbiorn struck him over the shoulders, and asked him who he was.
Glaum turned on his side, rubbed his eyes, and growled forth, "Can you not leave a poor wretch alone? Never was a man so ill-treated as am I. I may not even sleep out here in the cold."
The Hook then knew who this was. "Fool!" shouted he. "Look up, and see who are come. We are your foes, and intend to kill every one of you."
Glaum started now to his feet full awake, and shrieked with dismay when he saw the black figures crowding up from the ladder and surrounding him.
"Make no noise," said Thorbiorn Hook. "I give you the choice of two things; answer the questions I put to you truthfully, or die at once."
The churl answered sullenly that he would speak, and he had nothing to conceal.
"Then tell me where the brothers are?"
"In the hovel I left them, where there is a fire. Not out in the cold. Grettir is sick and nigh on death, and Illugi is with him."
The Hook asked for particulars, and then Glaum told him about the log, and how Grettir was wounded. Thereat the Hook burst out laughing, and said, "Woe to the man that leans on a churl! That is a true proverb. Shamefully have you betrayed your trust, Glaum."
Thereupon Glaum was dragged along to the cabin where Grettir lay, and they treated him so roughly, that what with their blows and what with fear, he was nearly senseless when he reached it.
Illugi had been sitting by the fire with his brother's head in his lap, whilst Grettir lay in some sheepskins beside the hearth. All that evening the sick man's eyes had been wandering about the roof, watching the light play among the rafters, as the firewood blazed up or smouldered away. Illugi saw that his fingers plucked at the wool of the sheep-skins, riving it out, and that he knew was a bad sign. He felt sure that Grettir would die that night, and he watched his face intently, and could not bear to withdraw his eyes from him, for he loved him dearly. Presently Grettir turned his head, and smiled when he saw how he was watching him, and said that he felt easier, and would sleep. In a few moments his eyes closed.
As he dozed, his face became calmer than Illugi had seen it before; the muscles relaxed, and the wrinkles furrowed in his brow by care and suffering were now smoothed quite away. Grettir's face was never handsome, but it was grave and earnest, and the sorrow and trial he had passed through had left its trace on his features. His breath now came more evenly in sleep.
All at once there sounded a crash at the door, and the sleeper opened his eyes dreamily.
"It is only the old ram, brother," said Illugi. "He is butting, because he wants to come in."
"He butts hard! he butts hard!" muttered Grettir, and at that moment the door burst open. They saw faces looking in.
Illugi was on his feet in a moment. He seized his sword, flew to the doorway and defended it bravely, so that no one could pass through.
Thorbiorn called to some of the men to get upon the roof, and he was obeyed. The hovel was low, and in a moment four or five were on top of it tearing off the turf that covered it. Grettir tried to rise to his feet, but could only stagger to his knees. He seized his spear and drove it through the roof, so that it struck Karr in the breast, and the wound was his death.
Thorbiorn Hook called to the men to act more warily – they were twenty-five in all against two men, and one dying.
So the men pulled at the gable ends of the house and got the ridge-piece out, that it broke and fell, and with it a shower of turfs, into the hut.
Grettir drew his short-sword – the sword he had taken from the barrow of Karr the Old – and smote at the men as they leaped upon him from the wall. With one blow he struck Vikarr over the left shoulder, as he was on the point of springing down. The sword cut off his arm. But the blow was so violent, that Grettir, having dealt it, fell forward, and before he could raise himself Thorbiorn Hook struck him between the shoulders, and made a fearful wound.
Then cried Grettir, "Bare is the back without brother behind it!" and instantly Illugi threw his shield over him, planted one foot on each side of him as he lay on the floor, and defended him with desperate courage.
The mist of death was in Grettir's eyes; he attempted in vain to raise himself, but sank again on the sheep-skins, which were now drenched in blood.
No one could touch him, for the brave boy warded off every blow that was aimed at his brother.
Then Thorbiorn Hook ordered his men to form a ring round and close in on them with their shields and with beams. They did so, and Illugi was taken and bound; but not till he had wounded most of his opponents, and had killed three of Thorbiorn's men.
"Never have I seen one braver of your age," said The Hook. "I will say that you have fought well."
Then they went to Grettir, who lay where he had fallen, unable to resist further, for he had lost consciousness. They dealt him many a blow, but hardly any blood flowed from his wounds. When all supposed he was dead, then Thorbiorn tried to disengage the sword from his cold fingers, saying that he considered Grettir had wielded it long enough. But the strong man's hand was clenched around the handle so firmly that his enemy could not free the sword from his grasp.
Several of the men came up, and tried to unweave the fingers, but were unable to do so. Then the Hook said, "Why should we spare this wretched outlaw? Off with his hand!" And his men held down the arm whilst Thorbiorn hewed off the hand at the wrist with his axe.
After that, standing over the body, and grasping the hilt of the sword in both hands, he smote at Grettir's head; the edge of the blade was notched by the blow.
"Look!" laughed Thorbiorn. "This notch will be famous in story for many generations; for men will point to it and say, 'This was made by Grettir's skull.'" He struck twice and thrice at the outlaw's neck, till the head came off in his hands.
