THERE was a man called Thorarin who lived at Sunnudale; he was old and nearly blind. He had been a fierce viking in his younger years, and even in his old age he was very hard to deal with. He had an only son, Thorstein, who was a tall man, powerful but even-tempered; he worked so hard on his father’s farm that three other men could hardly have done any better. Thorarin had little money, but a good many weapons. He and his son owned some breeding horses and that was their main source of income, for the young colts they sold never failed in spirit or strength.
Bjarni of Hof1 had a servant called Thord who looked after his riding horses and was considered very good at the job. Thord was an arrogant man and would never let anyone forget the fact that he was in the service of a chieftain. But this didn’t make him a better man and added nothing to his popularity. Bjarni also had two brothers working for him who were called Thorhall and Thorvald, both great scandalmongers about any gossip they heard in the district.
Thorstein and Thord arranged a horse-fight for their young stallions.2 During the fight, Thord’s horse started giving way, and when Thord realized he was losing, he struck Thorstein’s horse a hard blow on the jaw. Thorstein saw this and hit back with an even heavier blow at Thord’s horse, forcing it to back away. This got the spectators shouting with excitement. Then Thord aimed a blow at Thorstein with his horse-goad, hitting him so hard on the eye-brow that the skin broke and the lid fell hanging down over the eye. Thorstein tore a piece off his shirt and bandaged his head. He said nothing about what had happened, apart from asking people to keep this from his father. That should have been the end of the incident, but Thorvald and Thorhall kept jeering at Thorstein and gave him the nickname Staff-Struck.
One morning that winter just before Christmas, when the women at Sunnudale were getting up for their work, Thorstein went out to feed the cattle. He soon came back and lay down on a bench. His father, old Thorarin, came into the room and asked who was lying there. Thorstein told him.
‘Why are you up so early, son?’ said Thorarin.
Thorstein answered, ‘It seems to me there aren’t many men about to share the work with me.’
‘Have you got a head-ache, son?’ said Thorarin.
‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ said Thorstein.
‘What can you tell me about the horse-fight last summer, son?’ said Thorarin. ‘Weren’t you beaten senseless like a dog?’
‘It’s no credit to me if you call it a deliberate blow, not an accident,’ said Thorstein.
Thorarin said, ‘I’d never have thought I could have a coward for a son.’
‘Father,’ said Thorstein, ‘Don’t say anything now that you’ll live to regret later.’
‘I’m not going to say as much as I’ve a mind to,’ said Thorarin.
Thorstein got to his feet, seized his weapons and set off. He came to the stable where Thord was grooming Bjarni’s horses, and when he saw Thord he said, ‘I’d like to know, friend Thord, whether it was accidental when you hit me in the horse-fight last summer, or deliberate. If it was deliberate, you’ll be willing to pay me compensation.’
‘If only you were double-tongued,’ said Thord, ‘then you could easily speak with two voices and call the blow accidental with one and deliberate with the other. That’s all the compensation you’re getting from me.’
‘In that case don’t expect me to make this claim a second time,’ said Thorstein.
With that he rushed at Thord and dealt him his deathblow. Then he went up to the house at Hof where he saw a woman standing outside the door. ‘Tell Bjarni that a bull has gored Thord, his horse-boy,’ he said to her, ‘and also that Thord will be waiting for him at the stable.’
‘Go back home, man,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Bjarni in my own good time.’
Thorstein went back home, and the woman carried on with her work.
After Bjarni had got up that morning and was sitting at table, he asked where Thord could be, and was told he had gone to see to the horses.
‘I’d have thought he’d be back by now, unless something has happened to him,’ said Bjarni.
The woman Thorstein had spoken to broke in. ‘It’s true what we women are often told, we’re not very clever. Thorstein the Staff-Struck came here this morning and he said Thord had been gored by a bull and couldn’t look after himself. I didn’t want to wake you, and then I forgot all about it.’
Bjarni left the table, went over to the stable and found Thord lying there, dead. Bjarni had him buried, then brought a court action against Thorstein and had him sentenced to outlawry for manslaughter. But Thorstein stayed on at Sunnudale and worked for his father, and Bjarni did nothing more about it.
One day in the autumn when the men of Hof were busy singeing sheep’s heads3, Bjarni lay down on top of the kitchen wall to listen to their talk. Now the brothers Thorhall and Thorvald started gossiping; ‘It never occurred to us when we came to live here with Killer-Bjarni4 that we’d be singeing lambs’ heads while his outlaw Thorstein is singeing the heads of wethers. It would have been better for Bjarni to have been more lenient with his kinsmen at Bodvarsdale and not to let his outlaw at Sunnudale act just like his own equal. But “A wounded coward lies low”, and it’s not likely that he’ll ever wipe away this stain on his honour.’
