The Saga of Colm the Slave (28 page)

“No. Adals does not trust me to fight
him to the death.” Frosti shrugged. “And he is correct, of course.
Anyway, he is anxious to show off his belt.”

“He has a new belt?”

“Yes, fine leather covered with great
discs of silver. Geirrid gave it to him.”

“I see.”

“Geirrid has bet quite a lot of money on
Raven’s-Mane, you know.”

“No, I haven’t paid attention to the
betting.”

Frosti nodded. “Yes, he is betting on
Raven’s-Mane to win all three battles.”

“He is a good stallion.”

“Yes, but he turns slowly to the left
ever since Gryr kicked him in the side. I think something was
damaged there and never healed properly. And I worry about his
breathing. Still, this first horse will not be much of a
challenge.”

“It will be the wear of facing three
that will cause Raven’s-Mane a problem.”

Frosti nodded. “The second horse will be
in it to the death. Those betting against Raven’s-Mane have paid
his owner to leave the horse in as long as he can last so as to
wear down Raven’s-Mane.” Frosti gestured at the stallion in the
ring. “This horse’s owner has refused to be bribed. He wants his
animal to gain some experience and be ready to fight well in the
future.” The crowd cheered and Colm saw Adals leading in
Raven’s-Mane. “Well,” said Frosti, “I must get back to my place. I
have herbs and tinctures to soothe Raven’s-Mane’s wounds in between
matches.”

Adals led Raven’s-Mane around the ring.
The silver discs on his belt flashed in the sun. He wore a blue
sash under the belt and walked proudly and slowly around the ring.
Raven’s-Mane raised his scarred muzzle as he passed the mare and
nickered. The crowd laughed and made jokes.

Now the stallions were brought together.
Raven’s-Mane reared to the attack but his opponent seemed confused
and backed away. Raven’s-Mane’s hooves raked his side and the
stallion neighed and charged. The crowd roared at this show of
spirit and the two stallions rose, chest to chest, and bit at each
other. Raven’s-Mane dropped and turned and kicked hard at the
younger horse’s side. There was a deep Whump! as both hooves
slammed into the animal. Colm thought that he saw the horse’s
ribcage bow under the impact. The young stallion staggered back and
Raven’s-Mane turned to charge him but the horse’s owner waved his
goad and signalled defeat. Adals turned Raven’s-Mane away and
quickly took him out of the ring.

One down, thought Colm, as he watched
the damaged horse being led away. And probably good for nothing
now, except sacrifice. There was a short intermission to allow more
betting and beer-drinking, then the next stallion was led in.

Colm examined this horse carefully. He
was light grey with a spotted rump, a bit taller and longer-legged
than most horses. He looked rangy and strong. Adals brought in
Raven’s-Mane and they got set for the fight.

The two stallions needed no goading but
charged and reared together, biting and kicking with their
forelegs. They fell back and neither horse was able to get in a
kick from its hind hooves. Again, they charged and reared and stood
chest to chest, pressing against one another, biting at mane and
neck and muzzle for a full minute while the crowd roared its
approval. Then they dropped back and gathered to charge again. Both
horses showed traces of blood but neither had been seriously
wounded. Again and again, they rushed together and sometimes one or
the other stallion would get in a kick or rake the other with its
fore hooves.

The spotted grey held back for a moment
and his owner stepped forward and poked the goad into his flank.
The grey reared, a little too soon, and Raven’s-Mane charged
forward and drove under the animal’s foreleg before rearing
straight up. The grey toppled backwards, pinning his owner to the
ground, then struggled to rise. But Raven’s-Mane was on him,
hammering his head with blows. The grey lost an eye, gouged out by
a hoof, and screamed and rolled under the rain of sharp blows. His
owner screamed, too, unable to get out from under his horse. Adals
circled around and stretched a hand to the man, but the two horses
struggling above kept him pinned. He screamed again and signalled
surrender. Adals tried to turn Raven’s-Mane away but the stallion
was unwilling to stop and kept kicking at the other horse. Frosti
ran into the ring and threw a cloak over Raven’s-Mane’s head so
that he backed away and he and Adals took him from the ring.

Men ran out to raise the grey off its
owner but the stallion kicked out after it gained its footing and
caught one man in the shoulder, sending him somersaulting into the
crowd. They managed to quiet the horse finally and led him away and
carried his owner to a place where his broken ribs and forearm and
ankle could be examined. Colm thought the man lucky; his pelvis
could have been crushed or his back broken.

