Complete works of hall c.., p.175
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 175
Sometimes when the pang of thirst was strongest he remembered what he had heard of the madness that comes of it — that the afflicted man walks round in a narrow circle, round and round over the self-same place (as if the devil’s bridle bound him like an unbroken horse) until nature fails and he faints and falls. Yet thinking of himself so, in that weary spot, with Sunlocks over him, he shuddered, but took heart of strength and struggled on.
And all this time Sunlocks lay inert and lifeless on his shoulder, in a deep unconsciousness that was broken by two moments only of complete sensibility. In the first of these he said:
“I must have been dreaming, for I thought I had found my brother.”
“Your brother?” said Jason.
“Yes, my brother; for I have got one, though I have never seen him,” said Sunlocks. “We were not together in childhood, as other brothers are, but when we grew to be men I set out in search of him. I thought I had found him at last — but it was in hell.”
“God-a-mercy!” cried Jason.
“And when I looked at him,” said Sunlocks, “it seemed to me that he was you. Yes, you; for he had the face of my yoke-fellow at the Mines. I thought you were my brother indeed.”
“Lie still, brother,” whispered Jason; “lie still and rest.”
In the second moment of his consciousness Sunlocks said, “Do you think the judges will listen to us?”
“They must — they shall,” said Jason.
“But the Governor himself may be one of them,” said Sunlocks.
“What matter?” said Jason.
“He is a hard man — do you know who he is?”
“No,” said Jason; but he added, quickly, “Wait! Ah, now I remember. Will he be there?”
“Yes.”
“So much the better.”
“Why?” said Sunlocks.
And Jason answered, with heat and flame of voice, “Because I hate and loathe him.”
“Has he wronged you also?” said Sunlocks.
“Yes,” said Jason, “and I have waited and watched five years to requite him.”
“Have you never yet met with him?”
“Never! But I’ll see him now. And if he denies me this justice, I’ll — —”
“What?”
At that he paused, and then said quickly, “No matter.”
But Sunlocks understood and said, “God forbid it.”
Half an hour later, Red Jason, still carrying Michael Sunlocks, was passing through the chasm of All Men, a grand, gloomy diabolical fissure opening into the valley of Thingvellir. It was morning of the day following his escape from the Sulphur Mines of Krisuvik. The air was clear, the sun was bright, and a dull sound, such as the sea makes when far away, came up from the plain below. It was a deep multitudinous hum of many voices. Jason heard it, and his heavy face lightened with the vividness of a grim joy.
CHAPTER V.
The Mount of Laws.
I.
And now, that we may stride on the faster, we must step back a pace or two. What happened to Greeba after she parted from her father at Krisuvik, and took up her employment as nurse to the sick prisoners, we partly know already from the history of Red Jason and Michael Sunlocks. Accused of unchastity, she was turned away from the hospital; and suspected of collusion to effect the escape of some prisoner unrecognized, she was ordered to leave the neighborhood of the Sulphur Mines. But where her affections are at stake a woman’s wit is more than a match for a man’s cunning, and Greeba contrived to remain at Krisuvik. For her material needs she still had the larger part of the money that her brothers, in their scheming selfishness, had brought her, and she had her child to cheer her solitude. It was a boy, unchristened as yet, save in the secret place of her heart, where it bore a name that she dare not speak. And if its life was her shame in the eyes of the good folk who gave her shelter, it was a dear and sweet dishonor, for well she knew and loved to remember that one word from her would turn it to glory and to joy.
“If only I dare tell,” she would whisper into her babe’s ear again and again. “If I only dare!”
But its father’s name she never uttered, and so with pride for her secret, and honor for her disgrace, she clung the closer to both, though they were sometimes hard to bear, and she thought a thousand times they were a loving and true revenge on him that had doubted her love and told her she had married him for the poor glory of his place.
Not daring to let herself be seen within range of the Sulphur Mines, she sought out the prisoner-priest from time to time, where he lived in the partial liberty of the Free Command, and learned from him such tidings of her husband as came his way. The good man knew nothing of the identity of Michael Sunlocks in that world of bondage where all identity was lost, save that A 25 was the husband of the woman who waited without. But that was Greeba’s sole secret, and the true soul kept it.
And so the long winter passed, and the summer came, and Greeba was content to live by the side of Sunlocks, content to breathe the air he breathed, to have the same sky above her, to share the same sunshine and the same rain, only repining when she remembered that while she was looking for love into the eyes of their child, he was slaving like a beast of burden; but waiting, waiting, waiting, withal for the chance — she knew not what — that must release him yet, she knew not when.
Her great hour came at length, but an awful blow came with it. One day the prisoner-priest hurried up to the farm where she lived, and said, “I have sad news for you; forgive me; prisoner A25 has met with an accident.”
She did not stay to hear more, but with her child in her arms she hurried away to the Mines, and there in the tempest of her trouble the secret of months went to the winds in an instant.
“Where is he?” she cried. “Let me see him. He is my husband.”
