Thorstein of the mere; a saga of the Northmen in Lakeland

Front matter

WMBUh

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A SAGA OF THE NORTHMEN IN LAKELAND

Chapter Ii.— The Homestead At Greenodd

NCE upon an afternoon in summer time it was that our story begins, nine hundred winters and twenty and one since our Lord was born. Swein and his people had been but seven winters at Greenodd ; yet they had built a good house, and cleared land to farm it, and made the place look something like home.

So one afternoon before summer was over, Unna sat rocking her baby Thorstein to sleep, and sewing as she stirred the cradle with her foot, and singing as she sewed.

She wore a gown of ruddy colour, long sleeved ; with a kerchief round her neck, and a housewife’s apron ; but because she was of high birth, she had a gold band like a crown round her head, and her yellow hair was tucked about it and fell away unbraided from under a white headrail. A silken pocket hung from her belt, and on her finger was a gold ring ; but her jewels for the most part were locked away in a kist, against high-days and holidays. For this was a working day, and every one was busy.

Most folk were out of doors that time of year ; only the mother was at home, minding the baby after her morning’s turn round the farm ; and to keep her company, an old nurse who, being a brisk body, was putting in a spell of work at a standing loom of the ancient make. She threw the shuttle slowly, and combed up the web but slackly, for the afternoon was warm, and the sun outside beat upon the roof of the house and made it hot. For the house was like one of our barns with its rafters and beams unceiled : and though it was heavily thatched, the air was hot within. It was somewhat gloomy too, in spite of the bright sheen that lay on field and fell. Though door and porch door stood open, the rest of the place was lit only by the smoke-hole in the roof. Through the hole a ray of sunlight shot across the hall, and caught on the chain of the hanging lamp, and lit up the thin smoke that rose in the midst. For the hearth fire was never let out if they could help. Even in summer it was needed morning and evening for their cooking, and bad to kindle from fire-stones and rotten sticks. So as wood and peat were plentiful, it was smothered between whiles just to keep it alight, and thus went on from year’s end to year’s end.

The hearth was in the middle of the floor, raised a little and paved with cobbles set in sammel clay. One could sit round it, working and tale-telling, and watching acorns and crab apples roast, and the boiling of their porridge in the great pot that hung by an iron crook and a chain from the house-beam over-head. And grand times they had of winter’s evenings with their great fires of dry twigs — chats, we call them— or else logs of which one end was out at the door while the other was blazing under the black pot, slowly burning away. They tell a tale of an old house where such a log had been keeping the fire up for three days, when— whoop ! out flew an owl.

Up through the gloom and the little space of sun went the thin blue smoke, like a stripe of rain from April clouds. At the roof it was caught by the chimney flue, which was covered like a belfry with a flagstone laid flat upon pillars, but opening out beneath and crossed by the house-beam. In the smoke hung the last hams and dried meat of the year before. For at the back end of the year they always hung their flesh meat against the winter, and Unna was too wise a house-wife to let them eat all up before the next store was laid in, however plentiful the season might be.

You must know this “ firehouse ” was the main hall and living room of the homestead. Bedcupboards there were alongside of it within the wall, and out-buildings ; and a loft among the beams, and an earth-house or cellar dug out under the floor at one end of the hall. But the fire-house was the House, as one may say ; and in a homely spot like this backwood bigging at Greenodd a thousand years since, everything went forward in the firehouse ; cooking and eating, work and play, business and pleasure. This was their hearth and home.

At one corner were its door and porch opening upon the garth, and at the back part were out-buildings rising sharply up the hill behind. At the ends of the hall under the gables were great arks and kists against the wall, and at one end the aforesaid loom : but along the side were hung the men’s weapons, spears and shields and coats of mail, and their hunting and fishing tackle, well out of the way, over long benches that lined the hall on either hand.

In the middle of the benches were two high seats, one on this side and one on that, over against it. They were like the great elbow-chairs or settles you see in old farm-houses ; roomy enough for three, carved on their high backs, and with carved heads to their posts in front. The children had a tale that one head was father and one was mother : older folk would say the figures stood for Odin and Freya. Anyway they were something more than just ornaments ; they gave a holiness to the place, and made the high seat of the master as it were a kind of temple-stall.

