Under Blawith roof-tree sat dame Asdis, fresh and fair as a daisy: and when she had broken her fast she looked to her outdoor servants and set them their tasks: and when she had put them all in order, she came in, at the time folk take their drinkings: and she drank a horn of ale, and ate sweet cakes, one after another: and then she washed her hands at the trough by the porch and got her a clean apron and sat down in her high-seat, and took to her sewing; and if the day was hot, and she dropped off to sleep while one might count two score, it was no shame to her, now she was wedded woman and ever a house-wife of the most notable. And then she wished Halldora would come to pay her a visit. For it was nought but dull in these backwoods, and news was worth whittlegate. So she went to the door to see if the weather was holding up: and sure enough it had brightened, as it does sometimes at mid-day after stormy weather, and the lift was lighter than heretofore. The rain had stopped, and the beck was roaring white.

“Who comes tramping over the lea land? Hey lads, a stranger. Run for your weapons. What, not Thorstein, surely? and all so draggled and dabbled? Wenches, here’s the master, and a pretty pickle he is in. A bath is the next thing; but fetch me the ale-tub and the biggest horn first.”

For you see she knew the ways of men-folk to a tittle, to treat them high and low as they should be treated.

“Well, Thorstein,” says she, as he came up to the door, “here’s a conny mess. Sit in the porch, man, and the ale will be here gey soon. Thou art not fit to touch before a bath and a shift of clothes: and I can’t have that filthment of a kirtle on thy new high-seat bolster, thou know’st. Eh, these men, they are nought but great barns. Now, Thorstein, what hast thou been doing?”

He leaned back and drank off the ale, and looked at her strangely.

“I have killed Orm,” said he.

“None of thy jokes, lad. Say a better word. How is this? That the bonny bridegroom could wait no longer; eh, lad? and made more haste worse speed homeward?”

“But it’s truth,” said he.

“What’s truth? Gods forbid. And when, and where?”

“At the Thing,” said he.

“Killed Orm at the Thing?” she cried. “Is he daft? It’s outlawing!”

“Then I am outlawed,” said he, drinking again.

“Thorstein! how darest thou? and me but new wed. Man, this caps aught. Unsay it, lad, and never torment me.”

“There is nought to unsay; it was his due: and I’d kill him again if he came to life.”

“Came to life? Folk never come to life,” said she, scornfully.

“They do, though.”

Asdis was pale as grass, staring like a stone woman for a while. Then she was red as blood, and looked this way and that, and at last muttered something about the ale being over strong on an empty belly. Thorstein looked at her in wonder. Then she burst out:—“Who has come, then? Nay, I care not for thy hints nor thy threats, thou false thing that never was true to me. Away with thee! who will believe a word from a wolf’s head? Who dare say I had a hand in it? What have I done, tell me that? What did Orm say, the liar?”

“Orm said nothing. Maybe Asdis has said a word too much,” answered Thorstein, rising from his seat and going into the house.

“Thorstein, my dear, Thorstein!” said she, “I meant nought: I said nought.”

But he slammed the door of his lock-bed in her face, and shot the heavy bars, and would not come out for all she cried.

It was late in the afternoon that horses clattered into the garth, and there were Asmund and Hundi and a dozen of neighbours, who three days ago had been the wedding guests, and had ridden away from Blawith to the Althing. Asdis came out to meet them, with the smile she always had ready, and ale was standing in the porch. But they would not drink, and she was outfaced and browbeaten by their stern looks.

“My poor child, it’s ill news we bring,” said Asmund. “Is Thorstein Sweinson within?”

“And what’s to do with Thorstein Sweinson, father?”

“I fear me he will be man of thine no more, if peace-breaking gets its due. We are here,—thou knowest, child, it is sore against our wills,—to summon him for breaking the peace of the Thing by slaying his brother Orm; and we would know, in all kindness to himself, for what cause he did the deed.”

“What, father? this caps aught! It cannot be.”

“Nay; as to the deed we were all in a way to witness; for it was done hard by the Thingbounds. But what was said none heard.”

She clasped her hands until her fingers cracked, and caught her breath: then she broke out, “the villain to kill his brother. Oh me that I am wedded to such a man: a wolf’s head that is to be. Oh father, take me away and get me free of him.”

“What, is he here?”

She pointed to the door of the lock-bed: but no man stirred, for they might not enter with the strong hand until doom had been given. So they cried out to him, but got no answer.

