Chapter Fifteen. the Rescue of Steinvor Slim-Ankles.

There was a man named Thorarin Alfsson, who lived in the north at Thambardal; that is a dale which goes up from the fiord called Bitra. He was a big man and mighty, and he was by-named Thorarin the Strong. He had spent much of his time in seafaring (as a chapman) and so lucky was he that he always made the harbour he aimed at.

He had three sons; one was named Alf, the next Loft, and the third Skofti. Thorarin was a most overbearing man, and his sons took after him. They were rough, noisy fellows.

Not far away, at Tunga (Tongue) in Bitra, lived a man called Odd. His daughter was named Steinvor, a pretty girl and well set up; her by-name was Slim-ankles. Living with Odd were many fisherman; among them, staying there for the fishing-season, was one Glum, an ill-tempered carle and bad to deal with.

Now once upon a time these two, Odd and Glum, were in talk together which were the greatest men in the countryside. Glum reckoned Thorarin to be foremost, but Odd said Holmgang Bersi was better than he in every way.

“How can ye make that out?” asked Glum.

“Is there any likeness whatever,” said Odd, “between the bravery of Bersi and the knavery of Thorarin?”

So they talked about this until they fell out, and laid a wager upon it.

Then Glum wend and told Thorarin. He grew very angry and made many a threat against Odd. And in a while he went and carried off Steinvor from Tunga, all to spite her father; and he gave out that if Odd said anything against it, the worse for him: and so took her home to Thambardal.

Things went on so for a while, and then Odd went to see Holmgang Bersi, and told him what had happened. He asked him for help to get Steinvor back and to wreak vengeance for that shame. Bersi answered that such words had been better unsaid, and bade him go home and take no share in the business. “But yet,” added he, “I promise that I will see to it.”

No sooner was Odd gone than Bersi made ready to go from home. He rode fully armed, with Whitting at his belt, and three spears; he came to Thambardal when the day was far spent and the women were coming out of the bower. Steinvor saw him and turning to meet him told of her unhappiness.

“Make ready to go with me,” said he; and that she did.

He would not go to Thambardal for nothing, he said; and so he turned to the door where men were sitting by long fires. He knocked at the door, and out there came a man--his name was Thorleif. But Thorarin knew Bersi's voice, and rushed forth with a great carving-knife and laid on to him. Bersi was aware of it, and drew Whitting, and struck him his death-blow.

Then he leapt on horseback and set Steinvor on his knee and took his spears which she had kept for him. He rode some way into the wood, where in a hidden spot he left his horse and Steinvor, bidding her await him. Then he went to a narrow gap through which the high-road ran, and there made ready to stand against his foes.

In Thambardal there was anything but peace. Thorleif ran to tell the sons of Thorarin that he lay dead in the doorway. They asked who had done the deed. He told them. Then they went after Bersi and steered the shortest way to the gap, meaning to get there first; but by that time he was already first at the gap.

When they came near him, Bersi hurled a spear at Alf, and it went right through him. Then Loft cast at Bersi, but he caught the spear on his target and it dropped off. Then Bersi threw at Loft and killed him, and so he did by Skofti.

When all was over, the house-carles of the brothers came up. Thorleif turned back to meet them, and they all went home together.

After that Bersi went to find Steinvor, and mounted his horse. He came home before men were out of bed. They asked him about his journey and he told them. When Odd met him he asked about the fight and how it had passed, and Bersi answered in this verse:--

(45) “There was one fed the wolves has encountered His weird in the dale of the Bowstring-- Thorarin the Strong, 'neath the slayer Lay slain by the might of my weapon. And loss of their lives men abided When Loft fell, and Alf fell, and Skofti. They were four, yonder kinsmen, and fated-- They were fey--and I met them, alone!”

After that Odd went home, but Steinvor was with Bersi, though it misliked Thordis, his wife. By this time his stone wall was some-what broken down, but he had it built up again; and it is said that no blood-money was ever paid for Thorarin and his sons. So the time went on.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. How Vali Fell Before An Old Man And A Boy.

Once on a day when Thordis and Bersi were talking together, said he, “I have been thinking I might ask Olaf Peacock for a child of his to foster.”

“Nay,” said she, “I think little of that. It seems to me a great trouble, and I doubt if folk will reckon more of us for it.”

“It means that I should have a sure friend,” answered he. “I have many foes, and I am growing heavy with age.”