Before the benches on one side stood a long narrow table, all of oak, like the seats and the wainscotting and the rest, brown already with age and bright with rubbing : but on the other side the tables had been taken off their trestles and laid up to make more room, and because half their men were abroad with Swein at sea. On this side sat Unna in her own high seat with the cradle at her feet, and before her the hearth with its thin smoke going up, and the sun-ray striking through it, and blazing in the fern that was strewed on the floor. And when the sun-spot crept upon the cradle she stooped down and moved it a little backwards, so that the bright light should not wake the baby. And when he stirred she pushed the cradle with her foot and sang again while she sewed at his shirt. And the loom went clattering on with the steady noise that is good for babies’ slumber. Nothing else was heard, except the birds singing in the green-wood around, and far-away clamour of people working in the fields.

When the baby was sound asleep again, Unna rose, and walked softly to see where his brothers might be : and her gown trailed on the ferny floor. She stood in the porch and called, but not too loudly, “ Ho ! Orm ! Hundi ! where are you ? what are you doing ? ”

, But they were off. And so she sat down again and sewed till her eyelids were heavy with the warmth and the dimness of the place.

“ Eh, barn,” she said, “ what makes one so drowsy ? sleep by day and starve at night, they used to say.”

“ Most like a stranger is coming,” said the old woman from

the loom.

For it was thought that a man’s fetch went before and brought slumber.

“ Few strangers here but bad ones,” said Unna.

“ May be it’s the master and the men.”

“ Why, they are gone but these three weeks, and who knows when they may come back, and how ? And it’s weary waiting, and a deal on one’s hands : let alone the chances of raid and robbery.”

“ What, there’s Raud thy brother and all,” said the old woman sharply. “ And folk must live. It would be ill liked if the master never brought home an armful of finery, or another hand or so for the farm, or a barrel of somewhat sharper than we can brew.”

“ Aye, it’s a lone spot : not that I complain : for Raud is a handy lad. It will be a bad day when he takes land upbank, as he talks of doing.”

“ Nay, never heed his talk. He must light on some one fit first,” answered the weaver : “ and how will he do that hereaway, I’d like to know ? As for thy man, and my man, and the rest, they are men, with hands to their elbows and heads on their shoulders.”

“ Or had, you may say, to start with,” said Unna with a sigh.

“ Heads, aye, and know their ways about. Look at my old man. These forty winters he has come back to me the same as ever.”

“ Aye, he has a cat’s life, has old Toli.”

“ Not so old as that comes to, neither,” said the crone. “ And thankful we should be for our good men and for a good roof over us. Eh, child, when I think on all we have come through.”

“ No fells, no dales,” said she : “ no loom, no clatter ; ” but she hastened to add “ I am out of sorts to-day. There’s overmuch to be done before they come, to redd all up for the back end. There are his sarks which were put by at the washing, and I warrant never rightly smoothed. I wonder where the lasses have put the linen-glasses.” And she got up and walked uneasily to the wardrobe kists.

“ Nay, barn, let it be : it’s none of thy job,” said the old woman ; muttering to her loom, for there was nobody else to hear. “ The mistress is queer and fidgetty to-day. One might think somewhat was going to happen.”

The lasses were raking hay, and the round knobs of glass which they used to smooth linen were not where they should have been. Unna went again to the door. Over the water, and all round, wooded hills shook in the heat-haze. She shaded her eyes and looked once more for Orm and Hundi, but nought she spied. She came back and sat on a stool against her high-seat, and tried to sew. But the sun-spot crept on to her lap, like some little wounded animal, dragging itself painfully to refuge there. It shone through her work, and through her fingers, so that they seemed blood-red : and it dived into the red stone in her ring, and made it redder than blood : and it burned on the gold like the whole sun itself, a blaze of n^stery, a dream of glory.

Clitter-clatter the loom went on. “ Poor soul,” said the old woman: “ best thing she can do” — as she saw Unna’s tired head sink back against the post of the high-seat, and her long white throat slide out of the white neckerchief, and her chin heaved up, like a blown wild rose leaf, warm in the reflected sunshine.

Then in the stillness the sun-spot dragged itself off her hand and off her lap, and tumbled to the floor again in one • ronndel, just like a bubble that gathers /tself together in the dark pool under a waterfall, out of the shattering of the spray : a dream of death.

Clitter-clatter went on the loom nevertheless : and the birds sang still in the green world outside. The mother’s dreams were soft and sweet, of life’s love, and life’s labour, that never fail nor come to bitterness ; for these regard not glory, and fear not death.

