The Saga of Colm the Slave (24 page)

Gwyneth said, “Yes. It will be all
right.” But she heard the doubt in Colm’s voice.

The last horse fight had been a good
one. The two stallions had gone at each other with abandon, biting
and kicking, until one farmer withdrew his horse, rather than see
it die in the horse ring. But now came the match everyone wanted to
see, the one between the stallions of Adals and Gunnar. Colm pushed
to the front so that he could watch. Perhaps, he thought, if Adals
won a great deal of money, that would take some of the sting from
losing the match with Marta. He thought of loaning Adals money to
bet or of betting against his horse so that the winnings would be
greater. He even thought of paying Gunnar to lose. But these plans
could easilly turn bad and create yet another grievance between
Adals and Colm, so he rejected them all.

Gunnar led in his stallion, Gryr. The
horse was gray with a dark stripe along his spine. Many people
considered this to be the finest kind of fighting horse. There was
a scar on Gryr’s muzzle in front of his left eye where he had been
bitten before. Gunnar was dressed in a bright blue shirt and
patterned silk trousers from Greekland. He wore a wide leather belt
and his horse goad had a silver pommel. He had the Swedish bracelet
that Colm had given him on his wrist. He looked very fine.

Now Adals brought in his horse, the one
that had belonged to Egil, whose widow had given him to Braga, dark
brown with black mane and tail and white stockings on his rear
hooves. This stallion was called Raven’s-Mane. Adals wore plain
tunic and trousers but he had a red cloth wrapped around his waist.
He carried a plain wooden goad. Colm wished he had thought to gift
the man with bright clothing or a fancy goad. Yes, he thought, so
the drunkard regrets the beer that was spilled instead of
drunk.

Colm felt Gwyneth beside him and thought
she trembled a little. “I could not find Geirrid.”

“He was over there. I saw him just for a
moment.”

“Well, Frosti is occupied now, anyway.”
Frosti stood at the front of the crowd with Braga. Her fists were
clenched and her eyes bulged.

Adals and Gunnar released their horses
and the two stallions rushed together immediately and reared up,
chest to chest, and bit at each other’s mane and neck. The crowd
shouted in appreciation. The stallions dropped and Gryr turned as
if he were running away from Raven’s-Mane, but instead kicked him
hard in the shoulder, then whirled about and reared again. Colm saw
that Gryr was a crafty, experienced fighter.

Raven’s-Mane staggered at the kick but
recovered to rear and meet Gryr, but he was a little behind and
Gryr bit him, deep, across the muzzle. Raven’s-Mane did not pull
away but chopped at Gryr with his front hooves. Gryr, too, was
working his forelegs but his neck was extended and vulnerable and
Raven’s-Mane cut and bruised him. Both horses fell away and
gathered themselves for another charge. Neither animal showed any
sign of backing down.

The air was full of the smell of blood
and horses and the sweat of man and beast. Colm smelled the mare as
she walked past, circling the ring, staying clear of the fighting
except to kick out if a stallion came too close. The sun beat down
and increased the heat and the smell of the packed bodies and
fighting horses.

Again the stallions slammed chest to
chest and again Gryr bit down on the other horse’s muzzle. Blood
poured from Raven’s-Mane’s nostrils as he fought back. The horses
parted, then reared at each other once more. This time,
Raven’s-Mane used his hooves before Gryr had a chance to bite him.
He opened a gash below Gryr’s eye and stunned that horse briefly so
that he fell away. Raven’s-Mane charged and reared. People cheered,
but Gryr kicked into the stallion’s exposed underside. Colm heard
Raven’s-Mane go Whoof! He thought some ribs might have been cracked
by the kick.

Raven’s-Mane staggered back, clearly
hurt, and Gryr charged in. Raven’s-Mane reared and the two horses
slammed chest to chest and Gryr bit through the stallion’s muzzle
once more. This time, when the horses separated, Colm could see
flesh hanging from exposed bone. That, and the rib injury, meant
that Raven’s-Mane should be taken out of the fight. He looked at
Adals but that man raised his goad. He had everything riding on
this fight. It was all or nothing now! His horse would fight to the
death.

Raven’s-Mane needed no goad. Injured or
not he reared and, this time, bit Gryr right through the nostrils.
The horses dropped away and Gryr kicked back but missed
Raven’s-Mane, who had learned that move. He, too, was a crafty
fighter.

