Grettir the Outlaw

The lights were kindled in the church, and every snowflake as it sailed down past the open door burned like a golden feather in the light.

When the service was over, and the farmer and his party returned to the house, Glam had not come home. This was strange; as he could not live abroad in the cold, and the sheep would also require shelter. Thorhall was uneasy and proposed a search, but no one would go with him; and no wonder, it was not a night for a dog to be out in, and the tracks would all be buried in snow. So the family sat up all night listening, trembling and anxious.

Day broke at last faintly in the south over the great white masses of mountains. Now a party was formed to search for the missing man. A sharp climb brought them to the top of the moor above Tongue. Here and there a sheep was found shivering under a rock or half buried in a snowdrift, but of Glam – not a sign.

Presently the whole party was called together about a spot on the hilltop where the snow was trampled and kicked about, and it was clear that some desperate struggle had taken place there. There the snow was also dabbled with frozen blood. A red track led further up the mountain side, and the searchers were following it when a boy uttered a shriek of fear. In looking behind a rock he had come on the corpse of the shepherd lying on its back with the arms extended. The body was taken up and carried to the edge of the gorge, and was there buried under a pile of stones, heaped over it to the height of about six feet. How Glam had died, by whom killed, no one knew, nor could they make a guess.

Two nights after this one of the thralls who had gone for the cows burst into the hall with a face blank from terror; he staggered to a seat and fainted. On recovering his senses, in a broken voice he assured those who were round him that he had seen Glam walking past him, with huge strides, as he left the stable door. The shepherd had turned his head and looked at him fixedly from his great gray staring eyes. On the following day a stable lad was found in a fit under a wall, and he never after recovered his senses. It was thought he must have seen something that had scared him. Next, some of the women, declared that they had seen Glam looking in on them through a window of the dairy. In the dusk Thorhall himself met the dead man, who stood and glowered at him, but made no attempt to injure his master, and uttered not a word. The haunting did not end thus. Nightly a heavy tread was heard round the house, and a hand groping along the walls, and sometimes a hand came in at the windows, a great coarse hand, that in the red light from the fire seemed as though steeped in blood.

When the spring came round the disturbances lessened, and as the sun obtained full power, ceased altogether.

During the course of the summer a Norwegian vessel came into the fiord; Thorhall went on board and found there a man named Thorgaut, who had come out in search of work. Thorhall engaged him as a shepherd, but not without honestly telling him his trouble, and what there was uncanny about his sheep-walks, and how Glam had fared. The man did not regard this, he laughed, and promised to be with Thorhall at the appointed season.

Accordingly he arrived in autumn, and he soon established himself as a favourite in the house; he romped with the children, helped his fellow-servants, and was as much liked as his predecessor had been detested. He was such a merry careless fellow that he did not think anything of the risks that lay before him, and joked about them.

When winter set in strange sights and sounds began to alarm the folk at the farm, but Thorgaut was not troubled; he slept too soundly at night to be disturbed by the heavy tread round the house.

On the day before Yule, as was his wont, Thorgaut drove out the sheep to pasture. Thorhall was uneasy. He said to him: "I pray you be careful, and do not go near the barrow under which Glam was laid."

"Don't fear for me," laughed Thorgaut, "I shall be back in time for supper, and shall attend you to church."

Night settled in, but no Thorgaut arrived. There was little mirth at table when the supper was brought in. All were anxious and fearful.

The wind was cold and wetting. Blocks of ice were driving about in the bay, grinding against each other, and the sound could be heard far up the valley. Aloft, the aurora flames were lighting up the heavens with an arch of fire. Again this Christmas night the dwellers in the farm sat up and did not go to bed, waiting for the return of Thorgaut, but he did not arrive.

Next morning he was sought, and was found lying dead across the barrow of Glam, with his spine and one leg and one arm broken. He was brought home and laid in the churchyard.

Matters now rapidly became worse. Outbuildings were broken into of a night, and their woodwork was rent and shattered; the house door was violently shaken, and great pieces of it were torn away; the gables of the house were also pulled furiously to and fro.