The crowd milled about, chattering
excitedly about the spectacle. All thought they had seen something
worth the journey.

Geirrid came up beside Colm. “Well,
Father, that was quite the fight!”

Colm agreed that it was. “I hear that
you have quite a bit of money bet on Raven’s-Mane.”

“Yes, and a good thing I got my bets in
early. No one wants to bet against Raven’s-Mane now.”

“Is it a good horse that will come
against him?”

“So I hear. And his owner will fight him
to the death.”

“Then this will be a hard fight.”

Geirrid agreed that was the case as the
last horse was led into the ring. This was a shaggy roan with a
black patch on his back like a saddle. He didn’t seem much to
Colm’s eye but he could see scars on the stallion’s neck and muzzle
that showed he had survived a few fights. His owner was
bare-chested, his skin covered with tattoos. On his chest were two
rearing horses, their hind legs grasped by an unsmiling god who
crouched between them. Other animals and symbols swirled around
them, continuing onto the man’s back and interlacing with a
stallion whose erect penis ran up the man’s spine. The man’s hair
was blonde to the point of being white and pulled back and tied
with knotted horsehair.

“He’s a Swede,” said Colm.

“Yes. They love their horses. In fact,
some say that they have sex with them.”

Colm’s mouth quirked. “The stallions,
too?” He looked at Geirrid.

“Careful, Father. It is said this fellow
killed a man in the Westfjords for saying something like that.”
Geirrid’s eyes widened. “Though it does seem to me that he was a
little too sensitive on that subject.”

Colm’s jaw dropped and he was silenced
for a moment. He looked over at Geirrid and then burst out laughing
and his son joined in. Colm shook his head. “I’ll keep that to
myself,” he said.

The two men chuckled and Colm felt a
great rush of warmth for his son. He realized that, if he met this
man abroad, he would like him. Then he reflected that, by that
reasoning, in Iceland he did not like him.

The crowd cheered as Raven’s-Mane
entered the ring. The horse raised his head and Colm thought that
he enjoyed the crowd, enjoyed being a champion. He noticed that
none of the cuts that the stallion suffered in the last match were
still bleeding. Some of Frosti’s doing, he thought, his herbs put
to good use.

The horses charged together, reared and
bit. They fell back, reared chest to chest again. It seemed to Colm
that neither horse was losing itself in rage, that they were
probing, each watching for a flaw in the other’s defense. He
noticed, too, that both the horses’ handlers were watching
Raven’s-Mane. Adals urging him on, the Swede silently appraising.
Then the Swede began using his goad. He did not prod or poke the
roan, just touched it on the neck or shoulder. Each time, the roan
turned from the goad and bit at Raven’s-Mane. Then Colm understood.
The Swede could tell that Raven’s-Mane was slow going to his left,
so he had the roan attacking from that side. The stallion could get
in a great bite before Raven’s-Mane could react. The roan learned,
too, and soon the Swede did not need to use his goad. The horses
reared, thrust at one another, and the roan would turn and bite
into Raven’s-Mane from the left, then drop away. Raven’s-Mane
whirled to try to kick the roan, but Adals stumbled in front of his
horse and the kick did not connect.

“Those who wanted Adals to manage
Raven’s-Mane were wrong,” Colm murmured.

“What?”

Colm told Geirrid what Frosti had told
him. “The Swede has discovered that Raven’s-Mane is slow to his
left. Adals might be willing to fight his horse to the death, but
he lacks the skills that Frosti could have brought to this
match.”

Geirrid turned to the fight. His mouth
set into a line as he watched the stallions, then he walked away.
Colm watched him disappear into the crowd then returned his
attention to the fight. The Swede’s horse reared, turned and bit,
then dropped away. Raven’s-Mane tried different counters but
eventually the roan would wear him down. The horses circled and
Adals leapt to one side, near the corridor where the horses were
introduced. An arm reached out and grabbed him round the chest and
a hand took the goad away from him. Adals was hauled out of sight
and Frosti leapt out beside Raven’s-Mane. The Swede’s eyes
narrowed, but he said nothing. The crowd yelled. This was great
sport!