One of the men said, ‘Those words were better left unsaid, the trolls must have twisted your tongue. I think Bjarni simply isn’t prepared to take the only breadwinner at Sunnudale away from Thorstein’s blind father and other dependants there. I’ll be more than surprised if you singe many more lambs’ heads here, or tattle on much longer about the fight at Bodvarsdale.’
Then they went inside to have their meal, and after that to bed. Bjarni gave no sign that he had heard anything of what had been said. But early next morning he roused Thorhall and Thorvald and told them to ride over to Sunnudale and bring him Thorstein’s severed head before mid-morning. ‘I think you’re more likely than anyone else to wipe away that stain from my honour, since I haven’t the courage to do it for myself,’ he said.
The brothers realized they had said too much, but they set off and went over to Sunnudale. Thorstein was standing in the doorway, sharpening a short sword. He asked them where they were going, and they told him they were looking for some horses. Thorstein said they didn’t have very far to go. ‘The horses are down by the fence.’
‘We’re not sure we’ll be able to find them unless you tell us more precisely,’ they said.
Thorstein came outside, and as they were walking together across the meadow, Thorvald raised his axe and rushed at him. But Thorstein pushed him back so hard that he fell, then ran him through with the short sword. Thorhall tried to attack Thorstein and went the same way as his brother. Thorstein tied them to their saddles, fixed the reins to the horses’ manes, and drove them off.
The horses went back to Hof. Some of the servants there were out of doors and went inside to tell Bjarni that Thorvald and Thorhall had come back and their journey hadn’t been wasted. Bjarni went outside and saw what had happened. He said nothing and had the two men buried. Then everything was quiet till after Christmas.
One evening after Bjarni and his wife Rannveig had gone to bed, she said to him, ‘What do you think everyone in the district is talking about these days?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ said Bjarni. ‘In my opinion most people talk a lot of rubbish.’
‘This is what people are mainly talking about now,’ she continued: ‘They’re wondering how far Thorstein the Staff-Struck can go before you bother to take revenge. He’s killed three of your servants, and your supporters are beginning to doubt whether you can protect them, seeing that you’ve failed to avenge this. You often take action when you shouldn’t and hold back when you should.’
‘It’s the same old story,’ said Bjarni, ‘no one seems willing to learn from another man’s lesson. Thorstein has never killed anyone without a good reason – but still, I’ll think about your suggestion.’
With that they dropped the subject and slept through the night. In the morning Rannveig woke up as Bjarni was taking down his sword and shield. She asked him where he was going.
‘The time has come for me to settle that matter of honour between Thorstein of Sunnudale and myself,’ he said.
‘How many men are you taking with you?’ she asked.
‘I’m not taking a whole army to attack Thorstein,’ he said. ‘I’m going alone.’
‘You mustn’t do that,’ she said, ‘risking your life against the weapons of that killer.’
‘You’re a typical woman,’ said Bjarni, ‘arguing against the very thing you were urging just a few hours ago! There’s a limit to my patience, I can only stand so much taunting from you and others. And once my mind’s made up, there’s no point in trying to hold me back.’
Bjarni went over to Sunnudale. He saw Thorstein standing in the doorway, and they exchanged some words.
‘You’ll fight me in single combat,’ said Bjarni, ‘on that hillock over there in the home-meadow.’
‘I’m in no way good enough to fight you,’ said Thorstein. ‘I give you my promise to leave the country with the first ship that sails abroad. I know a generous man like you will provide my father with labour to run the farm if I go away.’
‘You can’t talk yourself out of this now,’ said Bjarni.
‘You’ll surely let me go and see my father first,’ said Thorstein.
‘Certainly,’ said Bjarni.
Thorstein went inside and told his father that Bjarni had come and challenged him to a duel.
The old man said, ‘Anybody who offends a more powerful man in his own district can hardly expect to wear out many more new shirts. In my opinion your offences are so serious, I can’t find any excuse for you. So you’d better take your weapons and defend yourself the best you can. In my younger days I’d never have given way before someone like Bjarni, great fighting-man though he may be. I’d much rather lose you than have a coward for a son.’