“Your husband!” said the warders, and without more ado they laid hands upon her and carried her off to their Captain.
“This woman,” they said, “turns out to be the wife of A25.”
“As I suspected,” the Captain answered.
“Where is my husband?” Greeba cried. “What accident has befallen him? Take me to him.”
“First tell me why you came to this place,” said the Captain.
“To be near my husband,” said Greeba.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing.”
“Who is this other man?” asked the Captain.
“What man?” said Greeba.
Then they told her that her husband was gone, having been carried off by a fellow-prisoner who had effected the escape of both of them.
“Escaped!” cried Greeba, with a look of bewilderment, glancing from face to face of the men about her. “Then it is not true that he has met with an accident. Thank God, oh! thank God!” And she clutched her child closer to her breast, and kissed it.
“We know nothing of that either way,” said the Captain. “But tell us who and what is this other man? His number here was B25. His name is Jason.”
At that, Greeba gazed up again with a terrified look of inquiry.
“Jason?” she cried.
“Yes, who is he?” the Captain asked.
And Greeba answered, after a pause, “His own brother.”
“We might have thought as much,” said the Captain.
There was another pause, and then Greeba said, “Yes, his own brother, who has followed him all his life to kill him.”
The Captain smiled upon his warders and said, “It didn’t look like it, madam.”
“But it is true,” said Greeba.
“He has been your husband’s best friend,” said the Captain.
“He is my husband’s worst enemy,” said Greeba.
“He has carried him off, I tell you,” said the Captain.
“Then it is only that he may have his wicked will of him,” said Greeba. “Ah, sir, you will tell me I don’t know what I’m saying. But I know too well. It was for attempting my husband’s life that Jason was sent to this place. That was before your time; but look and see if I speak the truth. Now I know it is false that my husband is only injured. Would he were! Would he were! Yet, what am I saying? Mercy me, what am I saying? But, only think, he has been carried off to his death. I know he has — I am sure he has; and better, a thousand thousand times better, that he should be here, however injured, with me to nurse him! But what am I saying again? Indeed, I don’t know what I am saying. Oh, sir, forgive me; and heaven forgive me, also. But send after that man. Send instantly. Don’t lose an hour more. Oh, believe me, sir, trust me, sir, for I am a broken-hearted woman; and why should I not speak the truth?”
“All this is very strange,” said the Captain. “But set your mind at ease about the man Jason. The guards have already gone in pursuit of him, and he cannot escape. It is not for me to say your story is not true, though the facts, as we know them, discredit it. But, true or not, you shall tell it to the Governor as you have told it to me, so prepare to leave Krisuvik immediately.”
And in less than an hour more Greeba was riding between two of the guards towards the valley of Thingvellir.
II.
Jorgen Jorgensen had thrice hardened his heart against Michael Sunlocks: first, when he pushed Sunlocks into Althing, and found his selfish ends were not thereby in the way of advancement; next, when he fell from his place and Sunlocks took possession of it; again, when he regained his stool and Sunlocks was condemned to the Sulphur Mines. But most of all he hated Sunlocks when old Adam Fairbrother came to Reykjavik and demanded for him, as an English subject, the benefit of judge and jury.
“We know of no jury here,” said Jorgen; “and English subject or not English subject, this man has offended against the laws of Denmark.”
“Then the laws of Denmark shall condemn him,” said Adam, bravely, “and not the caprice of a tyrant governor.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your old head, sir,” said Jorgen, “or you may learn to your cost how far that caprice can go.”
“I care nothing for your threats, sir,” said Adam, “and I mean to accuse you before your master.”
“Do your worst,” said Jorgen, “and take care how you do it.”
And at first Adam’s worst seemed likely to be little, for hardly had he set foot in Reykjavik when he was brought front to front with the material difficulty that the few pounds with which he had set out were spent. Money was justice, and justice money, on that rock of the sea, as elsewhere, and on the horns of his dilemma, Adam bethought him to write to his late master, the Duke of Athol, explaining his position, and asking for the loan of fifty pounds. A long month passed before he got back his answer. The old Duke sent forty pounds as a remonstrance against Adam’s improvidence, and stern counsel to him to return forthwith to the homes of his children. In the meantime the old Bishop, out of love of Michael Sunlocks and sympathy with Greeba, had taken Adam into his house at Reykjavik. From there old Adam had sent petitions to the Minister at Copenhagen, petitions to the Danish Rigsdag, and finally petitions to the Danish King. His reward had been small, for no justice, or promise of justice, could he get.
But Jorgen Jorgensen had sat no easier on his seat for Adam’s zealous efforts. He had been hurried out of his peace by Government inquiries, and terrified by Government threats. But he had wriggled, he had lied, he had used subterfuge after subterfuge, and so pushed on the evil day of final reckoning.
And while his hoary head lay ill at ease because of the troubles that came from Copenhagen, the gorge of his stomach rose at the bitter waters he was made to drink at Reykjavik. He heard the name of Michael Sunlocks on every lip, as a name of honor, a name of affection, a name to conjure with whenever and wherever men talked of high talents, justice, honor and truth.
