Lögberg-Heimskringla - 14.04.1995, Blaðsíða 4

4 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 14. apríl 1995
Grímkell
By Ragnhildur Guttormsson
Edited by Kirsten Wolf
The twenty-six installment ofan unpublished novel
by Ragnhildur Guttormsson, discovered and
edited by Kirsten Wolf, Chair, Dept. oflcelandic, University of Manitoba.
Early next day they reached a pass
in the mountains from where
Helga could look down into
Skorradalr. There was Indriðastaðr on
the shore of the long, beautiful lake
Hörðr had told her about. For a while
they lay down and rested. The boys slept
but Helga could not sleep. She did not
know what their reception would be.
Had Þorbjörg’s regard for Hörðr also
tumed to hate? She could not believe it.
After a while she roused the boys, and
they kept on down into the valley. The
going was easier, but Helga followed the
copsewood as much as possible to avoid - dreams, but she had heard nothing from
being seen. The sun was high in the sky, the meeting. She looked up with a start
The story so far:
With Hörðr slain by his enemies, his wife
and chiidren must seek sanctuary.
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when they found themselves by the gar-
den wall surrounding the manor. Helga’s
strength was nearly spent. She sat down
on the green sward, the boys beside her.
After a while she spoke to Grímkell.
“You’re our spokesman now, Grímkell.”
“Yes, mother. What do you wish me
to do?”
“This is your aunt’s manor. You’re to
go to the ladies entrance of the great
hall. The lady in the high seat on the
dais will be your aunt Þorbjörg. If she’s
not there, ask one of the servants to lead
you to her, but don’t tell them who you
are. When you’ve found her ask her to
speak to you alone.”
“Yes, mother.”
The grave, blue eyes of the ten-year-
old lad were bent upon his mother in his
eagerness to understand. Helga’s heart
tumed over within her, he looked so like
his father. The thoughtful, level'look of
his eyes that seemed to be searching
your very soul; the fair, wavy hair, now
dull and matted with sea water; the stur-
dy, young body, now clad in a torn,
rough homespun tunic. “When you’ve
led your aunt away ffom the others, ask
her for sanctuary for your brother, your
mother, and yourself. If she promises
you that, bring her here.”
“And if she doesn’t promise, moth-
er?”
“Bring her here anyway,” said Helga
wearily.
“If she hurts you or Björn, I’ll kill
her,” said Grímkell passionately.
“Hush, child. She’ll not hurt us.”
Þorbjörg was sitting on the women’s
dais when Grímkell came to the door.
Her rest had been broken by heavy
when the forlom-looking little lad came
to her knees.
“Are you Þorbjörg?” he asked in a
thin voice, which he tried hard to keep
steady. Þorbjörg stood up quickly, took
him by the hand, and led him outside.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked, anx-
iously.
Grímkell’s face was working, but he
answered firmly, “Will you promise me
sanctuary for my mother, my brother
Bjöm, and myself, aunt Þorbjörg?”
“Of course, child. Take me to your
mother.”
When Þorbjörg came Helga rose to
meet her. Clad in tatters, sea-weed cling-
ing to her matted hair and her feet tom
and bleeding, she was still the proud
Earl’s daughter.
“We’ve come,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Would that you’d
come sooner. For three long years I’ve
waited for you and Hörðr.”
“For three years? Why weren’t we
told? We didn’t know your home was
open to us.”
“Then Helgi never told you?”
“Helgi only told us that Indriði would
render us no aid.”
“No wonder Hörðr was bitter,” said
Þorbjörg.
Helga let herself fall down on the
grass. Long, agonizing sobs shook her
slender body, as she covered her face
with her hands. Bjöm sat up and shook
his baby fists at Þorbjörg.
“Go away, bad lady!” he shouted.
“You promised us sanctuary,”
Grímkell said, accusingly.
“Never mind, children. I’ll be better.
I’m just weeping for the last time for
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what might have been.”
“Why should Helgi prove so disloy-
al?” Þorbjörg pondered.
“He probably thought your home
wouldn’t be open to him. He couldn’t
bear to be separated from Hörðr.”
