Chapter VII: Fighting at Tongue

They laid a trap for Cormac at Tongue, which Stangerd perceived, though she did nothing to prevent it, since not a word was said of him throughout their preparations. You do not ask a girl who respects herself to talk of her heart-concerns to men. She will never do it. She would as soon undress herself before them. Moreover, her father was about the house all that afternoon, the last person in the world to whom she could talk of Cormac.

The first thing was that Ord and Gudmund came to Tongue carrying weapons of war. They had swords and shields. With them came Narve, who had been out in the meadow since dinner-time, looking for them. He brought a scythe over his shoulder.

They shut the front door, and shot one of the bolts. Then the scythe was hung upon a nail, with the blade across the entry, and on the other side of it two nails were driven aslant, so that a sword leaning upon them cut across the corner of the door itself. Both of these things must fall when the door was opened. Such preparations were made, and the men sat about drinking mead, not saying very much above a whisper.

Ord tried to sit with Stangerd, who had her yarn to wind, but she was very indignant, and would have nothing to say to him. Thorkel came in and out, but towards the time when Cormac might be looked for, he went into the kitchen, and waited there, peering. Stangerd saw him through the crack of the door. She continued to wind her yarn, and busied herself over it. She had no fear, however, for Cormac: it was not that which troubled her. She was convinced of his better mettle and more fortunate star. It would take stronger, stiller men than Ord to put him down. But she was enraged at the injustice of her father, that he should abet Ord’s jealousy, and knowing nothing against Cormac, yet take rank against him. Because he didn’t relish song-making, was song-making therefore shameful? Her heart burned in her breast, and the edges of her cheek-bones burnt her cheeks.

The barking of the dogs declared the coming of her lover. Narve, the fool, could not keep still. He jumped in the air and cracked his fingers. Ord and Gudmund looked at each other, but said nothing. Then presently they heard Cormac’s step in the court, and the sound of his voice singing.

The door was tried. He found it bolted. He drave against it with some staff or other which he was carrying. Gudmund tiptoed to the door and shot back the bolt. Cormac drave into it again with his staff, and it flew open. The scythe and the sword came down together and met in midway, falling with a clash and shiver. Scythe, being heavier, brake sword. Cormac stood, smiling and bright-eyed, looking on. He saw Stangerd in her white gown, and was going directly to her over the wreckage at the door when Thorkel bounced out.

He was in a high rage. He shook his hand at Cormac. “You worthless rascal! You night-worker, get you gone! What have you been to this house but a cause of scandal and bitterness? Get you gone with your mouthful of folly and wind!”

Cormac laughed pleasantly, and made him worse.

“You grin, you grin, you bitch’s whelp! But there shall be a ruefuller grinning for you before long.”

He went into his hall, and took Stangerd by the arm. “Up with you, mistress, and come with me. Here is mischief enough for your fine eyes. There shall be no more.”

She had risen, red and troubled herself. Holding her by the upper arm, he bustled her through the hall and out by the women’s door. He thrust her into the byre, and shut the door upon her, locking her in. “Stay there, till we have scared out this gadfly skald,” he said.

* * * * *

Meantime Cormac had gone into the hall. Narve was not there; but at the further end he saw the two brothers, with their bare swords on their knees.

“What is afoot?” he asked, looking from one to the other; but they said nothing.

He stood doubtfully, looking first at them, and then about the hall, next at the ruins on the floor. He stirred them with his toe.

“When scythe and broad-sword come to blows,
Plain men take heart, and meadow-grass.
But there’s no pasture for the ass,
However fair the home-mead grows.
Cudgel your wits, I’ll cudgel your hides,
Ye greedy pair of hoody crows.”

They sat glum, glowering at him from beneath their brows. So far Cormac had not been in a rage, but now he got suddenly angry. He walked up to the brothers.

“What is the meaning of this foolery? What have I done to Thorkel or to you that I should be received in this manner?”

Ord said, “You are not wanted here. Is it not plain enough? What more can a man do than take his daughter out of the house the moment you come into it?”

Cormac answered him: “He can see that worse men than myself are out of it first. But he lets his house fill with smeary scamps, and then bolts them in lest he lose one of them. You are none of you fit to sweep the floor for Stangerd’s feet. You make that foul which was only gritty with good dust before.” He turned suddenly and saw Narve in the entry of the Bower. In a flash he was upon him, and had him by the ear. “You--dish-washer--where is Stangerd?” He screwed his ear round, and Narve writhed.

“She’s locked up in the byre then,” he said in a hurry.

Cormac loosed him, and went straight through the house and out of the women’s door, where the maids were clustered together, and saw him go. He shook the door of the byre, and called, “Stangerd, are you there?”

She answered him, “Yes, I am here.”

“I must see you,” he said; but she said, “No, no, you can’t get in.”

“Can I not?” said Cormac, and took a short run and butted into the door with his shoulder. It burst at the lock.

