AHMM, December 2009 Read online

  Copyright © 2009 Susan Oleksiw

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  Fiction: THE TROLLFARM KILLING by Mike Culpepper

  * * * *

  Tim Foley

  * * * *

  Colm was not very pleased that Bjorn wanted him to go along to Althing that summer; he would rather tend his sheep. But no slave could ignore his master's bidding. And the fact that Bjorn wanted him along hinted that the man might be weighing him as a potential retainer, a free man who would support Bjorn and help him to become more important. “Free” being the operative word here. So it wasn't all bad. Even so, Colm would rather stay with his sheep. He wished his two lambs to increase to a flock and the flock increase to the point where he could buy his freedom.

  The day before riding out to Althing, Colm went up to the shieling to take Edgar some provisions—a bowl of skyr for now and a lump of cheese and strip of dried mutton for the next week or so. Edgar had no teeth left but he could gum at the meat and it would last all the longer. The old man sat with his face raised to the sun, warming himself like a toad on a rock. He grinned at Colm, his wide toothless mouth spread in pleasure. Colm smiled back and was glad to see the old man's joy at being in the sun and having a useful task to do. Edgar, too, was a slave. He owned no sheep, though, owned nothing, not even his own body, which might be sacrificed to some pagan god whenever it had no other use.

  Colm caught sight of the flock grazing twenty yards or so downslope from a patch of snow. They would work up the mountainside as it thawed. Colm didn't have to check the earmarks to know which were his and which belonged to others; he knew his lambs by sight even at a distance. The sheep cropped at the bright green new grass, and Colm imagined it all going to fat and wool and meat as he watched and willed his two small animals to put on weight.

  A great old wether, guardian of the flock, raised its head and studied Colm. Deciding he was no danger, the wether lowered his head back into the grass. Colm relished the peaceful scene and wished with all his heart that he could stay and be part of it. But his heart was so full of wishes already, he could never live long enough to see them all granted. Colm bid old Edgar good day and went back down to Bjorn's farm to do chores for his master.

  In the morning, Bjorn told Colm to take a horse for himself. That was something! Saddle or no, it was better to ride to Althing than run along behind the mounted freemen.

  Then Bjorn surprised him further. “It might be useful if you could find a weapon,” he said. It was not a usual practice to allow a slave to be armed. Of course, Colm had a weapon hidden away, a single-edged scramasax that he had taken from the belongings of an English slave that died. That one, too, had kept his weapon hidden. “There might be lawsuits that end in trouble,” said Bjorn. He looked keenly into Colm's face. “We may need every man."

  So Bjorn considered him a man, did he? Man enough to ride and fight! Colm scented freedom in his future, closer now, like a prey he was hunting. The scramasax blade was sharp, and Colm wrapped a piece of leather around it before putting the knife in his waistband under his shirt where it was not so obvious—though any searching glance would discover it through the threadbare material.

  Packs of provisions were slung over the horses, and wagons were loaded with the cloth and poles that would be used to construct the tent pavilions that would house Bjorn's contingent. Some women rode on the wagons, like Aud, Bjorn's wife—she was visibly ill, losing weight daily, her eyes sinking into her skull. Some women walked, like Aud's slave Gwyneth, attentive to her mistress, who kept pace with the wagon. Seeing Gwyneth lifted Colm's heart and when she flashed a bright smile his way, it filled with song like a tree full of birds.

  The group made its way down the valley alongside a stream that, here, was easily crossed. Farther along, the stream joined with others to become a river. Thorolf's farm lay near the river floodplain and his followers, like Bjorn, tended to live on the upland tributaries. Behind him, in the distance, Colm could see the mountain slope where his sheep were grazing. They had come to the end of Bjorn's holding. There was good land a mile or so across the stream but no one farmed it. Years past, before Bjorn came to Iceland, someone had lived there, but one winter the farmer and his family had disappeared. Some thought they had gotten lost out in a snowstorm, first one, then those who had gone searching. But others said that evil beings—trolls or water-walkers—had taken them. People avoided the place, but sooner or later someone would move in. Good land was scarce.

  It was late in the afternoon when they finally reached Thorolf's farm. Slaves unpacked the horses and drove them into the near field to graze. The women went into the longhall to prepare a meal for the travelers. Colm threw some harness and horse-gear across his shoulders and carried it into a turf outbuilding.