The roan charged at Raven’s-Mane who
reared to meet him. When the roan attacked from the left, Frosti
touched his stallion’s shoulder and Raven’s-Mane wheeled to the
right, kicking back at the roan’s head. Then Frosti touched
Raven’s-Mane’s flank and the stallion raked the roan’s left
shoulder with his hooves, turned, and kicked him hard in the side.
The Swede tapped his horse with the goad and the roan stayed back.
The two stallions circled one another, teeth bared, snorting clouds
of bloody mist. They circled right shoulder to right shoulder,
keeping their damaged left sides away. Each handler watched the
opposing horse carefully, looking for an opening. The crowd was
silent now. People craned foward, their bodies taut.

Frosti twitched his goad but didn’t
touch Raven’s-Mane. The Swede reacted, almost touched his stallion
into a counter-move but recognized the feint in time to hold up.
His lips pulled back in a grin and Frosti grinned back, then tapped
Raven’s-Mane who charged in a great burst of tensed energy. The
roan reared to meet him and the horses' chests slammed together
with the sound of an axe striking a hollow tree. The Swede turned
his horse to the right and he kicked back at Raven’s-Mane. Frosti
pulled him away but a hoof caught his left shoulder. Raven’s-Mane
staggered but Frosti sent him charging again as the roan was
turning back, his own left shoulder exposed as Raven’s-Mane
hammered down on it with both hooves. The roan stumbled and the
Swede leapt to put both hands to his right side and hold him up.
But Raven’s-Mane reared again and chopped at the roan’s shoulder.
He screamed and reared again. The roan turned his head to dodge the
blow but Raven’s-Mane darted his head like a snake and bit into the
roan’s exposed throat. Colm remembered how Raven’s-Mane had killed
Gryr, at his throat like a wolf, and now blood gushed over the
horse’s muzzle. The Swede’s eyes widened in shock. He had never
seen anything like this before! He signalled defeat with his goad
and Frosti tried to pull Raven’s-Mane away, but the stallion had
locked his teeth in the roan’s throat and would not let him go.
Frosti pulled off his own shirt and threw it over Raven’s-Mane’s
head. Unable to see, the stallion released his hold and allowed
himself to be walked away. Blood dripped from his mouth and he
shivered with excitement.

Frosti calmed his horse, then removed
the shirt from his eyes. He examined the bites on Raven’s-Mane’s
muzzle and saw that they were not too bad. Adals came out to take
charge of the stallion and led it over to the mare and its victory
tup. The crowd yelled and cheered.

Colm lost sight of Frosti for a moment,
then saw him kneeling beside the roan. The horse lay gasping on the
ground. The Swede pressed his hands around the bites in his throat,
trying to staunch the bleeding. Frosti took a great bundle of herbs
and stripped them between his teeth. He tossed away the stalks and
stems and chewed the leaves and flowers for a moment, then took the
green wad from his mouth and pressed it into the roan’s wounds. The
Swede examined the herbs and sniffed them, then he also began
chewing the plants and packing his horse’s wounds. Neither man
spoke as they worked on the roan.

Colm took it all in: the great stallion
whinnying as he topped the placid mare, the excited crowd milling
about and telling and re-telling the event they had just witnessed,
and the two silent men ministering to the wheezing fallen
horse.

“Well, that was quite the match!”
Geirrid came up next to him.

Colm asked, “Was it you that got Frosti
into the match?”

“Well, yes. I had too much money on that
horse to watch him lose.”

“How did you convince Frosti to fight
him?”

“I told Frosti that I would buy
Raven’s-Mane from Adals after the match and give him the horse and
he wouldn’t have to ever fight him again. And I told him that, if
Raven’s-Mane faced defeat, he need not die in the ring.”

Colm nodded. “That was a good offer for
Frosti.”

“Yes, well, Adals certainly got a good
price for that horse. Even so, I made some money today.” He watched
Frosti and the Swede work on the roan. “And perhaps Frosti will
think a little better of me now. My, he is good with horses, isn’t
he?”

“Yes. He’s the best that I’ve seen.”

“It’s too bad that he doesn’t know as
much about sheep,” said Geirrid. “He could become a very wealthy
man if he could cure sick sheep. Still, many will pay to have a
good horse treated.”

Colm nodded. He thought the same thing.
Frosti had skills that were valuable, but not worth enough to make
him rich. He turned to Geirrid. “I don’t know about you, but I
could use some beer.”