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“Finnward Keelfarer,” said she, “my trouble is come upon me, and I am at the end of my days.”
He made the customary talk.
“I have had my good things; now my hour is come; and let suffice,” quoth she. “I did not send for you to hear your prating.”
Finnward knew not what to answer, for he saw her soul was dark.
“I sent for you on needful matters,” she began again. “I die here – I! – in this black house, in a bleak island, far from all decency and proper ways of man; and now my treasure must be left. Small pleasure have I had of it, and leave it with the less!” cried she.
“Good woman, as the saying is, needs must,” says Finnward, for he was nettled with that speech.
“For that I called you,” quoth Thorgunna. “In these two chests are much wealth and things greatly to be desired. I wish my body to be laid in Skalaholt in the new church, where I trust to hear the mass-priests singing over my head so long as time endures. To that church I will you to give what is sufficient, leaving your conscience judge of it. My scarlet cloak with the silver, I will to that poor fool your wife. She longed for it so bitterly, I may not even now deny her. Give her the brooch as well. I warn you of her; I was such as she, only wiser; I warn you, the ground she stands upon is water, and whoso trusts her leans on rottenness. I hate her and I pity her. When she comes to lie where I lie – ” There she broke off. “The rest of my goods I leave to your black-eyed maid, young Asdis, for her slim body and clean mind. Only the things of my bed, you shall see burned.”
“It is well,” said Finnward.
“It may be well,” quoth she, “if you obey. My life has been a wonder to all and a fear to many. While I lived none thwarted me and prospered. See to it that none thwart me after I am dead. It stands upon your safety.”
“It stands upon my honour,” quoth Finnward, “and I have the name of an honourable man.”
“You have the name of a weak one,” says Thorgunna. “Look to it, look to it, Finnward. Your house shall rue it else.”
“The rooftree of my house is my word,” said Finnward.
“And that is a true saying,” says the woman. “See to it, then. The speech of Thorgunna is ended.”
With that she turned her face against the wall and Finnward left her.
The same night, in the small hours of the clock, Thorgunna passed. It was a wild night for summer, and the wind sang about the eaves and clouds covered the moon, when the dark woman wended. From that day to this no man has learned her story or her people’s name; but be sure the one was stormy and the other great. She had come to that isle, a waif woman, on a ship; thence she flitted, and no more remained of her but her heavy chests and her big body.
In the morning the house women streaked and dressed the corpse. Then came Finnward, and carried the sheets and curtains from the house, and caused build a fire upon the sands. But Aud had an eye on her man’s doings.
“And what is this that you are at?” said she.
So he told her.
“Burn the good sheets!” she cried. “And where would I be with my two hands? No, troth,” said Aud, “not so long as your wife is above ground!”
“Good wife,” said Finnward, “this is beyond your province. Here is my word pledged and the woman dead I pledged it to. So much the more am I bound. Let me be doing as I must, goodwife.”
“Tilly-valley!” says she, “and a fiddlestick’s end, goodman! You may know well about fishing and be good at shearing sheep for what I know; but you are little of a judge of damask sheets. And the best word I can say is just this,” she says, laying hold of one end of the goods, “that if ye are made up to burn the plenishing, you must burn your wife along with it.”
“I trust it will not go so hard,” says Finnward, “and I beg you not to speak so loud and let the house folk hear you.”
“Let them speak low that are ashamed!” cries Aud. “I speak only in reason.”
“You are to consider that the woman died in my house,” says Finnward, “and this was her last behest. In truth, goodwife, if I were to fail, it is a thing that would stick long in my throat, and would give us an ill name with the neighbours.”
“And you are to consider,” says she, “that I am your true wife and worth all the witches ever burnt, and loving her old husband” – here she put her arms about his neck. “And you are to consider that what you wish to do is to destroy fine stuff, such as we have no means of replacing; and that she bade you do it singly to spite me, for I sought to buy this bedding from her while she was alive at her own price; and that she hated me because I was young and handsome.”
“That is a true word that she hated you, for she said so herself before she wended,” says Finnward.
“So that here is an old faggot that hated me, and she dead as a bucket,” says Aud; “and here is a young wife that loves you dear, and is alive forby” – and at that she kissed him – “and the point is, which are you to do the will of?”
The man’s weakness caught him hard, and he faltered. “I fear some hurt will come of it,” said he.
There she cut in, and bade the lads tread out the fire, and the lasses roll the bed-stuff up and carry it within.
“My dear,” says he, “my honour – this is against my honour.”
But she took his arm under hers, and caressed his hand, and kissed his knuckles, and led him down the bay. “Bubble-bubble-bubble!” says she, imitating him like a baby, though she was none so young. “Bubble-bubble, and a silly old man! We must bury the troll wife, and here is trouble enough, and a vengeance! Horses will sweat for it before she comes to Skalaholt; ’tis my belief she was a man in a woman’s habit. And so now, have done, good man, and let us get her waked and buried, which is more than she deserves, or her old duds are like to pay for. And when that is ended, we can consult upon the rest.”
So Finnward was but too well pleased to put it off.
The next day they set forth early for Skalaholt across the heaths. It was heavy weather, and grey overhead; the horses sweated and neighed, and the men went silent, for it was nowhere in their minds that the dead wife was canny. Only Aud talked by the way, like a silly sea-gull piping on a cliff, and the rest held their peace. The sun went down before they were across Whitewater; and the black night fell on them this side of Netherness. At Netherness they beat upon the door. The goodman was not abed nor any of his folk, but sat in the hall talking; and to them Finnward made clear his business.
“I will never deny you a roof,” said the goodman of Netherness. “But I have no food ready, and if you cannot be doing without meat, you must e’en fare farther.”