Once again the stallions reared. People
were screaming with excitement. Raven’s-Mane got the bite in first.
It seemed as though he would close his teeth on the scar below
Gryr’s eye, but that stallion rolled his head and Raven’s-Mane took
a piece from his cheek instead. Gryr brought his head around and
caught the other horse by the mane, biting, and trying to force him
down. Raven’s-Mane pulled away and kicked out but Gryr dodged
away.

Now the two horses faced one another,
blood running down their muzzles and pooling on the ground. They
gathered their strength and rushed together. Colm thought this was
the last of Raven’s-Mane. That horse had been injured too badly to
go on much longer. The stallions reared, chest to chest,
Raven’s-Mane coming in quickly for a bite under Gryr’s eye. Gryr
rolled his head and Raven’s-Mane waited, an instant, then darted
snake-like under Gryr’s cheek and bit into his neck below the jaw.
Gryr fell back and Raven’s-Mane was atop him, still biting deep
into his throat. Gryr thrashed about and fell to the ground. He
used his hooves but Raven’s-Mane never loosed his bite. While the
crowd shouted and cheered, he held on like a fanged beast, like a
wolf, while Gryr’s blood began to spurt and gush onto the
ground.

Gunnar ran forward and signalled to
Adals that his horse was done and the match was over. Adals tried
to goad Raven’s-Mane away from Gryr but the horse held on. Finally,
Raven’s-Mane was pulled away but Gryr’s blood continued to pump out
until that horse died there.

The crowd cheered as Raven’s-Mane made
his way to the mare, but he could not mount her. Adals and Frosti
rushed forward to help him but their stallion had not the strength.
He staggered back and whinnied at the mare. They guided him over to
a quiet pen and Frosti tended his wounds while Adals went about
collecting his bets.

The winner of the first fight, the
stallion that had driven his opponent from the ring, was brought to
the mare. The farmer who owned her was disappointed, he had hoped
for a champion as stud. Still, this was something. The crowd
shouted approval as the two horses joined. Colm looked around, but
there was no sign of Geirrid.

Back at the Trollfarm, Gwyneth said,
“Now that Adals has won, things will be better.”

Colm shook his head. “We hoped Adals
would win so that he would have enough money to make Frosti an
attractive match. Now we know that Marta’s family is set against
him.”

“Well, if Frosti couldn’t marry her
anyway, will he still blame Geirrid?”

“Who can say? Given two humiliations,
which might a man seek to avenge?” Colm looked at the floor. “I
think Geirrid must leave for a while.”

“Oh, no!” said Gwyneth.

“It will only be for a time, a few years
perhaps, until this matter is forgotten. Marta will marry someone,
Frosti will find a match somewhere, and I will try to make his life
sweeter.”

“You will give him money?”

“Yes, money, and anything else that will
keep him from attacking Geirrid.” Colm shook his head. “Perhaps
this is because of Gudbrand. Perhaps I should have...”

“No! There was no other way. Would you
have rather seen Geirrid hang?”

“I would not have allowed that.”

“Then it would have been doom for us
all,” said Gwyneth. “You did the best thing you could.”

They were both silent for a time.
Gwyneth finally spoke, “What was it you and Gunnora had to talk
about?”

“Gunnora?” Colm was puzzled. “I don’t
recall... Were we talking?”

“Oh, yes,” said Gwyneth. “She was
rubbing up against you like a cat.”

Colm slowly shook his head from side to
side. “I really don’t...” Then he took a closer look at Gwyneth.
“Are you jealous?” He almost laughed. He went over to Gwyneth and
put his arms around her. She turned her face away. “Oh, Gwyneth,
there is no one for me but you. How could you think otherwise?”

“I thought maybe I hadn’t... I thought
perhaps you are tired of me.”

“No! Never!” Colm pulled Gwyneth over
and sat her on his lap as he had used to do years before. He spoke
soft words to her and caressed her.