"Now have I slain a notable man!" exclaimed Thorbiorn. "I will take this head with me to land, and claim the price that was set on it; and none shall deny that it was my hand that slew that Grettir whom all else feared."
The men present said he might say what he liked, but that they believed Grettir was already dead when he smote him.
Thorbiorn now turned to Illugi, and said, "It is a pity that a brave lad like you should die, because you are associated with outlaws and evil-doers."
"I tell you this," said Illugi, "that I will appear before you at the great assize, and there will charge you with having practised witchcraft to effect my brother's death."
"You hearken to me, boy," said Thorbiorn. "Put your hand to mine, and swear that you will not seek to avenge the death of your brother, and I will let you go; but if you will not take this oath, you shall die."
"And hearken to me, Thorbiorn," said lllugi. "If I live, but one thought shall occupy my heart night and day, and that will be how I may best avenge my brother. Now that you know what to expect of me – take what course you will."
Thorbiorn drew his companions aside to ask their advice; but they shrugged their shoulders, and replied that, as he had planned the expedition, he must carry it out as he thought best.
"Well," said The Hook, "I have no fancy for having the young viper lying in wait to sting me wherever I tread. He shall die."
Now, when Illugi knew that they had determined on slaying him, he smiled and said, "You have chosen that course which is best to my mind. I do not desire to be parted from my brother."
The day was breaking. They led Illugi to the east side of the island, and there they slew him.
It is told that they neither bound his eyes nor his hands, and that he looked fearlessly at them when they smote him, and neither changed colour nor even blinked.
Then they buried the brothers beneath a cairn in the island, but they took the head of Grettir and bore it to land. On the way they also slew the thrall Glaum.
CHAPTER XLII
HOW ASDIS RECEIVED THE NEWS
A Charge of Witchcraft – A Heroic Mother – Thorbiorn's Sentence – Burial of the Brothers
Had the old hag, Thorbiorn's foster-mother, any hand in the death of Grettir? Certainly none. It was true that Grettir was wounded in the way described, by his own axe, but the condition of the wound was due to the scorbutic condition of his blood, through lack of green food. This the Icelanders did not understand; they could not comprehend how a wound could seem to be healing well and then break out and mortify afterwards, and they supposed that this was due to witchcraft. Then, again, Grettir's kin could not take the case of Grettir's murder into court, because Thorbiorn had acted within the law when killing him; but by charging him with the practice of witchcraft they made him amenable to the law. So, partly, no doubt, in good faith, they trumped up against Thorbiorn the accusation of having effected Grettir's death by witchcraft.
Now, it must be told how that, one day after the slaying of Grettir, Thorbiorn Hook at the head of twenty armed men rode to Biarg, in the Midfirth-dale, with Grettir's head slung from his saddlebow. On reaching the house he dismounted and strode into the hall, where Grettir's mother was seated with a servant. Thorbiorn threw her son's head at her feet, and said: "See! I have been to the island and have prevailed."
The lady sat proudly in her seat, and did not shed a tear; but lifting her voice in reply, she sang:
"Milk-sop – as timid sheep
Before a fox all cow'ring keep;
So did you – nor could prevail
So long as Grettir's strength was hale.
Woe is on the Northland side,
Nor can I my loathing hide!"
After this The Hook returned home, and folk wondered at Asdis, saying that only a heroic mother could have had sons so heroic. When Yule was over The Hook rode east away to Garth, and told Thorir what he had done, and claimed the money set on Grettir's head.
But Thorir was crafty, and just as the Biarg folk sought a charge against Thorbiorn for his deed, so did Thorir, that he might escape having to pay the silver. He answered, "I do not deny that I offered the money on Grettir's head, promising it to whomsoever should slay Grettir, but I will pay nothing to him who compassed his death by witchcraft; and if what the men who went with you say be true, you did not slay him with a sword, but hacked off his head after he was dead."
This made Thorbiorn Hook very angry, and when summer came he brought his suit against Thorir for the money. But simultaneously Grettir's kin brought a charge against Thorbiorn for having practised witchcraft. Also they had a summons against him for the slaying of Illugi. Now, the case was tried, and hotly discussed, and it ended this way: – It was judged that Thorbiorn had struck off the head of a man who was already dead, and that he had brought about the death of that man by witchcraft; thereupon it was judged that he should receive nothing of the money, and that he should be outlawed from Iceland.
So he went away and never returned.
Now, Grettir and Illugi were brought to land, and their bones lie at Reykir, where was the friendly farmer who had helped them when they were at Drangey. But Grettir's head was buried at Biarg. There is now no church or churchyard there, but there is a mound in the tún where his head is said to lie. I obtained leave to dig there, and I examined the spot, but found only a great stone under the turf, and this we had not the appliances to move. And perhaps it was as well; for if Grettir's head be there, it were better that there it should rest undisturbed.
