Part 30 (1/2)
”Not much,” was the answer; ”I prefer shepherd life.”
”Will you come with me?” asked Thorhall; ”Skapti has handed you over to me, and I want a shepherd this winter uncommonly.”
”If I serve you, it is on the understanding that I come or go as it pleases me. I tell you I am a bit truculent if things do not go just to my thinking.”
”I shall not object to this,” answered the bonder. ”So I may count on your services?”
”Wait a moment! You have not told me whether there be any drawback.”
”I must acknowledge that there is one,” said Thorhall; ”in fact, the sheepwalks have got a bad name for bogies.”
”Pshaw! I'm not the man to be scared at shadows,” laughed Glamr; ”so here's my hand to it; I'll be with you at the beginning of the winter night.”
Well, after this they parted, and presently the farmer found his ponies.
Having thanked Skapti for his advice and a.s.sistance, he got his horses together and trotted home.
Summer, and then autumn pa.s.sed, but not a word about the new shepherd reached the Valley of Shadows. The winter storms began to bl.u.s.ter up the glen, driving the flying snow-flakes and ma.s.sing the white drifts at every winding of the vale. Ice formed in the shallows of the river; and the streams, which in summer trickled down the ribbed scarps, were now trans.m.u.ted into icicles.
One gusty night a violent blow at the door startled all in the farm. In another moment Glamr, tall as a troll, stood in the hall glowering out of his wild eyes, his grey hair matted with frost, his teeth rattling and snapping with cold, his face blood-red in the glare of the fire which smouldered in the centre of the hall. Thorhall jumped up and greeted him warmly, but the housewife was too frightened to be very cordial.
Weeks pa.s.sed, and the new shepherd was daily on the moors with his flock; his loud and deep-toned voice was often borne down on the blast as he shouted to the sheep driving them into fold. His presence in the house always produced gloom, and if he spoke it sent a thrill through the women, who openly proclaimed their aversion for him.
There was a church near the byre, but Glamr never crossed the threshold; he hated psalmody; apparently he was an indifferent Christian. On the vigil of the Nativity Glamr rose early and shouted for meat.
”Meat!” exclaimed the housewife; ”no man calling himself a Christian touches flesh to-day. To-morrow is the holy Christmas Day, and this is a fast.”
”All superst.i.tion!” roared Glamr. ”As far as I can see, men are no better now than they were in the bonny heathen time. Bring me meat, and make no more ado about it.”
”You may be quite certain,” protested the good wife, ”if Church rule be not kept, ill-luck will follow.”
Glamr ground his teeth and clenched his hands. ”Meat! I will have meat, or----” In fear and trembling the poor woman obeyed.
The day was raw and windy; ma.s.ses of grey vapour rolled up from the Arctic Ocean, and hung in piles about the mountain-tops. Now and then a scud of frozen fog, composed of minute particles of ice, swept along the glen, covering bar and beam with feathery h.o.a.r-frost. As the day declined, snow began to fall in large flakes like the down of the eider-duck. One moment there was a lull in the wind, and then the deep-toned shout of Glamr, high up the moor slopes, was heard distinctly by the congregation a.s.sembling for the first vespers of Christmas Day.
Darkness came on, deep as that in the rayless abysses of the caverns under the lava, and still the snow fell thicker. The lights from the church windows sent a yellow haze far out into the night, and every flake burned golden as it swept within the ray. The bell in the lych-gate clanged for evensong, and the wind puffed the sound far up the glen; perhaps it reached the herdsman's ear. Hark! Someone caught a distant sound or shriek, which it was he could not tell, for the wind muttered and mumbled about the church eaves, and then with a fierce whistle scudded over the graveyard fence. Glamr had not returned when the service was over. Thorhall suggested a search, but no man would accompany him; and no wonder! it was not a night for a dog to be out in; besides, the tracks were a foot deep in snow. The family sat up all night, waiting, listening, trembling; but no Glamr came home. Dawn broke at last, wan and blear in the south. The clouds hung down like great sheets, full of snow, almost to bursting.
A party was soon formed to search for the missing man. A sharp scramble brought them to high land, and the ridge between the two rivers which join in Vatnsdalr was thoroughly examined. Here and there were found the scattered sheep, shuddering under an icicled rock, or half buried in a snow-drift. No trace yet of the keeper. A dead ewe lay at the bottom of a crag; it had staggered over in the gloom, and had been dashed to pieces.
Presently the whole party were called together about a trampled spot in the heath, where evidently a death-struggle had taken place, for earth and stone were tossed about, and the snow was blotched with large splashes of blood. A gory track led up the mountain, and the farm-servants were following it, when a cry, almost of agony, from one of the lads, made them turn. In looking behind a rock, the boy had come upon the corpse of the shepherd; it was livid and swollen to the size of a bullock. It lay on its back with the arms extended. The snow had been scrabbled up by the puffed hands in the death-agony, and the staring gla.s.sy eyes gazed out of the ashen-grey, upturned face into the vaporous canopy overhead. From the purple lips lolled the tongue, which in the last throes had been bitten through by the white fangs, and a discoloured stream which had flowed from it was now an icicle.
With trouble the dead man was raised on a litter, and carried to a gill-edge, but beyond this he could not be borne; his weight waxed more and more, the bearers toiled beneath their burden, their foreheads became beaded with sweat; though strong men they were crushed to the ground. Consequently, the corpse was left at the ravine-head, and the men returned to the farm. Next day their efforts to lift Glamr's bloated carca.s.s, and remove it to consecrated ground, were unavailing. On the third day a priest accompanied them, but the body was nowhere to be found. Another expedition without the priest was made, and on this occasion the corpse was discovered; so a cairn was raised over the spot.
Two nights after this one of the thralls who had gone after the cows burst into the hall with a face blank and scared; he staggered to a seat and fainted. On recovering his senses, in a broken voice he a.s.sured all who crowded about him that he had seen Glamr walking past him as he left the door of the stable. On the following evening a houseboy was found in a fit under the farmyard wall, and he remained an idiot to his dying day. Some of the women next saw a face which, though blown out and discoloured, they recognised as that of Glamr, looking in upon them through a window of the dairy. In the twilight, Thorhall himself met the dead man, who stood and glowered at him, but made no attempt to injure his master. The haunting did not end there. Nightly a heavy tread was heard around the house, and a hand feeling along the walls, sometimes thrust in at the windows, at others clutching the woodwork, and breaking it to splinters. However, when the spring came round the disturbances lessened, and as the sun obtained full power, ceased altogether.
That summer a vessel from Norway dropped anchor in the nearest bay.
Thorhall visited it, and found on board a man named Thorgaut, who was in search of work.
”What do you say to being my shepherd?” asked the bonder.
”I should very much like the office,” answered Thorgaut. ”I am as strong as two ordinary men, and a handy fellow to boot.”