So he went to see Olaf, and asked for a child to foster. Olaf took it with thanks, and Bersi carried Halldor home with him and got Steinvor to be nurse. This too misliked Thordis, and she laid hands on every penny she could get (for fear it should go to Steinvor and the foster-child).

At last Bersi took to ageing much. There was one time when men riding to the Thing stayed at his house. He sat all by himself, and his food was brought him before the rest were served. He had porridge while other folk had cheese and curds. Then he made this verse:--

(46) “To batten the black-feathered wound-bird With the blade of my axe have I stricken Full thirty and five of my foemen; I am famed for the slaughter of warriors. May the fiends have my soul if I stain not My sharp-edged falchion once over! And then let the breaker of broadswords Be borne--and with speed--to the grave!”

“What?” said Halldor; “hast thou a mind to kill another man, then?”

Answered Bersi, “I see the man it would rightly serve!”

Now Thordis let her brother Vali feed his herds on the land of Brekka. Bersi bade his house-carles work at home, and have no dealings with Vali; but still Halldor thought it a hardship that Bersi had not his own will with his own wealth. One day Bersi made this verse:--

(47) “Here we lie, Both on one settle-- Halldor and I, Men of no mettle. Youth ails thee, But thou'lt win through it; Age ails me, And I must rue it!”

“I do hate Vali,” said Halldor; and Bersi answered thus in verse:--

(48) “Yon Vali, so wight as he would be, Well wot I our pasture he grazes; Right fain yonder fierce helmet-wearer Under foot my dead body would trample! But often my wrongs have I wreaked In wrath on the mail-coated warrior-- On the stems of the sun of the ocean I have stained the wound-serpent for less!”

And again he said:--

(49) “With eld I am listless and lamed-- I, the lord of the gold of the armlet: I sit, and am still under many A slight from the warders of spear-meads. Though shield-bearers shape for the singer To shiver alone in the grave-mound, Yet once in the war would I redden The wand that hews helms ere I fail.”

“Thy heart is not growing old, foster-father mine!” cried Halldor.

Upon that Bersi fell into talk with Steinvor, and said to her “I am laying a plot, and I need thee to help me.”

She said she would if she could.

“Pick a quarrel,” said he, “with Thordis about the milk-kettle, and do thou hold on to it until you whelm it over between you. Then I will come in and take her part and give thee nought but bad words. Then go to Vali and tell him how ill we treat thee.”

Everything turned out as he had planned. She went to Vali and told him that things were no way smooth for her; would he take her over the gap (to Bitra to her father's:) and so he did.

But when he was on the way back again, out came Bersi and Halldor to meet him. Bersi had a halberd in one hand and a staff in the other, and Halldor had Whitting. As soon as Vali saw them he turned and hewed at Bersi. Halldor came at his back and fleshed Whitting in his hough-sinews. Thereupon he turned sharply and fell upon Halldor. Then Bersi set the halberd-point betwixt his shoulders. That was his death-wound.

Then they set his shield at his feet and his sword at his head, and spread his cloak over him; and after that got on horseback and rode to five homesteads to make known the deed they had done and then rode home. Men went and buried Vali, and the place where he fell has ever since been called Vali's fall.

Halldor was twelve winters old when these doings came to pass.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. How Steingerd Was Married Again.

Now there was a man named Thorvald, the son of Eystein, bynamed the Tinker: he was a wealthy man, a smith, and a skald; but he was mean-spirited for all that. His brother Thorvard lived in the north country at Fliot (Fleet); and they had many kinsmen,-- the Skidings they were called,--but little luck or liking.

Now Thorvald the Tinker asked Steingerd to wife. Her folk were for it, and she said nothing against it; and so she was wed to him in the very same summer in which she left Bersi.

When Cormac heard the news he made as though he knew nothing whatever about the matter; for a little earlier he had taken his goods aboard ship, meaning to go away with his brother. But one morning early he rode from the ship and went to see Steingerd; and when he got talk with her, he asked would she make him a shirt. To which she answered that he had no business to pay her visits; neither Thorvald nor his kinsmen would abide it, she said, but have their revenge.

Thereupon he made his voice:--

(50) “Nay, think it or thole it I cannot, That thou, a young fir of the forest Enwreathed in the gold that thou guardest, Shouldst be given to a tinkering tinsmith. Nay, scarce can I smile, O thou glittering In silk like the goddess of Baldur, Since thy father handfasted and pledged thee, So famed as thou art, to a coward.”