  It was a moment before Colm's eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, and he caught only the motion of the two white faces at the other end of the building. Two people, trying to duck out of sight, but there was nowhere to hide. One was Gerda, Thorolf's daughter, and Colm recognized the other as Gunnlaug, a young farmer. The way that they jumped apart was evidence that they did not want to be seen together. And no wonder! Gerda was betrothed to another young man, Halldor, son of Magnus, an important follower of Thorolf.

  Colm turned to the wall and hung up the harness. Then he turned away to the door without looking back toward Gerda and Gunnlaug. Some things were better for a slave not to see.

  Outside, a group of men were gathered in the sunlight. Magnus, Thorolf, and Bjorn were at its center. Colm edged up to hear what was going on. Magnus was an excitable man and he shouted and waved his arms about. Thorolf listened gravely, nodding from time to time. Bjorn stood behind Thorolf, nodding when his chieftain did. It took a moment for Colm to understand why Magnus was so worked up: his son, Halldor, had been killed by Gunnlaug. The two had quarreled at the Spring Sacrifice. Gunnlaug had shoved Halldor. There was no fighting, then. But after letting the matter fester for a few weeks, Halldor had gone over to Gunnlaug's farm to settle things. Instead, Halldor's body lay near Gunnlaug's doorway and Gunnlaug had disappeared.

  Colm caught a movement from the corner of his eye. Gerda was slipping past the crowd of men. She threw one beseeching glance at Colm, then joined the women at the longhall. Colm thought of Gunnlaug in the outbuilding, waiting for a chance to get away. One word and this crowd would be on him like wolves on a deer. Colm caught sight of Gwyneth among the other women and smiled to himself. Right now he felt a softness toward young love. He kept his mouth shut.

  After a time, Magnus calmed a little. Thorolf began speaking of the lawsuit they would bring at Althing. He spoke of procedures and he spoke of allies, for even the best-argued suit needed swords to back it. Bjorn spoke from time to time, echoing his chieftain and backing his argument. Occasionally Magnus would flare up and then the other two men would soothe him with words of vengeance. This went on all evening, right through the meal and into the night, the three plotting their actions at Althing.

  Ingveld, Magnus's wife, sat with the women, silent and staring straight ahead. Once, Gerda spoke to her and Ingveld, lips pressed tightly, turned stony eyes her way. It was obvious that she felt Gerda held some responsibility for the death of her son. Bright-eyed Gerda tried to look solemn and bereaved, but soon she was chattering with the other young women, all caught up in the excitement. At least, thought Colm, she had enough sense not to wear the necklace that Ingveld had given her as a betrothal gift, a gift that Ingveld meant to buy her son's happiness.

  The next morning Colm was up early to pack for the day's ride across the lava fields to Althing. He fetched a harness from the turf outbuilding. He didn't look into the building's far end nor search any of the chests and barrels that lay about nor look under or behind any large object. He was careful not to notice anything and was glad not to see any sign of Gunnlaug.

  It was getting dark by the time Thorolf's caravan reached Thingvelleir. The open plains and lava fields had been given to all as a meeting
place by the chieftain Ingolf years before. Hundreds of people were already there. Some families had well-established areas where they returned year after year. Thorolf had his own set of roofless turf walls. Colm helped raise a great canopy of cloth over the walls, then went to set up Bjorn's tents and shelters. The women bustled about, seeing to food and drink and bedding. Thorolf, Bjorn, and Magnus grabbed up torches and went about the encampment, seeking allies for their cause. It was a long day, and when Colm finally lay down, he fell asleep instantly.

  The next morning, Colm attended the fringes of the great crowd assembled around one of Ingolf's heirs, who called on the gods and convened the assembly. Then the Lawspeaker, Thorarin Ragi's brother, mounted the Law-rock and proclaimed the boundaries of the Althing. No weapons could be shown within these boundaries, and all men, even outlaws, were said to be safe here, though no outlaw had ever tested this notion.

  There were three things to be accomplished at Althing: the Lawspeaker would recite a third of the law—he served for three years, so all the law would be heard during his term; the Logretta, or Law Council, would sit and determine new laws and revise the old—Thorolf sat on the Logretta, Bjorn would sit with him, but not Magnus this year, since Magnus was bringing an action; and lawsuits would be heard, including that of Magnus demanding the outlawry of Gunnlaug.