Thorstein went outside and walked with Bjarni up the hillock. They started fighting with determination and destroyed each other’s shield. When they had been fighting for a long time, Bjarni said to Thorstein, ‘I’m getting very thirsty now, I’m not so used to hard work as you are.’
‘Go down to the stream then and drink,’ said Thorstein.
Bjarni did so, and laid the sword down beside him. Thorstein picked it up, examined it and said, ‘You can’t have been using this sword at Bodvarsdale.’
Bjarni said nothing, and they went back to the hillock. After they’d been fighting for a time, it became obvious to Bjarni that Thorstein was a highly skilled fighter, and the outcome seemed less certain than he’d expected.
‘Everything seems to go wrong for me today,’ he said. ‘Now my shoe-thong’s loose.’
‘Tie it up then,’ said Thorstein.
When Bjarni bent down to tie it, Thorstein went into the house and brought back two shields and a sword. He joined Bjarni on the hillock and said, ‘Here’s a sword and shield my father sends you. The sword shouldn’t get so easily blunted as the one you’ve been using. And I don’t want to stand here any longer with no shield to protect me against your blows. I’d very much like us to stop this game now, for I’m afraid your good luck will prove stronger than my bad luck. Every man wants to save his life, and I would too, if I could.’
‘There’s no point in your trying to talk yourself out of this,’ said Bjarni. ‘The fight must go on.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be the first to strike,’ said Thorstein.
Then Bjarni struck at Thorstein, destroying his shield, and Thorstein hacked down Bjarni’s shield in return.
‘That was a blow,’ said Bjarni.
Thorstein replied, ‘Yours wasn’t any lighter.’
Bjarni said, ‘Your sword seems to be biting much better now than it was earlier.’
‘I want to save myself from the foulest of luck if I possibly can,’ said Thorstein. ‘It scares me to have to fight you, so I want you yourself to settle the matter between us.’
It was Bjarni’s turn to strike. Both men had lost their shields. Bjarni said, ‘It would be a great mistake in one stroke both to throw away good fortune and do wrong. In my opinion I’d be fully paid for my three servants if you took their place and served me faithfully.’
Thorstein said, ‘I’ve had plenty of opportunity today to take advantage of you, if my bad luck had been stronger than your good luck. I’ll never deceive you.’
‘Now I can see what a remarkable man you must be,’ said Bjarni. ‘You’ll allow me to go inside to see your father and tell him about this in my own words?’
‘You can go if you want as far as I’m concerned,’ said Thorstein, ‘but be on your guard.’
Bjarni went up to the bed-closet where Old Thorarin was lying. Thorarin asked who was there, and Bjarni told him.
‘What’s your news, friend Bjarni?’ said Thorarin.
‘The killing of Thorstein, your son,’ said Bjarni.
‘Did he put up any defence at all?’ asked Thorarin.
‘I don’t think there’s ever been a better fighter than your son, Thorarin,’ said Bjarni.
‘It’s no wonder your opponents at Bodvarsdale found you so hard to deal with,’ said Thorarin, ‘seeing that you’ve overcome my son.’
Bjarni said, ‘I want to invite you to come over to Hof and take the seat of honour there for the rest of your life. I’ll be just like a son to you.’
‘I’m in the same position now as any other pauper,’ said Thorarin. ‘Only a fool accepts a promise gladly, and promises of chieftains like yourself aren’t usually honoured for more than a month after the event, while you’re trying to console us. After that we’re treated as ordinary paupers, though our grief doesn’t grow any the less for that. Still, anyone who shakes hands on a bargain with a man of your character should be satisfied, in spite of other men’s lessons. So I’d like to shake hands with you, and you’d better come into the bed-closet to me. Come closer now, for I’m an old man and trembling on my feet because of ill-health and old age. And I must admit, the loss of my son has upset me a bit.’
Bjarni went into the bed-closet and shook Thorarin by the hand. Then he realized the old man was groping for a short sword with the idea of thrusting it at him. Bjarni pulled back his hand and said, ‘You merciless old rascal! I can promise you now you’ll get what you deserve. Your son Thorstein is alive and well, and he’ll come with me over to Hof, but you’ll be given slaves to run the farm for you, and never suffer any want for the rest of your life.’
Thorstein went with Bjarni over to Hof, and stayed in his service for the rest of his life. He was considered a man of great courage and integrity. Bjarni kept his standing and became better-liked and more self-controlled the older he grew. He was a very trustworthy man. In the last years of his life he became a devout Christian and went to Rome on pilgrimage. He died on that journey, and is buried at a town called Sutri,5 just north of Rome.6