“In such words,” answered Steingerd, “an ill will is plain to hear. I shall tell Thorvald of this ribaldry: no man would sit still under such insults.”

Then sang Cormac:--

(51) “What gain is to get if he threatens, White goddess in raiment of beauty, The scorn that the Skidings may bear me? I'll set them a weft for their weaving! I'll rhyme you the roystering caitiffs Till rocks go afloat on the water; And lucky for them if they loosen The line of their fate that I ravel!”

Thereupon they parted with no blitheness, and Cormac went to his ship.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Cormac's Voyage To Norway.

The two brothers had but left the roadstead, when close beside their ship, uprose a walrus. Cormac hurled at it a pole-staff, which struck the beast, so that it sank again: but the men aboard thought that they knew its eyes for the eyes of Thorveig the witch. That walrus came up no more, but of Thorveig it was heard that she lay sick to death; and indeed folk say that this was the end of her.

Then they sailed out to sea, and at last came to Norway, where at that time Hakon, the foster-son of Athelstan, was king. He made them welcome, and so they stayed there the winter long with all honour.

Next summer they set out to the wars, and did many great deeds. Along with them went a man called Siegfried, a German of good birth; and they made raids both far and wide. One day as they were gone up the country eleven men together came against the two brothers, and set upon them; but this business ended in their overcoming the whole eleven, and so after a while back to their ship. The vikings had given them up for lost, and fain were their folk when they came back with victory and wealth.

In this voyage the brothers got great renown: and late in the summer, when winter was coming on, they made up their minds to steer for Norway. They met with cold winds; the sail was behung with icicles, but the brothers were always to the fore. It was on his voyage that Cormac made the song:--

(52) “O shake me yon rime from the awning; Your singer's a-cold in his berth; For the hills are all hooded, dear Skardi, In the hoary white veil of the firth. There's one they call Wielder of Thunder I would were as chill and as cold; But he leaves not the side of his lady As the lindworm forsakes not its gold.”

“Always talking of her now!” said Thorgils; “and yet thou wouldst not have her when thou couldst.”

“That was more the fault of witchcraft,” answered Cormac, “that any want of faith in me.”

Not long after they were sailing hard among crags, and shortened sail in great danger.

“It is a pity Thorvald Tinker is not with us here!” said Cormac.

Said Thorgils with a smile, “Most likely he is better off than we, to-day!”

But before long they came to land in Norway.

CHAPTER NINETEEN. How Cormac Fought In Ireland, And Went Home To Iceland; And How He Met Steingerd Again.

While they were abroad there had been a change of kings; Hakon was dead, and Harald Greyfell reigned in his stead. They offered friendship to the king, and he took their suit kindly; so they went with him to Ireland, and fought battles there.

Once upon a time when they had gone ashore with the king, a great host came against him, and as the armies met, Cormac made this song:--

(53) “I dread not a death from the foemen, Though we dash at them, buckler to buckler, While our prince in the power of his warriors Is proud of me foremost in battle. But the glimpse of a glory comes o'er me Like the gleam of the moon on the skerry, And I faint and I fail for my longing, For the fair one at home in the North.”

“Ye never get into danger,” said Thorgils, “but ye think of Steingerd!”

“Nay,” answered Cormac, “but it's not often I forget her.”

Well: this was a great battle, and king Harald won a glorious victory. While his men drove the rout before him, the brothers were shoulder to shoulder; and they fell upon nine men at once and fought them. And while they were at it, Cormac sang:--

(54) “Fight on, arrow-driver, undaunted, And down with the foemen of Harald! What are nine? they are nought! Thou and I, lad, Are enough;--they are ours!--we have won them! But--at home,--in the arms of an outlaw That all the gods loathe for a monster, So white and so winsome she nestles --Yet once she was loving to me!”

“It always comes down to that!” said Thorgils. When the fight was over, the brothers had got the victory, and the nine men had fallen before them; for which they won great praise from the king, and many honours beside.

But while they were ever with the king in his warfarings, Thorgils was aware that Cormac was used to sleep but little; and he asked why this might be. This was the song Cormac made in answer:--

(55) “Surf on a rock-bound shore of the sea-king's blue domain-- Look how it lashes the crags, hark how it thunders again! But all the din of the isles that the Delver heaves in foam In the draught of the undertow glides out to the sea-gods' home. Now, which of us two should test? Is it thou, with thy heart at ease, Or I that am surf on the shore in the tumult of angry seas? --Drawn, if I sleep, to her that shines with the ocean- gleam, --Dashed, when I wake, to woe, for the want of my glittering dream.”

