[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
world is not coming in two years. This I
know.
And if you ask me how I know, that s a very long tale, and in some ways a
terrible one. Glad I am to be old, and safe in the earth before that great
tomorrow comes. It will be an eldritch time before the frost giants fare
loose... oh, very well, before the angel blows his battle horn. One reason I
hearken to your preaching is that I know the White Christ will conquer Thor. I
know Iceland is going to be Christian erelong, and it seems best to range
myself on the winning side.
No, I ve had no visions. This is a happening of five years ago, which my own
household and neighbors can swear to.
They mostly did not believe what the stranger told; I do, more or less, if
only because I don t think a liar could wreak so much harm. I loved my
daughter, priest, and after the trouble was over I made a good marriage for
her. She did not naysay it, but now she sits out on the ness-farm with her
husband and never a word to me; and I hear he is ill pleased with her silence
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and moodiness, and spends his nights with an Irish leman. For this I cannot
blame him, but it grieves me.
Well, I ve drunk enough to tell the whole truth now, and whether you believe
it or not makes no odds to me. Here...
you, girls!... fill these cups again, for I ll have a dry throat before I
finish the telling.
It begins, then, on a day in early summer, five years ago. At that time, my
wife Ragnhild and I had only two unwed children still living with us: our
youngest son Helgi, of seventeen winters, and our daughter Thorgunna, of
eighteen. The girl, being fair, had already had suitors. But she refused them,
and I am not one who would compel his daughter. As for Helgi, he was ever a
lively one, good with his hands but a breakneck youth. He is now
serving in the guard of King Olaf of Norway.
Besides these, of course, we had about ten housefolk two thralls, two girls
to help with the women s work, and half a dozen hired carles. This is
not a small stead.
You have seen how my land lies. About two miles to the west is the bay; the
thorps at Reykjavik are some five miles south. The land rises toward the
Long Jökull, so that my acres are hilly; but it s good hay land, and we often
find driftwood on the beach. I ve built a shed down there for it, as well as a
boathouse.
We had had a storm the night before a wild huge storm with lightning flashes
across heaven, such as you seldom get in
Iceland so Helgi and I were going down to look for drift. You, coming from
Norway, do not know how precious wood is to us here, who have only a few
scrubby trees and must get our timber from abroad. Back there men have often
been burned in their houses by their foes, but we count that the worst of
deeds, though it s not unheard of.
As I was on good terms with my neighbors, we took only hand weapons. I bore my
ax, Helgi a sword, and the two carles we had with us bore spears. It was
a day washed clean by the night s fury, and the sun fell bright on long, wet
grass. I
saw my stead lying rich around its courtyard, sleek cows and sheep, smoke
rising from the roofhole of the hall, and knew I d not done so ill in my
lifetime. My son Helgi s hair fluttered in the low west wind as we left the
buildings behind a ridge and neared the water. Strange how well I remember all
which happened that day; somehow it was a sharper day than most.
When we came down to the strand, the sea was beating heavy, white and gray out
to the world s edge, smelling of salt and kelp. A few gulls mewed above us,
frightened off a cod washed onto the shore. I saw a litter of no few sticks,
even a baulk of timber... from some ship carrying it that broke up during the
night, I suppose. That was a useful find, though as a careful man I would
later sacrifice to be sure the owner s ghost wouldn t plague me.
We had fallen to and were dragging the baulk toward the shed when Helgi cried
out. I ran for my ax as I looked the way he pointed. We had no feuds then, but
there are always outlaws.
This newcomer seemed harmless, though. Indeed, as he stumbled nearer
across the black sand I thought him quite unarmed and wondered what had
happened. He was a big man and strangely clad he wore coat and breeches and
shoes like anyone else, but they were of odd cut, and he bound his trousers
with leggings rather than straps. Nor had I ever seen a helmet like
his: it was almost square, and came down toward his neck, but it had no
nose guard. And this you may not
believe, but it was not metal, yet had been cast in one piece!
He broke into a staggering run as he drew close, flapped his arms and croaked
something. The tongue was none I had heard, and I have heard many; it was like
dogs barking. I saw that he was clean-shaven and his black hair cropped short,
and thought he might be French. Otherwise he was a young man, and
Page 71
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
good-looking, with blue eyes and regular features. From his skin I judged that
he spent much time indoors. However, he had a fine manly build.
Could he have been shipwrecked? asked Helgi.
His clothes are dry and unstained, I said; nor has he been wandering long,
for no stubble is on his chin. Yet I ve heard of no strangers guesting
hereabouts.
We lowered our weapons, and he came up to us and stood gasping. I saw that his
coat and the shirt underneath were fastened with bonelike buttons rather than
laces, and were of heavy weave. About his neck he had fastened a strip of
cloth tucked into his coat. These garments were all in brownish hues. His
shoes were of a sort new to me, very well stitched. Here and there on his coat
were bits of brass, and he had three broken stripes on each sleeve; also a
black band with white letters, the same letters on his helmet. Those were not
runes, but Roman thus: MP. He wore a broad belt, with a small clublike thing
of metal in a sheath at the hip and also a real club.
I think he must be a warlock, muttered my carle Sigurd. Why else so many
tokens?
They may only be ornament, or to ward against witchcraft, I soothed
him. Then, to the stranger: I hight Ospak
Ulfsson of Hillstead. What is your errand?
He stood with his chest heaving and a wildness in his eyes. He must have run a
long way. At last he moaned and sat down and covered his face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
world is not coming in two years. This I
know.
