Part 31 (1/2)
The night pa.s.sed quietly, and no sounds indicated the presence of a restless spirit. The horse, moreover, was found next morning in good condition, enjoying his hay.
”This is unexpected!” exclaimed the bonder, gleefully. ”Now, where's the saddle? We'll clap it on, and then good-bye, and a merry journey to you.”
”Good-bye!” echoed Grettir; ”I am going to stay here another night.”
”You had best be advised,” urged Thorhall; ”if misfortune should overtake you, I know that all your kinsmen would visit it on my head.”
”I have made up my mind to stay,” said Grettir, and he looked so dogged that Thorhall opposed him no more.
All was quiet next night; not a sound roused Grettir from his slumber.
Next morning he went with the farmer to the stable. The strong wooden door was s.h.i.+vered and driven in. They stepped across it; Grettir called to his horse, but there was no responsive whinny.
”I am afraid----” began Thorhall. Grettir leaped in, and found the poor brute dead, and with its neck broken.
”Now,” said Thorhall quickly, ”I've got a capital horse--a skewbald--down by Tunga, I shall not be many hours in fetching it; your saddle is here, I think, and then you will just have time to reach----”
”I stay here another night,” interrupted Grettir.
”I implore you to depart,” said Thorhall.
”My horse is slain!”
”But I will provide you with another.”
”Friend,” answered Grettir, turning so sharply round that the farmer jumped back, half frightened, ”no man ever did me an injury without rueing it. Now, your demon herdsman has been the death of my horse. He must be taught a lesson.”
”Would that he were!” groaned Thorhall; ”but mortal must not face him.
Go in peace and receive compensation from me for what has happened.”
”I must revenge my horse.”
”An obstinate man will have his own way! But if you run your head against a stone wall, don't be angry because you get a broken pate.”
Night came on; Grettir ate a hearty supper and was right jovial; not so Thorhall, who had his misgivings. At bedtime the latter crept into his crib, which, in the manner of old Icelandic beds, opened out of the hall, as berths do out of a cabin. Grettir, however, determined on remaining up; so he flung himself on a bench with his feet against the posts of the high seat, and his back against Thorhall's crib; then he wrapped one lappet of his fur coat round his feet, the other about his head, keeping the neck-opening in front of his face, so that he could look through into the hall.
There was a fire burning on the hearth, a smouldering heap of red embers; every now and then a twig flared up and crackled, giving Grettir glimpses of the rafters, as he lay with his eyes wandering among the mysteries of the smoke-blackened roof. The wind whistled softly overhead. The clerestory windows, covered with the amnion of sheep, admitted now and then a sickly yellow glare from the full moon, which, however, shot a beam of pure silver through the smoke-hole in the roof.
A dog without began to howl; the cat, which had long been sitting demurely watching the fire, stood up with raised back and bristling tail, then darted behind some chests in a corner. The hall door was in a sad plight. It had been so riven by the spectre that it was made firm by wattles only, and the moon glinted athwart the crevices. Soothingly the river, not yet frozen over, prattled over its s.h.i.+ngly bed as it swept round the knoll on which stood the farm. Grettir heard the breathing of the sleeping women in the adjoining chamber, and the sigh of the housewife as she turned in her bed.
Click! click!--It is only the frozen turf on the roof cracking with the cold. The wind lulls completely. The night is very still without. Hark!
a heavy tread, beneath which the snow yields. Every footfall goes straight to Grettir's heart. A crash on the turf overhead! By all the saints in paradise! The monster is treading on the roof. For one moment the chimney-gap is completely darkened: Glamr is looking down it; the flash of the red ash is reflected in the two l.u.s.treless eyes. Then the moon glances sweetly in once more, and the heavy tramp of Glamr is audibly moving towards the farther end of the hall. A thud--he has leaped down. Grettir feels the board at his back quivering, for Thorhall is awake and is trembling in his bed. The steps pa.s.s round to the back of the house, and then the snapping of the wood shows that the creature is destroying some of the outhouse doors. He tires of this apparently, for his footfall comes clear towards the main entrance to the hall. The moon is veiled behind a watery cloud, and by the uncertain glimmer Grettir fancies that he sees two dark hands thrust in above the door.
His apprehensions are verified, for, with a loud snap, a long strip of panel breaks, and light is admitted. Snap--snap! another portion gives way, and the gap becomes larger. Then the wattles slip from their places, and a dark arm rips them out in bunches, and flings them away.
There is a cross-beam to the door, holding a bolt which slides into a stone groove. Against the grey light, Grettir sees a huge black figure heaving itself over the bar. Crack! that has given way, and the rest of the door falls in s.h.i.+vers to the earth.
”Oh, heavens above!” exclaims the bonder.
Stealthily the dead man creeps on, feeling at the beams as he comes; then he stands in the hall, with the firelight on him. A fearful sight; the tall figure distended with the corruption of the grave, the nose fallen off, the wandering, vacant eyes, with the glaze of death on them, the sallow flesh patched with green ma.s.ses of decay; the wolf-grey hair and beard have grown in the tomb, and hang matted about the shoulders and breast; the nails, too, they have grown. It is a sickening sight--a thing to shudder at, not to see.