  Magnus had delivered due notice of his suit but had been unable to find Gunnlaug to summon him. This would be a point of law for Gunnlaug's supporters to argue. Still, all free men were required to attend Althing. If Gunnlaug did not appear to answer the charges against him, most would say he was guilty. There was little doubt Gunnlaug had killed Halldor, but the circumstances might be such that Gunnlaug could pay a fine to Magnus and escape outlawry. Of course, no fine would be enough to satisfy Magnus, and Gunnlaug's life would soon be forfeit unless he could gather enough fighting men to triumph in the feud. So, perhaps it was just as well Gunnlaug did not appear. Still, Gunnlaug had not witnessed the killing by reporting it to the first man he saw, which meant this was Secret Murder, a crime guaranteeing outlawry. No one could aid or shelter an outlaw. Any man could kill an outlaw without penalty. Outlaws survived only so long as they could avoid other people, unless they could find a way off this island and flee abroad. Colm doubted Gunnlaug had the resources for that. He thought the man was doomed. Gunnlaug's only course now was to seek as much honor as he might find before he was killed, and to face his inevitable death with courage so that men might speak of him with approval in the years to come.

  Bjorn called Colm over. “I want you to go with Magnus while I'm at the Logretta.” He turned to Magnus. “This is a reliable man. If you need to contact me, send a message with Colm.” Magnus nodded, hardly looking at Colm. His eyes darted from side to side and his mouth was working. Bjorn observed him for a few seconds, then whispered to Colm, “If he loses his temper or does something rash, come get me right away.” Colm nodded.

  "All right,” snapped Magnus, “This way!” And he strode off. Colm jogged to catch up, staying a few steps back. Some of Magnus's men joined them, along with a few farmers. Magnus pointed at one them, Egil Blood-head. “We'll go see your cousin now."

  Egil shook his head. “Now's not the best time. He's just been summoned. He's got his own lawsuit coming up and he's unhappy about it. Wait till tomorrow and I'll talk to him about how we can help one another here."

  "I want his help now!" Magnus exploded.

  "He doesn't know you or your family. Let me speak to him..."

  "He knows that bastard Gunnlaug murdered my son! That's enough for him to know! If he won't help with this lawsuit, then I may put a sword through him too!"

  Egil was called Blood-head because he had a great red birthmark across his forehead and one side of his face. Now that mark glowed like fire. “In that case,” said Egil, stepping back, “I may have to defend my cousin."

  Enough of this, thought Colm, and he ran to the place where the Logretta was sitting. There were three rings of seats. The council members sat in the middle ring. Each had an advisor sitting above and below him. Bjorn sat above Thorolf, another farmer sat below. Colm signalled to Bjorn, who nodded and leaned forward to whisper in Thorolf's ear. Both men leapt up from their seats and came over.

  "He's quarreling with Egil Blood-head about visiting Egil's cousin,” said Colm.

  Thorolf sighed. “Not till tomorrow. Then we can exchange gifts and a promise to help one another."

  "We'd better get over there,” said Bjorn.

  Egil and Magnus were head to head, eyes locked, snarling at one another, their hands twitching at the place where a sword hilt should be. Bjorn and Thorolf stepped between them.

  Bjorn told Egil, “Don't let a hothead rob your cousin of the help he may want.” Egil calmed a little and Bjorn continued to soothe him. “Tomorrow, Thorolf will see your cousin and they will help one another."

  Thorolf told Magnus, “Best keep your anger for your enemies. Egil and his cousin will be of great value to your cause."

  Magnus took several breaths. “I am no good at this politicking,” he said. “My son's blood shouts to me of vengeance. I can hear nothing else."

  Thorolf turned to Egil. “Sometimes anger speaks words we would not otherwise find in our mouths.” Egil nodded. “I have a gift for you, Egil, as a gesture of my friendship.” He gave Egil a silver ring looted from England. One of the enamel inlays was missing, but it was a fine present anyway.

  Thorolf turned to Magnus and raised an eyebrow. Magnus took the hint. “Forgive me, Egil, if I spoke harshly. It was the thought of not having two great fighters like you and your cousin on my side that upset me.” And Magnus, too, gave Egil a gift. Egil accepted both the flattery and the gift.

  Thorolf said, “Magnus, friend, hard as it may be, I suggest you go back to your stall and wait.” Magnus nodded. He seemed deflated with his anger gone, like a sail with no wind.

