The Greenlanders - Jane Smiley [316]
Now Kollgrim stepped up onto the pyre, and embraced the beam that stood in the middle, and Thorstein tied his wrists together with a thong of seal gut so that it seemed to Gunnar that the boy’s arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets. Now Gunnar went near to the pyre, and tried to gain Kollgrim’s gaze, but Kollgrim looked not at him. Thorgrim Solvason went up behind Kollgrim with a torch that burned pale in the sunlight and set it against the seal-oil-soaked pyre, and then stepped away. The fire crept among the bits and pieces for a little while, and Gunnar saw Kollgrim close his eyes, and he did not open them again after that. From some of the folk who were standing about, there came talking and moaning, but Kollgrim made no sound.
Soon enough Kollgrim was hanging off the beam in the midst of a great pale blaze that roared smokily around him, ate off his clothing, blackened his skin, chewed up his fingers and his eyebrows and his hair. Thick smoke smelling richly of seal oil hung in the air. Now the beam collapsed, and the flames rose higher with the new fuel, and then it seemed to Gunnar that Kollgrim’s flesh and bones were burning, for the nature of the stench changed, and folk who had stood fascinated were driven away by it, but indeed, there was not much left to see, and the smoke was as thick as could be, so that folk’s eyes teared with it, and they began to think of other business that they had to do.
Now it is usually the case that folk linger about the Thing field when they are taking down their booths, and making their arrangements to return to their own districts, for indeed, the opportunity to meet with folk and exchange news is a cherished one, and there is always the chance that some late bit of business will be carried out. But in this year, folk gathered up what belongings they could find, and carried them off, and many articles were left behind from the haste. At the last, when the pyre had fallen into ash and fragments, only Gunnar, Jon Andres, the Thorkelssons, and Sira Eindridi were standing about, and Gunnar saw that for once, Sira Eindridi did not know what to do, but kept looking over to him and looking away, but indeed, Gunnar himself knew not what to do, nor how to gather his strength to do it, and so they lingered into the late twilight.
At last, Jon Andres spoke, and said, “It seems to me that we must pour water upon the ashes, and then gather up what bones we might find of our brother, and bury them where it is proper to do so, according to the law of the Church and of the northern places.” And he looked at Sira Eindridi. Sira Eindridi looked out toward the fjord, toward the ancient ruin of Thjodhilds church, that Erik the Red once built for his wife in the early days of the settlement, and he said, “Here at Brattahlid, there are men buried who never accepted Christ. These ashes may be put there,” and so the Thorkelssons went off to a nearby steading and got some spades, and set about digging a hole on the north side of the little church. And because the spades were small and the day had been a long one, they dug for most of the night. Gunnar and Jon Andres gathered up what seemed to be pieces of bone and laid them on the moist grass to cool.
Now, after a short darkness the birds began to call again, and then the sky grew light, and Sira Eindridi and the Thorkelssons went into their booths and lay down for a short sleep, and Gunnar and Jon Andres sat down upon the hillside and began to talk. Jon Andres said, “I am little eager to bring this news to Helga, for we were not a little sanguine of the outcome before we came to the Thing field.”
“Even so, it seems to me that she will hardly be surprised, and that my Birgitta will be less surprised. But indeed, there are times when a man knows not what to say of the will of the Lord, and such a time has come upon me.”
“This is not the will of the Lord, but the will of men.”
“The wish of Thorgrim, perhaps, who felt his injury so deeply.”
“Do you not see that this Thorgrim is the dupe of the others? Men may go among the judges