“And now let me tell you this, brother,” he went on. “Hereby I give out that I am going back to Iceland.”

Said Thorgils, “There is many a snare set for thy feet, brother, to drag thee down, I know not whither.”

But when the king heard of his longing to begone, he sent for Cormac, and said that he did unwisely, and would hinder him from his journey. But all this availed nothing, and aboard ship he went.

At the outset they met with foul winds, so that they shipped great seas, and the yard broke. Then Cormac sang:--

(56) “I take it not ill, like the Tinker If a trickster had foundered his muck-sled; For he loves not rough travelling, the losel, And loath would he be of this uproar. I flinch not,--nay, hear it, ye fearless Who flee not when arrows are raining,-- Though the steeds of the ocean be storm-bound And stayed in the harbour of Solund.”

So they pushed out to sea, and hard weather they tholed. Once on a time when the waves broke over the deck and drenched them all, Cormac made this song:--

(57) “O the Tinker's a lout and a lubber, And the life of a sailor he dares not, When the snow-crested surges caress us And sweep us away with their kisses, He bides in a berth that is warmer, Embraced in the arms of his lady; And lightly she lulls him to slumber, --But long she has reft me of rest!”

They had a very rough voyage, but landed at last in Midfiord, and anchored off shore. Looking landward they beheld where a lady was riding by; and Cormac knew at once that it was Steingerd. He bade his men launch a boat, and rowed ashore. He went quickly from the boat, and got a horse, and rode to meet her. When they met, he leapt from horseback and helped her to alight, making a seat for her beside him on the ground.

Their horses wandered away: the day passed on, and it began to grow dark. At last Steingerd said, “It is time to look for our horses.”

Little search would be needed, said Cormac; but when he looked about, they were nowhere in sight. As it happened, they were hidden in a gill not far from where the two were sitting.

So, as night was hard at hand, they set out to walk, and came to a little farm, where they were taken in and treated well, even as they needed. That night they slept each on either side of the carven wainscot that parted bed from bed: and Cormac made this song:--

(58) “We rest, O my beauty, my brightest, But a barrier lies ever between us. So fierce are the fates and so mighty --I feel it--that rule to their rede. Ah, nearer I would be, and nigher, Till nought should be left to dispart us, --The wielder of Skofnung the wonder, And the wearer of sheen from the deep.”

“It was better thus,” said Steingerd: but he sang:--

(59) “We have slept 'neath one roof-tree--slept softly, O sweet one, O queen of the mead-horn, O glory of sea-dazzle gleaming, These grim hours,--these five nights, I count them. And here in the kettle-prow cabined While the crow's day drags on in the darkness, How loathly me seems to be lying, How lonely,--so near and so far!”

“That,” said she, “is all over and done with; name it no more.” But he sang:--

(60) “The hot stone shall float,--ay, the hearth-stone Like a husk of the corn on the water, --Ah, woe for the wight that she loves not!-- And the world,--ah, she loathes me!--shall perish, And the fells that are famed for their hugeness Shall fail and be drowned in the ocean, Or ever so gracious a goddess Shall grow into beauty like Steingerd.”

Then Steingerd cried out that she would not have him make songs upon her: but he went on:--

(61) “I have known it and noted it clearly, O neckleted fair one, in visions, --Is it doom for my hopes,--is it daring To dream?--O so oft have I seen it!-- Even this,--that the boughs of thy beauty, O braceleted fair one, shall twine them Round the hill where the hawk loves to settle, The hand of thy lover, at last.”

“That,” said she, “never shall be, if I can help it. Thou didst let me go, once for all; and there is no more hope for thee.”

So then they slept the night long; and in the morning, when Cormac was making ready to be gone, he found Steingerd, and took the ring off his finger to give her.

“Fiend take thee and thy gold together!” she cried. And this is what he answered:--

(62) “To a dame in her broideries dainty This drift of the furnace I tendered; O day of ill luck, for a lover So lured, and so heartlessly cheated! Too blithe in the pride of her beauty-- The bliss that I crave she denies me; So rich that no boon can I render, --And my ring she would hurl to the fiends!”

So Cormac rode forth, being somewhat angry with Steingerd, but still more so with the Tinker. He rode home to Mel, and stayed there all the winter, taking lodgings for his chapmen near the ship.