Lögberg-Heimskringla - 21.10.1994, Blaðsíða 4

4 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 21. október 1994
G rím kell’s
Story
The fouríh installment ofan unpublished novel
by Ragnhildur Guttormsson, discovered and edited by Kirsten Wolf,
Chair, Dept. of Icelandic, University of Manitoba.
The story so far:
Grímkell and Signý are finally betrothed.
Signý’s brother, Torfi, an enemy of Grímkell,
is enraged and vows to thwart
the marriage.
CHAPTER IV
The Weddm^ Peast
By Ragnhildur Guttormsson
Edited by Kirsten Wolf
Signý was on her bridal journey
to become the wife of Grímkell,
chieftain-priest of Ölfus Lake.
She was riding her good horse
Blackmane and had stopped in the
mountain pass overlooking Northern
Smoky Valley to take a long last look
at her childhood home. At the bot-
tom of the valley, the White River lay
like a crinkly, white ribbon across the
green meadows, the whole scene soft-
ened by the ever present mist from
the hot springs. In the distance rose
the snow-crowned mountains like
sentinels on duty. Her life there had
always been that of a well-protected
gentle-woman. It had not been easy
to leave her aged father, whom she
might never see again. But this was
his will, and when she was honest
with herself, it was hers also, even
though her brother Torfi resented this
marriáge so strongly. And lately, her
son Grímr had slipped from her con-
trol into that of Torfi, which was cus-
tomary at that period, but which had
made her lonely.
“A bride shouldn’t look back too
long, Signý.” It was Little Grímr,
who spoke, her faithful friend and
cousin. He had dismounted and held
his horse by the bridle, as he also
looked down into the valley.
“A bride knows so little of what’s
ahead, but she knows what she’s
leaving,” answered Signý, somewhat
sadly. “I’d be happier if Torfi was rid-
ing with us.”
“So would I,” answered Little
Grímr. “But let’s ride on, Signý, and
overtake the others. We have to get to
Þverfell tonight so as to make Ölfus
by tomorrow.”
Before they had gone far, Kollr
from Lundi came to meet them. He
was in charge of the bridal party,
being the oldest and noblest of the
thirty guests who followed Signý to
the wedding. Valbrandr had made
him his deputy, as he was not well
enough to make the journey and Torfi
refused to go. It was Kollr’s duty to
formally present the bride to the
groom, and after the wedding he
would hand over to the bridegroom
the betrothal purse of four hundred
silver, which Valbrandr had given
into his keeping. He was also sup-
posed to hand over Signý’s dowry of
four hundred silver to equal the
betrothal purse, all of which became
the bride’s property. This Torfi was
supposed to pay out of Signy’s for-
tune, but he had absented himself
and said nothing about it, so Signý
was riding to her wedding without
her dowry.
“Is your horse tiring, Signý, that
you lag behind?” asked Kollr as he
came up with them.
“Blackmane never tires,” answered
Signý, as she leaned forward and pat-
ted the neck of her silver-grey charg-
er. “If we were to turn back now, how
he would fly!”
“Yes, Blackmane was ever loath to
leave home,” said Little Grímr. “I’m
afraid he’ll have to be hobbled
tonight, or he’ll be back in the valley
by morning.”
“Blackmane and I are not used to
hobbles, and we don’t take kindly to
them,” answered Signý. “But do as
you think best.”
Next morning was foggy and still,
and the grass was drenched with dew.
When the horses were rounded up,
Blackmane was missing. On being
told, Little Grímr rode off to search.
It was easy to follow Blackmane’s
trail in the dew, and he had set off in
the direction of home as Little Grímr
had predicted.
The fog had cleared away when
Little Grímr was seen coming back
without Blackmane. The sun was up,
changing the dew-pearled meadow to
a sea of sparkling, gay-coloured jew-
els. Signý walked apart to meet Little
Grímr; she noticed he was carrying
Blackmane’s hobble.
“Dead,” he said in a low voice. “In
an earth-slip.”
“Where?”
“In the mountain pass from where
he could look down into the valley.”
Hot tears rolled down Signý’s
cheeks; she made no move to check
them. She stretched out her hand for
the hobble and let it slide through her
fingers as if stroking it.
“Bíackmane hated hobbles. This is
an ill omen, and I’d like to return
home.” Signý looked helplessly about
her.
“You can’t do that, Signý. It would
make us the laughing stock of the
country-side and create more ill-feel-
ing.” It was Kollr speaking. The faces
of her friends all said the same. They
were sympathetic, they all under-
stood her feelings, but they all agreed
with Kollr.
Her old foster-mother Þórdís was
the only one to put it into words,
“Signý, child, a husband is more than
a horse.”
Slowly, Signý moved with the oth-
ers towards the horse-stone, where
some of the party were already
mounting. After a while the whole
party was riding towards Ölfus Lake.
Little Grímr lingered behind only
long enough to make arrangements
with their host at Þverfell to build a
cairn around Blackmane in the pass.
He was to stand and look down into
the valley he had tried so hard to
reach.
Grímkell met his bride and her
party a good distance from Ölfus
Lake with a host of guests. Tents had
been raised, and mead and other
refreshments awaited the weary trav-
ellers. Kollr led Signý to Grímkell.
He joined their hands and pro-
nounced them husband and wife.
Then he handed Grímkell the
betrothal purse of silver. He also ten-
dered the regrets of Valbrandr, who
because of old age had not been able
to attend the wedding. No mention
was made of Torfi or the missing
dowry.
Signý and Grímkell exchanged a
long searching look as they joined
hands as husband and wife, but each
turned away unsatisfied.
Grímkell thought: “This cannot be
the girl who has lived in my memory
for fourteen years. Where’s the joy-
ous, heart-warming smile that was to
bring sunshine into my lonely life?”
And Signý: “He does have a cold,
calculating look. Maybe Torfi is
right.”
Afterwards, Grímkell and Signý
rode side by side in the bridal proces-
sion at the head of the train of guests.
Many remarked what a good couple
they made, but everybody noticed
they were somewhat silent.
When the bridal procession
arrived at Ölfus Lake, everything was
ready for the wedding feast. Inside
the great hall, the long tables groaned
under large wooden platters of meat
and salmon. The benches were all
dusted and waiting. In the middle of
the northern bench was Grímkell’s
high seat, while across the hall was
another a little lower where ICollr was
seated.
Across the west end of the hall
was a high floor or dais where the
ladies sat. The bride was seated on
the high seat in the centre, and the
other ladies on each side of her
according to age and rank. There was
no mistaking the bride in a blue gold-
embroidered kirtle and with a high
white headdress, while her red-gold
hair fell unhindered over her shoul-
ders. On her breast smouldered the
blue-green opal.
Grímkell could hardly keep his
eyes off his bride. This was the girl he
had fallen in love with fourteen years
ago. She laughed and she sparkled as
she talked to the ladies around her.
The merry-making was at its
height; the tables had been cleared,
Cont’d p. 5