Tim Severin - Sworn Brother

Again, I was more badly shaken by the attack than Grettir. He was so accustomed to violence and assault that he recovered quickly from the ambush. Nevertheless, seeing him so narrowly escape death made me distraught. I was shaking with relief as we walked back together to the cave, leaving his would-be killer's body drifting on the surface of the lake for all to see. 'It will be a warning to others,' Grettir said. 'My whereabouts is not a secret any longer.'

'You'll have to find another refuge,' I told him. 'Staying on the moor is getting too dangerous. Sooner or later, you'll be trapped here and find yourself outnumbered.'

'I know, Thorgils,' he answered. 'I need to find somewhere so remote that no one will plague me, a place where the landowner is discreet and willing to ignore my presence.'

'Why don't we consult your mother? She may know someone who will offer you the hideaway you need. Until we get her answer, come and stay with me. Gunnhildr, my wife, is hardly ever at home. I can smuggle you into the house and you can hide there until we can pick the moment to travel to your mother's place.'

As matters turned out, Grettir stayed with me for more than two weeks. Redbeard's body was found and Oxenmight's friends assembled to make a sweep of the moor nearby, looking for Grettir. They eventually discovered his cave, and I had a feeling that they suspected that I was harbouring the fugitive, for more than once I thought I saw a watcher on the hillside above my house. Only when the hunt had been abandoned did I think it safe for Grettir to make the journey to his mother's home, and even then I insisted that I accompany him in case we encountered trouble on the road.

My caution was justified. We had gone only half a day's travel when we came face to face on the path with a man I recognised. He was one of Snorri Godi's sons, a tall, well-set-up man in his thirties by the name of Thorodd. I remembered him as a rather quiet, decent fellow. Yet as he drew level with us, he suddenly stepped right into Grettir's path, drew his sword and announced, 'Guard yourself, skogarmadur.' I must have gaped with surprise, for I did not remember Thorodd as being the least belligerent.

'What are you doing, Thorodd?' I blurted. 'Don't you recognise me? I'm Thorgils. We used to know one another when I lived at your father's farm.'

'Stay out of this,' he snapped back at me. 'Everyone knows of your association with Grettir. I'll attend to you later. Right now I intend to deal with the outlaw.'

'Don't be mad,' I insisted. 'You've got no quarrel with Grettir. Let us pass on peacefully. Just forget you've seen us.'

For his response, Thorodd struck me hard in the stomach with the pommel of his sword, knocking the wind out of me. I sat down abruptly on the roadside, clutching my guts.

Grettir had not moved until he saw me hit. Then he drew his own sword and waited for Thorodd to strike the first blow. I could see from the way Thorodd advanced on Grettir that he was a competent fighter. The speed and accuracy of the hilt blow that had knocked me down was impressive and I guessed that Thorodd had received enough weapon-training to deal with the average farmer. But Thorodd was not fighting an ordinary opponent. He was attacking the man reputed to be the strongest in Iceland.

Thorodd launched his first blow, a high cut that, if it had landed, would have separated Grettir's head from his shoulders. Almost nonchalantly Grettir raised his small wooden shield and deflected the blow as if he was swatting aside an insect. Thorodd recovered his balance and launched a second stroke, this time aimed at Grettir's legs in the hopes of laming him. Again Grettir warded off the blow, using his sword to block the attack. The two sword blades met with a ringing clash. For his third stroke Thorodd tried using all his strength to swing back-handed at Grettir's right side. Without even moving his feet, Grettir moved his wooden shield across to stop the blow. Thorodd, now panting with exertion, tried a direct stab. He lunged, with the point of his sword aimed at Grettir's belly. Again, the shield blocked the attack.

Thorodd stepped back, calculating how he could get past Grettir's guard. At that moment Grettir decided he had had enough of the onslaught and that his opponent was serious about killing him. In absolute silence, which was more terrifying than if he had given a berserker's battle roar, my sworn brother advanced on Thorodd and rained down on him a series of heavy sword blows that resembled a blacksmith beating on a forge. There was nothing subtle about Grettir's assault. He did not bother to feint or conceal the direction of the next blow, but relied entirely on brute strength. He moved forward, striking downward repeatedly on his hapless victim's defence. Thorodd raised his shield to block the blows, but each time Grettir's sword struck the shield I saw the arm shake beneath it and Thorodd stagger slightly. Grettir could have swung below the shield to cut at Thorodd's body, or struck at Thorodd's head. But he did not bother. He simply hammered on the shield, his blows so fast and so hard that Thorodd was forced to give ground. Step by step Thorodd was driven back, and I saw that Grettir was not even trying to kill his enemy, only to pound him into submission. After twenty or thirty heavy blows, Thorodd could withstand the onslaught no longer. First his shield arm began to droop, then his backward steps became more and more shaky, until he sank to his knees, still desperately trying to keep up his defence. Finally his shield, which had begun to splinter and crack, broke in half, and Thorodd was left kneeling defenceless on the soggy ground.

'Stop!' I shouted at Grettir, for I had got my breath back. But my warning was unnecessary. Now that Grettir had belaboured his opponent into submission, he stood back. He was not even out of breath.

I went across to where Thorodd was still kneeling, his body bowed forward in exhaustion. Putting an arm around his waist, I helped him to his feet.

'What on earth possessed you?' I asked. 'Did you really think that you could defeat Grettir the Strong?'

Thorodd was gasping for air. His shield arm was so numb that it hung uselessly. 'I hoped to win back my father's favour,' he groaned. 'I quarrelled with him so badly that he ordered me out of his house, saying that I had to prove my worth before he would accept me back again. He shouted at me that I had to do something spectacular - like dealing with an outlaw. I had no idea that I would run into Grettir. That was something the Gods put in my way.'

'Go back to your father,' I advised him, 'and tell him what happened. The wreckage of your shield should prove that you are telling the truth, and surely he'll accept that anyone courageous enough to tackle Grettir single-handed has proved his worth. Tell him also that Grettir's quarrel is only with those who have harmed his family. If he has robbed others or caused them injury, the sole motive has been his own survival.'

When Thorodd had limped away, Grettir insisted that I turn back to my house. 'It's less than half a day's walk from here to my mother's place,' he said, 'and that is just where my enemies will be on the lookout for me. It will be easier for one man to approach unobserved than for two of us. And after I have spoken to her and decided where I will go next, I will send you word where to find me.'

'I think we should have some way of checking that any message that passes between us is genuine,' I said. 'Now I have been seen in your company, people may use our friendship to lure you out of hiding and trap you.'

'You're always the clever and cautious one, Thorgils,' said

Grettir with a slight smile. 'Any time a message passes between us, the bearer can begin by quoting one of Odinn's sayings. That should keep you happy.'

I walked back home, worrying that Grettir would fall into an ambush as he approached his mother's house. But it was I who found calamity waiting at my door.