She was alarmed; her eyes were bright. “Oh, you are mad to act so! My father will set on you.”

“He will not, then,” said Cormac, and took her in his arms. He had never been so eager to hold and kiss her before. He had always seemed afraid of her, but now he was not at all afraid. Stangerd was glad of him, and very proud. Her father did not come near them, and there they stayed till it grew dusk. Then she bade him go for fear they should set upon him in the dark; and Cormac himself thought it was the better way.

“Farewell, my sweet,” he said, with his lips to hers. “I think I never loved you like this before.”

“No,” she said, kissing him.

“You were Goddess to me,” he told her; “but now you are woman.”

“I like it better,” she said.

He felt a sudden chill at the heart. He knew--something told him certainly--that it was not so good a way. Then he left her and went through the house to go home. The house was empty so far as he could see.

Beyond the court there were the meadows stretching downwards to the brook, with stone walls about them. Then came the valley-bottom where rushes grew and some sycamore-trees. Beyond the water the hill rose; and here was your path if you were going to Melstead.

Stangerd went to the door presently, and watched Cormac go through the meadows.

He went fast, vaulting wall after wall. She wasn’t sure, but she believed that Thorveig’s sons were waiting for him in the bottom. When Cormac came to the last wall she was sure; for he stood on the top of it and remained standing for a while. Then when he jumped down, and she could only see his head and shoulders, she saw the men come out of the trees. Her father was not one of them. They were Ord, Gudmund, and Narve. Ord aimed a spear at him. She saw it fly.

* * * * *

Cormac had seen the ambush before he got to the last stone wall. He stood on it that the ambushmen might know that he saw them and come out into the open. They all came out together, but when they were within hurling distance, they separated. Narve hung back in some alder bushes, Gudmund went to the left, and Ord to the right. Cormac jumped off the wall and went between them. He had an axe.

Ord ran a little way forward and hurled his spear. Cormac met it with the axe, and it glanced off and stuck in the moss. Then Gudmund, who had been running, doubled up, came behind him to cut him off from the wall; but Cormac was too quick for him, and was on him like a gust of wind. He swung his axe as the spear came, and cut it in half as if it had been a bulrush; then he whirled the axe round backhanded and caught Gudmund in the neck with it, and brought him down. If he had not been giving ground at the moment his head had been off. As it was, the blade did not hit true; but he gushed blood from nose, mouth, and ears, and fell like a stone.

Cormac turned and waited for Ord, who, having shot his spear, now came at him with a sword.

Stangerd, watching by the door, turned quickly when she heard a man’s foot in the hall, and saw her father coming out with his bill. Her eyes burned.

“What are you going to do, father?” she said.

“Get out of my way, you!” he answered; but she would not. She came to him and caught both his wrists. He raved at her; but she held on.

“You shall not--you shall not! It is shameful to be four against one.”

He swore he would be the death of her; but she cared nothing now.

Narve came up the court on tiptoe, white as a cloth. “Master, hold you there! ’Tis all over,” he said. “Cormac has slain Ord, and, as for Gudmund, I doubt he’ll never move again. Fierce work! Bloody work!” He stared about him at the dusk. “We set our feet on a snake. That’s what we did. And he’s bitten us to the bone.” Then he shuddered, and covered his face. Stangerd let go of her father’s wrists and went into the house.

* * * * *

It was true. Ord was no match for Cormac with any weapon; and sword has no chance with axe if the axe-bearer knows his business. He never touched Cormac, who, after two feints, split his head open.

This was the first man Cormac had ever killed. He looked thoughtfully at the body, his rage having left him, and then went over to the brother.

He believed him to be dead too; but he was not actually dead, though he died in a few days. His rage had left him--no, not his rage, for he had had none. He had been very excited. That moment on the wall when he saw the three come out of the trees had been the greatest pleasure he had ever known. But now all this was gone, and a feeling of disgust, as if he had tasted something sour and stale, was in him. There seemed a tarnish upon Stangerd’s gold. He would not think of Stangerd.

He found his axe-haft wet with Ord’s blood, and the space ’twixt forefinger and thumb was wet too. He shuddered once or twice. It was all a nasty business. He wondered: Should he leave those two things alone there under the stars, or sit by them until it was light? Gudmund’s face showed in the dark--for it was almost night by now--as if there was a light within it. But Ord’s case was the worse. Ord had no face now--only horrible parts of a face. He could not bear to look at Ord, or help looking at him. He took off his coat and covered Ord’s head and shoulders with it. For Gudmund he had to content himself with boughs from a sycamore-tree. He was very careful of them, having no feeling against them. They had attacked him; he had provoked nothing--but he did not feel at all justified. A beastly business--and Stangerd involved in it. To-morrow he would tell their mother; for the present his coat was testimony enough that this was no murder.

He went home full of thought; but no verses came into his head, since none were in his heart. He told his brother what he had done. Thorgils said there was no shame to him.