And if you ask me how I know, that s a very long tale, and in some ways a
terrible one. Glad I am to be old, and safe in the earth before that great
tomorrow comes. It will be an eldritch time before the frost giants fare
loose... oh, very well, before the angel blows his battle horn. One reason I
hearken to your preaching is that I know the White Christ will conquer Thor. I
know Iceland is going to be Christian erelong, and it seems best to range
myself on the winning side.
No, I ve had no visions. This is a happening of five years ago, which my own
household and neighbors can swear to.
They mostly did not believe what the stranger told; I do, more or less, if
only because I don t think a liar could wreak so much harm. I loved my
daughter, priest, and after the trouble was over I made a good marriage for
her. She did not naysay it, but now she sits out on the ness-farm with her
husband and never a word to me; and I hear he is ill pleased with her silence
Page 70
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and moodiness, and spends his nights with an Irish leman. For this I cannot
blame him, but it grieves me.
Well, I ve drunk enough to tell the whole truth now, and whether you believe
it or not makes no odds to me. Here...
you, girls!... fill these cups again, for I ll have a dry throat before I
finish the telling.
It begins, then, on a day in early summer, five years ago. At that time, my
wife Ragnhild and I had only two unwed children still living with us: our
youngest son Helgi, of seventeen winters, and our daughter Thorgunna, of
eighteen. The girl, being fair, had already had suitors. But she refused them,
and I am not one who would compel his daughter. As for Helgi, he was ever a
lively one, good with his hands but a breakneck youth. He is now
serving in the guard of King Olaf of Norway.
Besides these, of course, we had about ten housefolk two thralls, two girls
to help with the women s work, and half a dozen hired carles. This is
not a small stead.
You have seen how my land lies. About two miles to the west is the bay; the
thorps at Reykjavik are some five miles south. The land rises toward the
Long Jökull, so that my acres are hilly; but it s good hay land, and we often
find driftwood on the beach. I ve built a shed down there for it, as well as a
boathouse.
We had had a storm the night before a wild huge storm with lightning flashes
across heaven, such as you seldom get in
Iceland so Helgi and I were going down to look for drift. You, coming from
Norway, do not know how precious wood is to us here, who have only a few
scrubby trees and must get our timber from abroad. Back there men have often
been burned in their houses by their foes, but we count that the worst of
deeds, though it s not unheard of.
As I was on good terms with my neighbors, we took only hand weapons. I bore my
ax, Helgi a sword, and the two carles we had with us bore spears. It was
a day washed clean by the night s fury, and the sun fell bright on long, wet
grass. I
saw my stead lying rich around its courtyard, sleek cows and sheep, smoke
rising from the roofhole of the hall, and knew I d not done so ill in my
lifetime. My son Helgi s hair fluttered in the low west wind as we left the
buildings behind a ridge and neared the water. Strange how well I remember all
which happened that day; somehow it was a sharper day than most.
When we came down to the strand, the sea was beating heavy, white and gray out
to the world s edge, smelling of salt and kelp. A few gulls mewed above us,
frightened off a cod washed onto the shore. I saw a litter of no few sticks,
even a baulk of timber... from some ship carrying it that broke up during the
night, I suppose. That was a useful find, though as a careful man I would
later sacrifice to be sure the owner s ghost wouldn t plague me.
We had fallen to and were dragging the baulk toward the shed when Helgi cried
out. I ran for my ax as I looked the way he pointed. We had no feuds then, but
there are always outlaws.
This newcomer seemed harmless, though. Indeed, as he stumbled nearer
across the black sand I thought him quite unarmed and wondered what had
happened. He was a big man and strangely clad he wore coat and breeches and
shoes like anyone else, but they were of odd cut, and he bound his trousers
with leggings rather than straps. Nor had I ever seen a helmet like
his: it was almost square, and came down toward his neck, but it had no
nose guard. And this you may not
believe, but it was not metal, yet had been cast in one piece!
He broke into a staggering run as he drew close, flapped his arms and croaked
something. The tongue was none I had heard, and I have heard many; it was like
dogs barking. I saw that he was clean-shaven and his black hair cropped short,
and thought he might be French. Otherwise he was a young man, and
Page 71
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
good-looking, with blue eyes and regular features. From his skin I judged that
he spent much time indoors. However, he had a fine manly build.
Could he have been shipwrecked? asked Helgi.
His clothes are dry and unstained, I said; nor has he been wandering long,
for no stubble is on his chin. Yet I ve heard of no strangers guesting
hereabouts.
We lowered our weapons, and he came up to us and stood gasping. I saw that his
coat and the shirt underneath were fastened with bonelike buttons rather than
laces, and were of heavy weave. About his neck he had fastened a strip of
cloth tucked into his coat. These garments were all in brownish hues. His
shoes were of a sort new to me, very well stitched. Here and there on his coat
were bits of brass, and he had three broken stripes on each sleeve; also a
black band with white letters, the same letters on his helmet. Those were not
runes, but Roman thus: MP. He wore a broad belt, with a small clublike thing
of metal in a sheath at the hip and also a real club.
I think he must be a warlock, muttered my carle Sigurd. Why else so many
tokens?
They may only be ornament, or to ward against witchcraft, I soothed
him. Then, to the stranger: I hight Ospak
Ulfsson of Hillstead. What is your errand?
He stood with his chest heaving and a wildness in his eyes. He must have run a
long way. At last he moaned and sat down and covered his face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]