Chapter Iii.— Swein’s Home-coming

NOW we leave Mistress Unna and baby Thorstein asleep, to tell about Orm and Hundi and how they floated boats. Those boys had run off to the workshop where

IO smithying was done, and found a heap of chips and shavings, and made each of them a boat, with a thin shaving for a sail : like the lad Harald (Hardradi they called him later) when Olaf the Saint asked him what were those chips and shavings. “ My war-ships,” said he. Of course they must away to the beck, as nobody was there to shout after them. So they ran over the cobble-paved garth between the byres, and out at the gate of the turf wall that stood round about the “ town.” Then they were at the boat-landing, among planks and rollers, ropes and chains, and the delicious smell of tar that hung about the boat building sheds, and reeked in the hot sunshine.

The shore was steep, and shelving into a dub just there: so they ran downbank towards the flats that open out below the point. Under the crags and fir-trees of the nab they had to scramble over rocks and stones, and to splash through salt pools left by the outgoing tide : but soon they came to a stretch of rippled sand between fell and firth, and waded a beck that flowed from the woods and wound northward along their edge to join the Leven.

“ Ha ! ” said Orm, “ now we are on my fairy island. It is all gold, and yon side the beck runs down, and yon side the beck runs up. Now we are on my holm, and I will fight thee for thy boat.”

So Orm beat Hundi, and ran off with both the boats and pushed them from the shore until they sailed downbank with the tide. There was no one to cry for, so Hundi held his peace : he brushed his eyes with his hand and pattered on, his bare feet crisping the soppy sand ripples, and leaving their prints in a chain of little tarns. And when he came to the next bend in the river, lo and behold his own boat came straight to shore and into his hands, while the boat that Orm had made was rocking in mid-channel with its sail draggled in the water. Orm began to throw handfuls of sand over it, to draw it in : and while they were intent upon this job and keeping no look out, suddenly they heard shouts not far off, and the clash of oars, and a great craft swung round into i r

that reach and bore straight down upon the chip boat. A moment they stood dumfoundered, and then turned and ran for the woods like young rabbits. For in those days it was no idle threat when mothers said to truant boys — “ Mind you don’t go out of sight, for fear a man catches you.”

But just when the throb began to beat very hard in their throats, and they were stopped by the steep crumbling banks of the little beck that bounded the holm, they heard, like a shepherd calling sheep, “ Ho, Orm ! ho, Hundi ! ho ! ” and they turned and locked: and' then looked at one another with bright eyes and panting too much to laugh. They set off running back to the ship, which they knew well enough now. The rowers had easied and brought her close to the edge of the sandbank : and that could well be done, for she drew very little water and was nigh flat bottomed. Swein, with a brown square face, and bushy fair beard, and bright blue eyes laughing out of the locks of his tawny hair, came wading ashore. He caught up one child under each arm, waded out again, and hoisted them to hands aboard. d hen catching at the gunwale near the steering oar, he raised himself halflength and vaulted over. The water dripped from his gartered hose and blue kirtle skirts : for his mail-coat was doffed, and he wore only a belted kirtle or blouse over his white linen sark.

“ Eh, father, mother will snape thee for getting of thyself in a mess !” said Hundi compassionately. “But never heed her : I’ll say it was to fetch us aboard.”

“ But my dragon is wrecked,” grumbled Orm.

“ And is that all you have to say to your old father when he comes home ? ”

“Nay,” said Orm, looking round coolly, “what have ye brought me ? ”

“ No great things, barn, this trip,” said Swein, with half a smile, as he took the steering oar. “ Now then, lads, all’s well, by this token. The barnes say little, but there is enough of it, and enow of them. Forward all now ; a spurt to finish our day’s work. Lift her ! here she goes. Lift her ! ”