“Don’t let’s tarry here, sister-in-law,”
said Þorbjörg, “there’ll be guests before
long, and they must not find you here.”
Tenderly she assisted the weeping
Helga to her feet.
“Thank you, Þorbjörg. I must be
strong. My sons are still young and I
have a duty to fulfill.”
“So have I,” said Þorbjörg firmly.
Their eyes met, and their hands met;
a long, silent look and a handclasp that
told everything; their mutual love for
the dead hero and their mutual resolve
that he be avenged. There was also
something else in Þorbjörg’s look: a
deep esteem for Helga, the mother.
It was almost evening, when Indriði
came home. He brought with him a
flock of men, some of his friends, who
still had a day’s joumey to their homes.
The days were getting short; a film of
autumn lay like a veil over the land-
scape, and the green vividness of sum-
mer was gone. Even the clouds seemed
purplish with cold, and the sun, shining.
pale between banks of clouds, looked
indifferent and far away.
The men were haggard and tired like
conquerors drunk with their victory.
They spoke but little, but Þorbjörg
knew they mentioned Hörðr, and every
word was tinged with respect and
regret.
Þorbjörg and her maids plied the
guests with food and mead. When the
tables had been removed and the mead
had loosened the tongues of the men,
she sat down with her maids on the
dais and listened to the talk. In a calm
voice, she asked questions, until she
had been told the whole story of the
conflict. It was easy to see the men
admired her cool dignity and courage.
She heard them laud Hörðr for his
valor, strength, and skill, and deplore
his untimely end. They spoke of his
friends who had aided in his downfall,
and of the hatred of Torfi. Nothing was
said about his kin-folks not coming to
his aid, but she saw Indriði was ill at
ease.
The talk flowed on.
“There never was such a man
before.”
“He’ll not drink alone in Valhöll
tonight. Thirteen of our men he took
with him, and sixty outlaws followed
him there.”
“No wonder the valkyries rode last
night.”
She also heard about their search in
Geirhólmr for Helga and her sons, and
how all the men agreed they must have
thrown themselves off the roclc and
been drowned.
She looked on calmly, when Refr
the Old showed off Hörðr’s good
sword that had been his share of the
booty. Without a tremor in her voice,
she remarked, “He gave you one
almost as good, Indriði.”
Indriði’s face went red, but he said
nothing.
Indriði left his high seat rather early
and went to his bed chamber. When
Þorbjörg came in after giving orders
about the sleeping quarters for so many
guests, he had retired. She was carry-
ing a small candle, shielding it with one
hand. Indriði watched her through
half-closed eyes; he was uneasy about
her. This calm was not natural; he
knew she was feigning unconcem.
The light from the candle broke on
an object Þorbjörg was carrying in her
right hand, a sharp, gleaming dagger.
Her eyes were wild and bloodshot. She
laughed hysterically and lunged at
Indriði.
“Hearing of so much blood, I want-
ed to see some too,” she said, but her
voice broke, and her body was racked
with sobs. Indriði rose up in bed and
took hold of her hand. The dagger
ripped a gash in his arm while Þorbjörg
fell weeping across the bed.
“I might have known I couldn’t do
it,” she sobbed. “You thought I didn’t
care though you hacked my brother to
pieces and brought your friends here to
boast of it.”
“You’ve been hard hit, Þorbjörg,
and I don’t blame you greatly for this.
To my dying day I’ll regret last night’s
work. I might have proved myself a
better friend to Hörðr, knowing how
you cherished him. Now I’d like to
know how I may win your regard
again.
“First of all, kill Þorsteinn
Goldbutton,” answered Þorbjörg.
Next day Indriði came home after a
fast ride. He gave his horse to a groom
and asked for Þorbjörg.
She was in the underground buttery
where he found her. Without speaking
he handed her Hörðr’s gold ring.
“My first pledge is fulfilled.” Her
tone was hard and cold as steel.
“I’d like to be assured that we’re
friends again, Þorbjörg, the same as
we’ve always been,” pleaded Indriði. “I
can’t bear to lose your regard.”
“I’ve one more request which you
must grant before I’ll fully forgive you.
If you’ll give shelter and protection to
Helga and her sons, all my love shall
be yours henceforth.”
(Continued next week)