Now it fell out that one morning the only man who remained in the service of the family went out early. Not another servant dared to remain in the place, and this man remained because he had been with Thorhall and with his father, and he could not make up his mind to desert his master in his need. About an hour after he had gone out Thorhall's wife took her milking cans and went to the cow-house that she might milk the cows, as she had now not a maid in the house, and had to do everything herself. On reaching the door of the cow-house she heard a terrible sound from within, the bellowing of the cattle, and the deep bell-notes of an unearthly voice. She was so frightened that she dropped her pails and ran back to the house and called her husband. Thorhall was in bed, but he rose instantly, caught up a weapon, and hastened to the cow-house.

On opening the door he found all the cattle loose and goring each other. Slung across the stone that separated their stalls was the old serving-man, perfectly dead, with his back broken. He had, apparently, been tossed by the cows, and had fallen on this stone backwards.

Neither Thorhall nor his wife explained his death in this way; they thought that Glam must have been there, have driven the cattle wild, and that just as he had broken the back of Thorgaut, so had he now broken that of the poor old serving-man.

It was impossible for the bonder to remain longer in that place; he and his wife therefore removed down to Tongue, which lies at the junction of the two rivers, and there things were quiet. There he was hospitably received by Jokull. Thorhall was able to persuade some of his runaway servants to come back to him, but no man all that winter would go near the moor where was the barrow of the shepherd Glam.

Not till the summer returned, and the sun had dispelled the darkness, did Thorhall venture back to the Vale of Shadows. In the meanwhile his daughter's health had given way under the repeated alarms of the winter; she became paler every day; with the autumn flowers she faded, and was laid in the churchyard before the first snowflakes fell. What was Thorhall to do through the winter? He knew that it was not possible for him to secure servants if he remained on his own farm; besides, he did not know what loss might come to his stock. Then, he could not spend the whole winter at Tongue, for that was another bonder's house, and though the farmer there had kindly received him and entertained him for three months the winter before, he could not ask him to give him houseroom to himself, his cattle, and servants for a whole long winter.

So he was in the greatest possible perplexity what to do. Help came to him from an unexpected quarter.

Grettir had heard the story of the hauntings, and he rode to Thorhall's farm and asked if he might be accommodated there for the night. He said that it was his great desire to encounter Glam.

Thorhall was surprised, but not exactly pleased, for he thought that the family at Biarg would attribute the wrong to him were anything to happen to Grettir.

Grettir put his horse into the stable, and retired for the night to one of the beds in the hall and slept soundly.

CHAPTER XV

HOW GRETTIR FOUGHT WITH GLAM

Grettir awaits Glam – The Sound of Feet – Glam breaks into the Hall – A Strange Figure – Grettir seizes Glam – Grettir's Last Chance – Glam's Curse – The End of Glam – Was it True?

Next morning Grettir went with Thorhall to the stable for his horse. The strong wooden door was shivered and driven in. They stepped across it; Grettir called to his horse, but there was no responsive whinny. Grettir dashed into the stall and found his horse dead; its neck was broken.

"Now," said Thorhall, "I will give you a horse in exchange for that you have lost. You had better ride home to Biarg at once."

"Not at all. My horse has been killed, and I must avenge it." So Grettir remained.

Night set in. Grettir ate a hearty supper, and was right merry. But not so Thorhall, who had his misgivings. At bed-time the latter crept into a locked bedstead beside the hall; but Grettir said he would not go into a bed, he would lie by the fire in the hall. So he wrapped himself up in a long fur cloak and flung himself on a bench, with his feet against the posts of the high seat. The fur cloak was over his head, and he kept an opening through which he could look out.

There was a fire burning on the hearth, a smouldering heap of glowing embers, and by the red light Grettir looked up at the rafters of the blackened roof. The smoke escaped by a louvre in the middle. The wind whistled mournfully. The windows high up were covered with parchment, and admitted now and then a sickly yellow glare from the full moon, which, however, shone in through the smoke hole, silvering the rising smoke. A dog began to bark, then bay at the moon. Then the cat, which had been sitting demurely watching the fire, stood up with raised back and bristling tail, and darted behind some chests. The hall-door was in a sad plight. It had been so torn by Glam that it had to be patched up with wattles. Soothingly the river prattled over its shingly bed as it swept round the knoll on which stood the farm. Grettir heard the breathing of the sleeping women in the adjoining chamber, and the sigh of the housewife as she turned in her bed.