A dozen of long blades, six aside, with a couple of men at each', churned the sandy shallows, as the boat swept round the curve and up stream. Long in the keel and low in the board she was, with swinging curves at stem and stern rising swan-like to the figure-head and the carved stern-post. But the ugly dragon mask was taken off the bows, now that they were so near home ; for it was a belief among these people that the land-wights, good fairies and useful brownies, would be scared by such a sight, or at least take it in dudgeon, and depart. So the figure-head had a good face for home-waters, and a hideous one to put on when they got out to sea and to work among strangers. The gunwales were notched into dog-tooth markings and what old wives call box-pattern in their quiltings. The strong upstanding tholes were curiously carved with knots and worm-twists. Great oars were lashed to these tholes and the rowers stood to their work and pushed the handles. There was a step for a mast forward, but the mast and yard were lying along the gangway that ran between the ranks of rowers, from the decked forecastle to the quarter deck ; and the sail, useless to-day, was wrapped about the spars. There was little else to be seen : the few bales or chests she might carry were stowed below, and her decks were clear, as if at any moment she might meet with an enemy. Over the gunwale hung the men’s shields, a dozen aside, each by its strap from its own pin, and ready to be caught up in the twinkling of an eye. Black and gold they were painted for the most part, and if one was more black then the next was more golden, so they made a fine show from without.

Every man aboard was a sturdy fellow, who would go through with it, whatever he took in hand ; bronzed with the sun and great-thewed with downright hard work. Some of them were Swein’s own Northmen from the Isle of Man, old comrades and followers of former days : some were Welsh of the country, his bought servants, but trusty men under a good leader. They were all his house-mates, or lived in cots of their own hard by.

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So now that they were near home they laid to with a will. The children played helping father with the steering sweep, which knocked them over every time it was put up or down.. Swein gave the stroke, faster and faster as the landing place came in sight, with his “ Lift her ! ” and they made her spin up the last reach. Round she went, and half-way up the bank ploughing the sand. Orm and Hundi tumbled on the deck laughing. Then out men leapt, and ran her up on her rollers above high-water mark, as they were used with these light flat-bottomed craft. The easier it was, for by now they were spied and recognised from the fields, and a dozen farm servants had run down to lend a hand.

You may be sure it was merry-night that evening at Greenodd, and Unna was wide awake and bustling to make amends for her laziness, as she called it. The servant lasses had a busy time, with the fire to stoke, and the supper to cook, and the tables to set. Meanwhile the men went to their bath in the bath-house, and shifted their sea-clothes. Long before the sun sank behind the high fell at the back of the house they were sitting at meat, cooled and ravenous, on the long hall-benches, behind heaps of barley cake and haverbread, and dried fish ; great bowls of broth and porridge into which many spoons were dipped at once : and platters of butter and cheese and curds, and trenchers piled with steaks, which they ate with their sheath-knives: and it may be said for them that if some eat foully with forks, others, to the manner bred, can eat fairly with fingers. As to drinking, the lasses had their work in running to and fro with ale and buttermilk, to slocken thirsty men who had rowed from Carnforth since breakfast on a broiling hot day.

Chapter Iv.— On The Howe

SWEIN was in his own high seat, and while the din lasted ate like another, looking now and then but shyly through the hearth-smoke at Unn over against him. At last “ Eat, Unna ! ” he cried, “ and take thy supper. One i4 would think I was a merman, and stared at for a show, Sup thy porridge, lass, and be hearty.”

“ I have supped,” she said, “ and supped well.”

“ Supped with her eyes,” said old Toli, for here he was, holding out his empty horn. “ A big supper, too, but a dry one.”

“ I’ve seen her eat nought,” said Swein. “ What has she supped on ? ”

“ Thee,” said Toli. “ Eh, Mistress ? ”

But Unna, though she was used to the uncourtly ways of ber own folk and could laugh at a rough jest, was less at ease than she had hoped to be. When the meal began, she had looked lovingly across at her man, making out his features one by one through the dimness and the smoke, watching for the open smile that he was used to give her, on such nights as these of home-coming, when his first hunger was stayed and the feasting was forward': the free smile and friendly nod that signalled all’s well. But this time it was long in coming : and she got only the half glances and the rough and puzzling “ Eat, child.” Her eyes filled with tears, and her mind flew to chances of mishap. There were all the men back, and no wounds to be seen : the ship was safe : what could it be? Some woman in the case. What else? And her quick wit, wrong for once, revealed to her, like a lightning flash, a whole story of dismay.

Men were fed by now, and they drank healths, first to Odin for the kinsfolk, and then to Niord and Frey for peace and plenty. When they were come to the cup for Bragi — he was the god of talking and of tale-telling and song,— it was Swein’s old use and wont to begin the story of his doings and travellings since the last farewell, and to hold them all till midnight wrapt in the tale. This time he put down the horn untasted: and when they waited for him in wonder, suddenly hushed, he thrust the table from him, and went forth.