  The crowd broke up. Magnus headed back to his place. Bjorn said, “That was an expensive gift."

  Thorolf shrugged. “Magnus can afford it.” Magnus would reward Thorolf for his help. Not only would he give Thorolf his fealty in time of trouble, but also he would pay Thorolf well for his aid in this suit. Thorolf said, “I wonder if it's worth it, to be linked to a hothead like that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, back to the Logretta.” He walked off.

  Bjorn gestured to Colm. “Hang around Magnus's place. If there's trouble, come get us."

  Colm settled on his haunches outside Magnus's booth, watching, but Magnus stayed in his place the rest of the day.

  Magnus gave no more trouble, and over the next few days, Thorolf was able to persuade many men that Gunnlaug should be outlawed. Colm noticed that most of them seemed to think that no fighting would come from this matter, so they were pleased to accept Magnus's gifts, knowing it would cost them little in return.

  On the appointed day, Magnus brought his suit before the Thing. He named twelve witnesses, men who had received his gifts, who each swore that Gunnlaug had murdered Halldor. Gunnlaug's cousin Grim tried to defend his kinsman, but with Gunnlaug's failure to appear, the case was never in doubt. Gunnlaug was outlawed. No one was to aid or shelter him. He could be killed on sight and it was understood that Magnus would probably reward his killer.

  Althing ended without further incident. Men took up their weapons and shook them to indicate the time of lawful peace was at an end. Magnus began assembling a group to actively hunt Gunnlaug, find him, and kill him. Bjorn did not join them. Nor did Thorolf, though he accepted great gifts and a quantity of money from Magnus. Colm was pleased to be going back to the farmstead.

  * * * *

  When Colm reached the meadow, he knew at once something was wrong. Old Edgar had a terrible expression on his face—fear, guilt, shame all showed at once. Edgar opened his mouth but no sound emerged, then he began stuttering. Colm waited patiently for the old man to gain control of his voice. “...your lamb...” Colm registered the words and snapped his eyes up to th
e flock. He saw one of his lambs immediately, but could not spot the other. Wordlessly, Edgar gestured to his cloak lying near a large stone. Colm pulled back the cloak and beheld his lamb, dead. Colm picked up the small corpse and saw a clotted hole on one side of the lamb and similar damage on its other side. He saw right away that his lamb had been killed by an arrow.

  "When?” he asked, cradling the lamb in his arms.

  "Early yesterday.” Edgar was wringing his hands in despair; he knew what these lambs meant to Colm.

  "Did you see anyone?"

  "No ... no...” Edgar lost his speech again. He stood with head bowed, waiting for blows or curses, the slave's lot.

  Colm reflected that the old man had covered the lamb with his own cloak to keep the birds away. He wondered if Edgar had slept without a cover the night before, giving it to the lamb instead. He made his voice quiet and steady. “It's not your fault, Edgar.” The old man straightened up a bit. “Did you find the arrow?"

  "No.” Edgar had recovered his voice. “I thought it went on through and over the cliffs."

  Colm nodded. There was no use looking. Anyway, it wasn't likely that the arrow would bear any distinguishing marks. “Who would kill a lamb and leave it?"

  "Maybe it was a troll,” said Edgar. Colm looked at him. The old man had something to say. Colm waited. “I saw some smoke from the Trollfarm the day before. A little smoke."

  Colm nodded. Edgar knew perfectly well that trolls needed no fires. Still holding the lamb, Colm squatted on his haunches and thought. Edgar stood silent and waited. Finally, Colm reached a decision. He stood up and handed the lamb to Edgar. “Take this to Bjorn. Tell him it is a gift for his pantry and that I am gone to the Trollfarm to find the giver."

  Once, this had been a good farm, thought Colm, but now the home field was a tangle of unreaped hay, patches of dead grass from last year spotting the green of this year's crop. The fence that surrounded the field had collapsed in one or two places where frost had heaved the earth or split some stones, but it was basically sound. The turf walls of the house stood strong but the roof had collapsed at one end. The place was dead and beginning to decay. Colm listened carefully but heard nothing, not even a bird song or an insect buzz. This was a fearful place now, without men and women and animals to liven it. He shivered in the strong noon sun. Gathering his courage, Colm ducked into the front passage and entered the house.