Then stood forth Asmund, for he was chief man amongst them, after Orm who had the priesthood at Legbarrow since Swein was gone, and after Hundi who might happen inherit, but now hung back. Said Asmund:—

“Neighbours, a foul thing has been done, no less than the breaking of the Thing-peace. Ye know our old use and wont: for how could we have law or counsel else, unless the Thing were hallowed from all violence and the peace-breaker put out of the peace of all true men. And this is doubly foul, for he that was slain was our Godi and chief: and trebly, for it was his brother slew him unoffending, so far as we know, and unprepared as you all saw. Now stand we here over against the door of his house, and give doom.”

So they drew a few paces back to give room for the accused to stand with his friends at his door, if he would appear: and for a loaded wain, so the old custom was, to pass between the two parties. And they named Asmund their lawman, and he named six to give judgment, who took oaths that they would judge right. Then he stated the case, and shouted aloud to Thorstein to come forth, and speak up for himself.

But when no answer was given, Hundi stood up and said “Friends, you are too hasty. It is never our way to doom a man unheard: and if any has the right to speak it is I, who stand here between brother and brother. Of him that is dead, I would speak no ill: but ye knew him. Of him that lives I have no ill to speak. Ye know him not as I do; and here I say that against all seeming I hold him sackless and sinless.”

With that there was a shouting against Hundi, that he was always in a tale with Thorstein, and both were runagates and had turned Christians abroad, and there was no trusting them. Shame it was to Hundi that he would not take up the vengeance for his brother, and do right by the laws. Some cried out that he should be charged with abetting the manslaughter.

“Nay,” said Asmund, “peace, friends. Hear me. This let us do. Put Hundi in keeping, and harm him not; but let the jury give doom.”

So they encompassed Hundi and bore him down with their shields, and took his weapons, and led him out and bound him; while the six men gave their doom that Thorstein Sweinson had broken the Thing-peace, and slain his brother their Godi, and for that he was put out of law.

Then Asmund gave out their finding, and said moreover that he put the wonted price of a hundred of silver on the wolf’s head, dead or alive. And then, for the sun was nigh its setting, they pressed into the house, no man withstanding them, and made for the door where he lay, to kill him, as the law was, while it was still day. They brought a great beam of wood and battered it against the panels, swinging it between them; while others ran round to keep the back of the house.

All this while Thorstein lay quiet, and gave no sign, like a fox in its bield while folk twine the screws to draw him out: and still they battered, for the door was new built, and strong. And still Hundi lay in bonds without, struggle and shout as he might.

“And thou, Asdis,” he cried, “shame on thee to leave thy husband to his slayers—shame and evil on thee! Ill befall the finger that betrayed him, and the tongue that spoke never a word while they doomed him; and mischance on the gear that thou art shifting from his house. I see thee, woman, and thy tricks: thou robbing and thy kin murdering. Shame and scathe on the scrow of ye!”

For Asdis had bidden her servants carry out all her goods, seeing very clearly what was forward, because she was a wise woman. By this time she had loaded horse and man with bales and arks, and away down the road homeward, saying nothing to Hundi’s curses; which was the easier, for by now the door was battered in amid great tumult, and Thorstein was standing there, at blows with his pursuers. One lay on the ground at his feet among the wreckage: and a couple more sat in the hall, out of the fray, nursing ugly wounds.

“Hold, boys,” shouted Asmund, “we are but spending good stuff.” They drew back, seemingly as eager to keep Thorstein in, now, as they were to get him out before. They began to drag tables and benches to block the passage and pin him down, and then they got fire from the hearth and all the elding they could compass, and cast it among the splinters of the burst panelling and the lockbed-door. And soon the bed was ablaze, with such a smoke that they were glad to get out of the house: and there they stood in the twilight, watching the flames catch the roof, and grimly waiting for Thorstein to rush out and get his death wound, or to hear his last cry in the fire.

The wind had shifted to the north-west, now that the weather was holding up; and it drove the smoke of the new green wood in a great whirl by the door of the house, which was set, as always, to catch the morning sun. The men were forced to give it a wide berth; but sure they were that he could not escape, and so fierce against him that not one of them had a thought but burn and kill. They got victuals from the out-bowers, remnants of the wedding feast, and emptied the ale-tub from the porch, and rubbed their hands while the long tongues of flame wavered into the air against the stars, and the forest behind showed every branch and leaf in the glow: the crackling and spitting dinned in their ears, and the smoke was red in coils against the black sky.

There they watched until the fire died down: and said Asmund, “Lads, we have done a good deed, for to ash he will be burnt in yon cinder heap. As for the price, as we have all shared the work, let us share the pay. Come home with me and see if I keep my word. And thou, Hundi Snail, never show thy face again, unless to thank thy best friends for ridding thee of thy worst foe. I take all to witness that justice has been done, and nought but justice.”