Then suddenly he heard something that shook all the sleep out of him, had any been stealing over his eyes. He heard a heavy tread, beneath which the snow crackled. Every footfall went straight to Grettir's heart. A crash on the turf overhead. The strange visitant had scrambled on the roof, and was walking over that. The roofs of the houses in Iceland are of turf. For a moment the chimney gap was completely darkened – the monster was looking down it – the flash of the red fire illumined the horrible face with its lack-lustre eyes. Then the moon shone in again, and the heavy tramp of Glam was heard as he walked to the other end of the hall. A thud – he had leaped down.

Then Grettir heard his steps passing to the back of the house, then the snapping of wood showed that Glam was destroying some of the outhouse doors. Presently the tread was heard again approaching the house, and this time the main entrance. Grettir thought he could distinguish a pair of great hands thrust in over the broken door. In another moment he heard a loud snap – a long plank had been torn out of place, and the light of the moon shone in where the gap had been made. Then Glam began to unrip the wattles.

There was a cross-beam to the door, acting as bolt. Against the gray light Grettir saw a huge black arm thrust in trying to remove the bar. It was done, and then all the broken door was driven in and went down on the floor in shivers. Now Grettir could see a tall dark figure, almost naked, with wild locks of hair about the head standing in the doorway. That was but for a minute, and then Glam came in stealthily; he entered the hall and was illumined by the firelight. The figure Grettir now saw was unlike anything he had seen before. A few rags hung from the shoulders and waist, the long wolf-gray hair was matted. The eyes were staring and strange. Grettir could hear Thorhall within his locked bed trembling and breathing fast.

Presently Glam's eyes rested on the shaggy bundle by the high seat. He stepped towards it, and Grettir felt him groping about him. Then Glam laid hold of one end of the fur cloak and began to pull at it. The cloak did not come away. Another jerk. Grettir kept his feet firmly pressed against the posts, so that the fur was not pulled away. Glam seemed puzzled; he went to the other end of the bundle and began to pull at that. Grettir held to the bench, so that he was not moved himself, but the fur cloak was torn in half, and the strange visitant staggered back holding the portion in his hand wonderingly before his eyes. Before he could recover from his surprise, Grettir started to his feet, bent his body, flung his arms round Glam, and driving his head into the breast of the visitor, tried to bend him backward and so snap his spine. This was in vain, the cold hands grasped Grettir's arms and tore them from their hold. Grettir clasped them again about his body, and then Glam threw his also round Grettir, and they began to wrestle. Grettir saw that Glam was trying to drag him to the door, and he was sure that if he were got outside he would be at a disadvantage, and Glam would break his back. He therefore made a desperate effort not to be drawn forth. He clung to benches and posts, but the posts gave way, and the benches were torn from their places.

At each moment he was being dragged nearer to the door. Sharply twisting himself loose, Grettir flung his arms round a beam of the roof, for the hall was low. He was dragged off his feet at once. Glam clenched him about the waist, and tore at him to get him loose. Every tendon in Grettir's breast was strained; still he held on. The nails of Glam cut into his side like knives, then his hands gave way. He could endure the strain no longer, and Glam drew him towards the doorway, in so doing trampling over the broken fragments of the door, and the wattles that lay about. Grettir knew that the last chance was come for saving himself. Here, in the hall, he could hold to posts and beams, and so make some resistance; but outside he would have nothing to cling to, and strong though he was, his strength did not equal that of his opponent.

Now the door-posts were of stone, and the beam that had served as bolt went across the door, slid into a hollow on one side cut in the door-post, and was pulled across and fitted into another hollow in the other post. As the wrestlers neared the opening, Grettir planted both his feet against the stone posts, one against each, and put his arms round Glam. He had the enemy now at an advantage; but then, he merely held him, and could not hold him so for ever. He called to Thorhall, but Thorhall was too greatly frightened to leave his place of refuge.

