Food for the Winter—Cast up by the Sea—The Log comes back again—The Worst is come—An ugly Wound—The Hag's Revenge—Grettir sings his Great Deeds—Presage of Evil
In the meantime Grettir, Illugi, and the churl Glaum were on Drangey catching fish and fowl for winter supplies. The fish in Iceland are beaten hard with stones and then dried in the wind, that makes them like leather; but it preserves them for a very long time, and they form the staple of food, as the people have no corn, and consequently no bread. They put butter on these dry fish, and tear them with their teeth. What Grettir did with the fowl he caught was to pickle them with salt water from the sea, and when the frost and snow came on then he would take them out of pickle and freeze them. Now, the whole of the sheep had been eaten some time ago, except the old mottled ram, which Grettir could not find in his heart to kill; and, as may be supposed, he and his brother suffered from want of change of food. Especially deficient were they in any green food; and we know, though he did not, that the eating of green food is a very essential element of health. He had nothing for consumption but salted birds and dried fish—no milk, no bread, no vegetables. Such a diet was certain to disorder his health.
The day after that on which the hag had charmed the piece of timber, the two brothers were walking on the little strand to the west of the island looking for drift-wood.
"Here is a fine beam!" exclaimed Illugi. "Help me to lift it on to my shoulder, and I will carry it up the ladder."
Grettir spurned the log with his foot, saying, "I do not like the looks of it, Little brother. Runes are cut on it, and what they portend I do not know. There may be written there something that may bring ill. Who can tell but this log may have been sent with ill wishes against us." They set the log adrift, and Grettir warned his brother not to bring it to their fire.
In the evening they returned to their cabin, and nothing was said about the log to Glaum. Next day they found the same beam washed up not far from the foot of the ladder. Grettir was dissatisfied, and again he thrust it from the shore, saying that he hoped they had seen the last of it, and that the stream and tide would catch it and waft it elsewhere. And now the equinoctial gales began to rage. The fine Martinmas summer was over. The weather changed to storm and rain; and so bad was it that the three men remained indoors till their supply of firewood was exhausted.
Then Grettir ordered the thrall to search the shore for fuel. Glaum started up with an angry remonstrance that the weather was not such as a dog should be turned out in, with unreason, not considering that a fire was as necessary to him as to his master. He went to the ladder, crawled down it, and found the same beam cast at its very foot.
Glad not to have to go far in his search, Glaum shouldered the log, crept up the ladder, bore it to the hut, and throwing open the door, cast it down in the midst.
Grettir jumped up, "Well done," said he, "you have been quick in your quest."
"Now I have brought it, you must chop it up," said Glaum. "I have done my part."
Grettir took his axe. The fire was low and wanted replenishing, and without paying much attention to the log, he swung his axe and brought it down on the log. But the wood was wet and greasy with sea-weed, and the axe slipped, glanced off the beam, and cut into Grettir's leg below the knee, on the shin, with such force that it stuck in the bone.
Grettir looked at the beam; the fire leaped up, and by its light the runic inscription on it was visible. Grettir at once saw evil. "The worst is come upon us," he said sadly, as he cast the axe away, and threw himself down by the fire. "This is the same log that I have twice rejected. Glaum, you have done us two ill turns, first when you neglected the fire and let it go out, and now in that you have brought this beam to us. Beware how you commit a third, for that I foresee will be your bane as well as ours."
Illugi bound up his brother's wound with rag; there was but a slight flow of blood, but it was an ugly gash. That night Grettir slept soundly. For three days and nights he was without pain, and the wound seemed to be healing healthily, the skin to be forming over it.
"My dear brother," said Illugi, "I do not think that this cut will trouble you long."
"I hope not," answered Grettir. "But none can see where a road leads till they have gone through to the end."
On the fourth evening they laid them down to sleep as usual. About midnight the lad, Illugi, awoke hearing Grettir tossing in his bed as though suffering.
"Why are you so uneasy?" asked the boy.
Grettir replied that he felt great pain in his leg, and he thought, he said, that some change must have taken place in the condition of the wound.
Illugi at once blew up the embers on the hearth into a flame, and by its light examined his brother's leg. He found that the foot was swollen and discoloured, and that the wound had reopened, and looked far more angry than he had seen it yet. Intense pain ensued, so that poor Grettir could not remain quiet for a moment, but tossed from side to side. His cheeks were fevered, and his tongue parched. He could obtain no sleep at all.
Illugi never left him, he sat beside him holding his hand, or bringing him water to slake his unquenchable thirst.
"The worst approaches, and there is no avoiding it," said Grettir. "This sickness is sent by the old witch in revenge for the stone I had cast at her."
"I misliked the casting of that stone," said Illugi.
"It was ill that it did not fall on her head," said Grettir. "But what is done may not be undone." Then he heaved himself up into a sitting posture and sang, supporting himself against his brother's shoulder, a lay, of which only fragments have come down to us. A good deal of the lay refers to incidents in Grettir's life, of which no record remains in the saga, and many staves have fallen away and been lost. So we give but a few verses:—
"I fought with the sword in the bye-gone day, In the day when I was young; When the Rovers I slew in old Norway, The land with my action rung. "I entered the grave of Karr the Old, I rived his sword away; I strove with the Troll at Thorod's-stead, Before the break of day. "With Thorbiorn Oxmain in the marsh I fought, and his blood I shed; Against Thorir of Garth have I stood in arms, Who long would have me dead. "For nineteen years, I a hunted man, On mountain, on moor, and fen; For nineteen years had to shun and flee The face of my fellow men. "For nineteen years all bitter to bear Both hunger and cold and pain; And never to know when I laid me down, If I might awake again. "And now do I lie with a burning eye, As a wolf is fain to die; Whilst the skies are dripping and ocean roars, And the winds sob sadly by—"
The song was probably composed before, as otherwise it is not easy to account for its preservation. His head was burning, his thoughts wandered, and he ceased singing. He seemed to be dozing off. But presently he started and shivered, and looked hastily about him.
"Let us be cautious now," he said, "for Thorbiorn Hook will make another attempt. To me it matters little—but to you, brother. Glaum, watch the ladder by day, and draw it up at night. Be a faithful servant, for now all depends on you. Illugi will not leave me, so we are in your hands."