CHAPTER XLIII
HOW DROMUND KEPT HIS WORD
Thorbiorn Hook in Norway – Dromund on Thorbiorn's Track – The Varangians – Grettir's Sword – Grettir is Avenged
Now, after that Thorbiorn Hook had been outlawed, he found that he had gotten to himself no advantage, but great harm by what he had done upon Drangey. He was forced to leave Iceland; and he saw, withal, that never again might he set foot therein again with safety, for all the relatives of the Biarg family would seek his life. Accordingly he made over his farm at Woodwick to his brother Hialti, and also all his rights over the island of Drangey, such as they were. Then he collected together what moveable goods he had, and went on board ship and sailed for Norway.
On reaching Norway he bragged much of what he had done in having slain Grettir, of whom tales were told in Norway; and, as may well be understood, he told the tale of the slaying of Grettir in his own way, magnifying his heroism, and saying nothing about such matters as lessened the greatness of his deed.
During the early winter tidings reached Thorstein Dromund at Tunsberg that his brother Grettir was dead, and also that the man who slew him was in the north of the country. When Dromund heard the tidings he was very sorrowful, and he called to mind the words he had said to Grettir when they showed each other what sort of arms they had. Dromund considered that he was bound to avenge his brother's death on his murderer.
Thorbiorn Hook also was aware that there was a half-brother of Grettir in Norway, and when he knew that he was wary, for he suspected that Dromund would seek his life. And, indeed, Thorstein Dromund sent spies to watch Thorbiorn Hook; but the latter was so careful of himself that Dromund was not able to attempt anything against him all that winter. No sooner did the soft, warm, spring breezes begin to blow, than The Hook got away out of Norway by the earliest opportunity. He had heard much talk how that the Emperors of the East, at Constantinople, kept a guard of Norsemen about them, and paid them well, and how that this guard was held in high esteem. So Thorbiorn Hook considered he could not do better than go to Constantinople, and try his fortune there. But before he left Norway he talked of his intention, and this was reported to Dromund at Tunsberg. So Dromund put his lands and affairs into the hands of his kinsmen, and got ready for journeying in search of Hook, whom he had never seen.
He sailed away after him, and wherever he came he made inquiries after the ship in which Thorbiorn Hook had been, and he was always just too late. He never could catch the ship up. And then finally Thorbiorn left the vessel and journeyed overland, and Thorstein lost his traces.
However, Dromund knew that Thorbiorn Hook was going to Constantinople, so he travelled thither also, and reached the imperial city. Now there were a great many Norsemen and Icelanders there in the company called the Varangians, who acted as a bodyguard to the Emperor, and among these men were some twenty or more called Thorbiorn, and which among them was the murderer of Grettir, Thorstein Dromund did not know. The Hook, as may well be imagined, did not tell anyone what his nickname was; not that he imagined he was pursued, but because it was not a pretty and flattering name. Thorstein also offered himself as a soldier in the guard, and was enrolled. He also merely gave his name as Thorstein, and told no one of his nickname of Dromund, lest the man he pursued should take alarm and leave.
So time passed, and Thorstein Dromund could not find out his man; and he lay awake in bed many nights musing on what he had undertaken, on the sad lot of Grettir, and on his ill-success in finding the murderer of his half-brother. Now, it fell out that on a certain day the order came to the Varangian guard that they were to be ready, as they were about to be sent on an expedition of importance.
It was usual, before any such an expedition, that all the men of the guard should burnish up their weapons and armour, and show them, that they were in condition.
So was it on this occasion also. They were assembled in the guard-room, and each produced his weapon. Then Thorbiorn held forth his short-sword – the very weapon that Grettir had taken from the tomb of Karr the Old, the sword with which he The Hook had hewed off Grettir's head.
Now, when Thorbiorn held forth the sword all the other guardsmen praised it, and said it was an excellent weapon; but it had one grievous blemish, for that there was a notch in the edge.
"Oh!" laughed Thorbiorn, "that notch is no blemish at all. It is a memorial of one of my greatest achievements."
"What was that?" asked one of the Varangians.
"With this sword," answered Thorbiorn, "I slew the man who was esteemed the greatest and most powerful champion of his time; a man who was in outlawry for twenty years, who had in his time fought and beaten off as many as thirty or forty who attacked him. But I was too much for him. When I went against him, then he had to give way. We fought for an hour without flagging, and finally I smote him down. Then I took from him his own sword, and with it I smote off his neck; and thus got the sword its notch."
"And his name?" asked Thorstein Dromund.
"His name was Grettir the Strong."
There was a pause; and in that pause the sword was handed to Dromund for him to look at.
"Thus is Grettir avenged!" suddenly exclaimed Dromund. He struck across the table at Thorbiorn with Grettir's own sword; and so great was the stroke that it smote through his skull to the jaw-teeth, and The Hook fell without a word, dead.
It was said, in after times, that Grettir was wonderful in his life, and wonderful in his death – for in life no man had been his equal in strength, and had had a sadder span of life; and in death he was wonderful – for of all Icelanders he was the only one who was avenged far away from home by the shores of the Bosphorus, in the City of the Emperors.