"Now," thought Grettir, "if I can but break his back!" Then drawing Glam to him by the middle, he put his head beneath the chin of his opponent and forced back the head. If he could only drive the head far enough back he would break his neck.

At that moment one or both of the door-posts gave way; down crashed the gable-trees, ripping beams and rafters from their places, frozen clods of turf rattled from the roof and thumped into the snow.

Glam fell on his back outside the door, and Grettir on top of him. The moon was, as I said before, at her full; large white clouds chased each other across the sky. Grettir's strength was failing him, his hands quivered in the snow, and he knew that he could not support himself from dropping flat on the mysterious and dreadful visitant, eye to eye, lip to lip.

Then Glam said: "You have done ill matching yourself with me; now know that never shall you be stronger than you are to-day, and that, to your dying day, whenever you are in the dark you will see my eyes staring at you, so that for very horror you will not dare to be alone."

At this moment Grettir saw his short sword in the snow, it had slipped from his belt as he fell. He put out his hand at once, clutched the handle, and with a blow cut off Glam's head, and at once laid it beside his thigh.

Thorhall came out at this juncture, his face blanched; but when he saw how the fray had ended, he joyfully assisted Grettir to roll the dead man to the top of a pile of faggots that had been collected for winter fuel. Fire was applied, and soon far down the Waterdale the flames of the pyre startled folks, and made them wonder what new horror was being enacted in the Vale of Shadows.

Next day the charred bones were conveyed a long way – some hours' ride – into the great desert in the interior, and in one of the most lonely spots there a cairn or pile of stones was heaped over them. I have seen this mound, which is still pointed out as that under which the redoubted Glam lies.

And now we may well ask, what truth is there in the story? That there is a basis of truth can hardly be denied. The facts have been embellished, worked up, but not invented. The only probable explanation of the story is this.

As already said, further up the valley, in a spot difficult to be reached, stood the old fortress of some robbers, with many caves in the sandstone about it very convenient for shelter. Now, it is not improbable that some madman may have taken refuge in this safe retreat, and may have come out at night in search of food, and carried off the sheep of Thorhall. It may be that Glam caught him attempting to steal a sheep, and fought with him, and was killed, and that in like manner Thorgaut was killed. Then when people saw a great wild man wandering about they thought it was Glam, whereas it was the man who had haunted the region before Glam came there, and had killed Glam. This is the simplest and easiest explanation of this wild and fearful tale.

CHAPTER XVI

HOW GRETTIR SAILED TO NORWAY

Olaf the Saint – Slowcoach with the Nimble Tongue – Slowcoach insults Grettir – Ill Words – Death of Slowcoach – In Search of Luck

Early in the spring of the year 1015, news reached Iceland of a change of rulers in Norway. Olaf Harald's son, commonly known as Olaf the Saint, had come to be King of Norway; Earl Sweyn had been defeated in battle and driven out of the country. Now Grettir was remotely connected with the king, that is to say, his father's grandfather was brother to the grandfather of Asta, Olaf's mother. The cousinship was somewhat distant; but in those days folk held to their kin more than they do now. Grettir thought that a good chance had opened to him for doing well in Norway, so he resolved to leave Iceland, and enter the service of his relative, the king. There was a ship bound for Norway lying in Eyjafiord, and Grettir engaged a berth in her, and made ready for the voyage.

Now his father Asmund was very old and feeble, and was well nigh bedridden. He had given over the entire management of the farm to his eldest son Atli, and to young Illugi, who was a few years younger than Grettir. Atli was everywhere liked, he was such a prudent, peaceable, and kindly man.

Grettir's ill-luck still followed him; for, as it chanced, Thorbiorn, the Slowcoach, the relation of Thorbiorn Oxmain, had resolved to go to Norway also, and in the same ship. Now the Slowcoach may have been overslow in his movements, but he was overnimble with his tongue, and he was strongly advised either not to go in the same boat with Grettir, or, if he did, to mind his words.

Such advice was thrown away on the Slowcoach, who, instead of practising caution, in order to show himself off, began to brag of his strength, and to say scurvy things of Grettir, which were duly reported by tale-bearers to Grettir. Consequently, when Grettir arrived in the Eyjafiord with his goods, he was not very amiably disposed towards the Slowcoach. However Atli had impressed on him the necessity of controlling himself, and Grettir was resolved not to quarrel with the man unless he could not help it.