When they were first married they
sometimes spoke their native languages to one another. Colm’s
Goidelic differed from Gwyneth’s Brythonic, but they understood
each other’s Gaelic well enough as they lay in each other’s arms.
For this was mostly something they did in intimate moments, a
secret lovers’ language. They never used this speech in front of
other people, not even Geirrid, though Gwyneth had sometimes sung
to him in Brython when he was a baby. But when it was important
that meaning be absolutely clear, then they always spoke in Norse.
The words were more exact, Colm thought, like hard stones laid in a
row. Gaelic was music and sounds flowed together and around and
twined with one another. It was a language of misdirection. Now he
said a few words in Gaelic and caught himself. He did not want
Gwyneth to think he was trying to deceive her. She caught his
hesitation and laid a finger on his lips. “Hush. I am foolish,
that’s all. I know you are true to me.” Then she put her head next
to his and murmured something in her Brythonic tongue. So they sat
that way for a time, waiting for Geirrid.

“It seems there will be no match between
you and Marta,” said Colm.

“I know,” said Geirrid, “She will never
marry the son of a slave. I figured that out a long while ago.”

Colm swallowed a bit of anger. He went
on, “Well, there seems little for you here except trouble. I
propose that you try trading for a while. I will find you a place
on a ship and give you money to start with.”

“Getting me out of the country, is that
it?”

“Do you really want to stay?”

Geirrid thought for a moment. “No, not
really. And I don’t like sheep very much, so trading is probably a
good choice for me. I think I can do well at it.”

“Maybe go east to the Baltic,” said
Colm. He could not stop himself from adding, “There is plenty of
amber there.” Geirrid regarded his father coolly, looking straight
into his eyes. He said nothing. Colm regretted his words. He said,
“You need to stay a while until things settle down. Then come back
and, if you decide you prefer farming to being a merchant, well,
that can be arranged. But just for now, it is best that you
leave.”

“I suppose I might stay away three
years.”

“Perhaps.”

“That is the penalty for lesser
outlawry.” A man might be sentenced to something less than full
outlawry by being ordered to leave Iceland for a period of time,
usually three years.

“This is not a penalty, it is an
opportunity.”

“I suppose,” said Geirrid. “Well, it
appears I have done wrong, though I still don’t understand exactly
how. So I will leave for a few years until Frosti forgets that I
exist, then I will return and everything will shine like the
sun.”

“I’m sorry, Geirrid, I don’t know what
else to do. If you stay I foresee a great deal of bloodshed.”

Geirrid nodded. “I suppose,” he said
again. “Well, then, let’s find a ship and I’ll take my leave.”

A day or two after Geirrid sailed from
Iceland, Colm went in search of Frosti. He did not wear his sword.
He found the boy by an upland meadow where he was tending
Raven’s-Mane. The stallion was confined in a stone pen while he
healed so that he wouldn’t wander off and stumble over the rocks
and so that other horses couldn’t get to him and harm him.

Frosti greeted Colm cordially enough and
the two watched the horse crop grass. There was a great scar on his
muzzle, but he seemed to be healing well. “That is a very fine
horse,” said Colm.

“Yes,” said Frosti. “Adals now is buying
mares and talking of raising a great herd of fighting-horses.”

“Well, that might be a sound
proposition.”

“It might be. It depends on how well
they are trained.”

“I see,” said Colm. “Do you know someone
who can train them?”

“Adals says that he can do it,” said
Frosti, and Colm understood right away that Frosti doubted the
man’s ability and was dubious about the entire scheme.

They watched the horse in silence for a
time, then Colm said, “There is a serious matter I need to speak to
you about.”

Frosti nodded. He knew what Colm meant.
“I will not hurt Geirrid, though I would rather not see him for a
while in case my anger overrides my sense.”

“Geirrid has gone abroad.”

Frosti’s head jerked up. “Is that
true?”

“True as daybreak.”

Frosti nodded. “Well, I’m glad of that.
Now people won’t pester me to fight him.”

“Are people pestering you?”

Frosti shrugged. “Some of the boys have
said a few things. Orm says that I was cheated and should seek
vengeance, but he’s just bitter because Gerda has refused to let
Marta marry him.”

“Has she?”

“Yes. And Orm is the one Marta likes
best, too. I don’t think the amber piece mattered all that much in
the end. She just likes Orm better, that’s all.”

“I see,” said Colm. “Well, there’s no
use trying to win a woman’s heart if it’s set elsewhere.”

“No. That leads to trouble later.”

Both men were silent, recalling
instances where a woman had allowed, or even connived at, the
killing of an undesired husband.