Unna looked at Raud her brother who sat by her, signing with her eyes as much as to say “ What now ? ” and the sign he gave her was a nod toward the door.

“ Aye, mistress,” said Toli, “ till him, and wheedle him back. To think of folk leaving good ale for an idle whim.”

“ What then ? ” she said, flashing back at him, while Raud made room for her.

“ Nought that matters: nay, never ask of me.”

With a beating heart she went through the porch, and her knees trembled as she passed. Swein was going slowly through the garth, slackening his pace, though he neither turned nor looked ; but yet it seemed as if he wanted to be overtaken.

There is a steep path up the cliffs a little to the seaward of the houses, mounting rapidly at first over the crags by rude steps in the rock, and then through the great rough stems of ancient fir-trees, and between thickets of blackberry-brambles, until it comes out upon a clear space on the top. It is not so far that one need halt to take breath by the way, and yet lofty enough for the eye to sweep north, south, east and west, down the firth and up the valley, and across to the far-away fells.

This was Swein’s howe, where he went daily and often¬ times a day, to watch the bright line of the sea, if by chance a sail might be made out, friend or foe or merchant vessel cruising round the coast. There also he could overlook his land ; for the acres of oats and barley and the hay-fields lay close beneath, around the mouth of the Crake. His own summer pastures were on the fells hard by, and his swine fed in the woods around. He could see what was doing, and what was left undone, from that howe : count men and beasts, and hear the sounds of work going on in smithy or shed. Here he would take counsel with himself about new dealings with this man and that, and lay his plans and dream over his enterprises. And when there was trouble or when things went aslew, it was on this howe that he sat to wrestle with his thoughts. And it was his mind when he should be dead to be buried there and look out from his grave upon his children and his home, and the kind land that had given him a resting-place from his wanderings.

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He sat down upon the turf seat on the top, and Unna, who had tripped lightly after him, sat down alongside. He rested both elbows on his knees as one ashamed to speak, but moved not away. What can it be ? was her thought.

For now the sun was set in the gold half of the sky, and the other half was clear pansy coloured, with a round moon rising through the fringe of dusky woods. Below them the tide was flowing in, and the wash of it was heard in the stillness: the great rings and bows of the river in front swung about and along over the silvery flats, like the track of a skater on ice. And against the northern glow far away, sharp violet ridges of distant mountain stood around them, serene, above the tumbling forest and rich promontories of Crake and Leven.

Then she slid her arm over his shoulder, and her fingers twitched at the brooch that fastened his cloak ; and it seemed that he was her man still. The moon had disentangled itself at last, and began to glimmer on the tide ripple. “ Twilight brings talk,” thought Unna, and waited for him to begin.

Chapter V.— The King’s Mote

» TTTELL, wife,” said Swein at last, “I am trapped,

V V seemingly. It is stand and deliver, is it ? What, there is nothing so dreadful after all, turn and turn it over as one may. But that is yet to be judged : I suppose I must put my case, and tell my story.

“ How we set off I need not tell. We came to Carnforth, and there we met most of our neighbours from the country-side. There was Arnolf out of Duddoner-dale, Raven and Ulfar, Orm and Hauk from Furness-way ; and Arni was there on the spot, for he lives hard by, and it was his folk looked after the ships of us that came by water ; and other friends from over the sands. We took counsel together, and agreed that being summoned to this meeting, be it peace or war, we should go : but that we should keep together and make one band, for it is ill dealing with folk that are neither kith nor kin.

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“ Thou knowest, Unn, that we reckoned this bit of land was no man s land until we came and took it. Northward beyond the fells the Welsh hold themselves under the rule of Donal mac iEdh, the Strathclyde king ; but never did I hear of his coming into these parts or having a power on Morecambe coasts. Across there in Cartmel they say they belong to the minster priests in York, and be no king’s men at all : and beyond that again, if Ragnar Lodbrog’s sons did ever take the land, neither English nor Dane in Kentdale or Lunesdale has paid shot to York for many a year. Less than fifty years ago, after Halfdan the Old sacked Carlisle and laid all these parts under him, and began to settle them from the eastward, then I grant you, this would be in the Danelaw. But now that there is is no law in York, but only these rascally bearsarks of Danes sacking and slaying up and down, why, look you, we owe them nothing, and need but keep together to be our own men like the Icelanders. And this talk we held to be but fair and good, and took hands all round upon it.