At the side of the shore, those who were about to sail had run up booths and cabins for themselves and their stores. Many of those going in the boat were chapmen, and they took with them goods with which to traffic in Norway.

Just as the vessel was ready, and about to sail next day, Slowcoach arrived, slow as usual, and after every one else was ready, and their goods on board. As it was the last evening on shore, all the merchants and seamen were sitting about their booths, when Thorbiorn Slowcoach arrived, and rode along the lane between the wooden cabins. The men shouted to him to know if he had any news to tell them.

Thorbiorn's eye caught that of Grettir, who was sitting on a bench, and he answered, "I don't hear any news, except that the old idiot Asmund of Biarg is dead."

This was not true; the old man was not dead, but very ill. Some of those who heard him said, "That is sad news indeed, for he was a worthy and honourable old man, and he could ill be spared."

"I don't know that," said Thorbiorn with a scornful laugh.

"But how did he die? What did he die of?"

"Die of?" repeated the Slowcoach loud enough to be heard by Grettir. "Smothered like a dog in the poky little kennel they call their hall at Biarg. As for any loss in him, it is news to me that the world is not well rid of dotards."

"These are ill words," said those who heard him. "No good man will speak slightingly of old and blameless chiefs. Besides, such words as these Grettir will not endure."

"Grettir!" scoffed Thorbiorn. "Before I face him I must see him use his weapons better than he did last summer, when engaged with Kormak. Then I put my elbow between them, and Grettir was but too ready to accept the interference. I never saw a man before so shake in his shoes."

Thereat Grettir stood up, and controlling himself, said, "If I have any faculty of foresight, Slowcoach, I see that you will not be smothered with smoke like a dog. You should have done other than speak foul words of very aged men. Gray hairs deserve respect."

"I don't think more of your foresight than I do of the wisdom of your old fool of a father," said Thorbiorn.

The end was that they fought. The insult was too gross to be endured, and Grettir felt it incumbent on him to strike for his father's honour. The fight did not last long; the Slowcoach was slow in his fighting, slow of hand, only not slow of tongue, and Grettir's sharp sword wounded him to death.

Slowcoach was buried in the nearest churchyard; and the chapmen gave Grettir credit for having restrained himself as long as possible, and allowed that, according to the ideas of the time, he was justified in fighting and killing the Slowcoach for his spiteful and strife-provoking words. But Grettir was not pleased, he regretted the contest, because he knew that it left occasion of strife behind, which might occasion Atli trouble. Thorbiorn Oxmain would, lie feared, be sure to take up the quarrel, and then Atli would have to pay a heavy fine in silver to atone for the death.

The vessel set sail, and reached the south of Norway. There Grettir took ship in a trading keel, to go north to Drontheim, because he heard that the king was there, and his heart beat high with hopes that Olaf would acknowledge him as a cousin, and would take him into his body-guard, and treat him with honour; and that so, though he had had ill-luck in Iceland, good luck might attend him in Norway.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HOSTEL BURNING

Aground in the Fiord – The Light over the Water – Grettir Swims Across – The Fight for Fire – The Burned Hostel – At Drontheim

There lived a man named Thorir at Garth in Iceland who had spent the summer in Norway when Olaf returned from England, and he had stood in great favour with the king. He had two sons, and at this time both were well-grown men.

Thorir left Norway for Iceland, where he broke up his ship, not intending again to go a seafaring. But when he heard the tidings that Olaf was king over the whole of Norway, then he deemed it would be well for his sons to go there and pay their respects to the king, and remind him of his old friendship for their father.

On reaching Norway much about the same time as had Grettir, they took a long rowing-boat, and skirted the coast on their way north to Drontheim. They preceded Grettir by a few days. On reaching a fine fiord, in which there was shelter from the gales that began to bluster violently with the approach of winter, the sons of Thorir ran in their boat, and as there was a large wooden hostelry there built for the shelter of weather-bound travellers, they took refuge in it, and spent their days in hunting and their nights in revelry.