Jorgen perceived that the people of Iceland had recovered from the first surprise and suspicion that followed on the fall of their Republic, and no longer saw Michael Sunlocks as their betrayer, but had begun to regard him as their martyr. They loved him still. If their hour ever came they would restore him. On the other hand, Jorgen realized that he himself was hated where he was not despised, jeered at where he was not feared, and that the men whom he had counted upon because he had bought them with the places in his gift, smiled loftily upon him as upon one who had fallen on his second childhood. And so Jorgen Jorgensen hardened his heart against Michael Sunlocks, and vowed that the Sulphur Mines of Krisuvik should see the worst and last of him.
He heard of Jason, too, that he was not dead, as they had supposed, but alive, and that he had been sent to the Mines for attempting the life of Sunlocks. That attempt seemed to him to come of a natural passion, and as often as he spoke of it he warmed up visibly, not out of any human tenderness towards Jason, but with a sense of wild triumph over Sunlocks. And the more he thought of Jason, the firmer grew his resolve to take him out of the Sulphur Mines and place him by his side, not that his old age needed a stay, not that he was a lonely old man, and Jason was his daughter’s son, but only because Jason hated Sunlocks and would crush him if by chance he rose again.
With such thoughts uppermost he went down to Krisuvik, and there his bitter purpose met with a shock. He found Jason the sole ally of Michael Sunlocks, his friend, his defender and champion against tyranny. It was then that he ordered the ruthless punishment of Sunlocks, that he should be nailed by his right hand to a log of driftwood, with meat and drink within sight but out of reach of him, and a huge knife by his side. And when Jason had liberated Sunlocks from this inhuman cruelty, and the two men, dearest foes and deadliest friends, were brought before him for their punishment, the gall of Jorgen’s fate seemed to suffocate him. “Strap them up together,” he cried, “leg to leg and arm to arm.” Thus he thought to turn their love to hate; but he kept his own counsel, and left the Sulphur Mines without saying what evil dream had brought him there, or confessing to his Danish officers the relation wherein this other prisoner stood to him, for secrecy is the chain-armor of the tyrant.
Back in Reykjavik he comforted himself with the assurance that Michael Sunlocks must die. “There was death in his face,” he thought, “and he cannot last a month longer. Besides, he will fall to fighting with the other, and the other will surely kill him. Blind fools, both of them!”
In this mood he made ready for Thingvellir, and set out with all his people. Since the revolution, he had kept a bodyguard of five and twenty men, and with this following he was crossing the slope of the Basket Hill, behind the capital, when he saw half a score of the guards from Krisuvik riding at a gallop from the direction of Hafnafiord. They were the men who had been sent in pursuit of Red Jason and Michael Sunlocks, the same that had passed them in the hummock, where the carcase of the dog still lay.
Then Jorgen Jorgensen received news that terrified him.
Michael Sunlocks had escaped, and Red Jason had escaped with him. They had not been seen at Hafnafiord, and no ship had set sail from there since yesterday. Never a trace of them had been found on any of the paths from Krisuvik, and it was certain that they must be in the interior still. Would his Excellency lend them ten men more to scour the country?
Such was the message of the guards, and at hearing it Jorgen’s anger and fear overmastered him.
“Fools! Blockheads! Asses!” he cried. “The man is making for Reykjavik. He knows what he is doing if you do not. Is not this the time of Althing, and must I not leave Reykjavik for Thingvellir? He is making for Reykjavik now! Once let him set foot there, and these damned Icelanders will rise at the sight of him. Then you may scour the country till you fall dead and turn black, and he will only laugh at the sight of you. Back, you blockheads, back! Back to Reykjavik, every man of you! And I am going back with you.”
Thus driven by his frantic terror, Jorgen Jorgensen returned to the capital and searched every house and hovel, every hole and sty, for the two fugitives; and when he had satisfied himself that they were not anywhere within range of Reykjavik, his fears remembered Thingvellir, and what mischief might be going forward in his absence. So next day he left his body-guard with the guard from Krisuvik to watch the capital, and set out alone for the Mount of Laws.
III.
The lonely valley of Thingvellir was alive that morning with a great throng of people. They came from the west by the Chasm of All Men, from the east by the Chasm of Ravens, and from the south by the lake. Troop after troop flowed into the vast amphitheatre that lies between dark hills and great jokulls tipped with snow. They pitched their tents on the green patch, under the fells to the north, and tying their ponies together, head to tail, they turned them loose to graze. Hundreds of tents were there by early morning, gleaming white in the sunlight, and tens of hundreds of ponies, shaggy and unkempt, grubbed among the short grass that grew between.
Near the middle of the plain stood the Mount of Laws, a lava island of oval shape, surrounded by a narrow stream, and bounded by overhanging walls cut deep with fissures. Around this mount the people gathered. There friend met friend, foe met foe, rival met rival, northmen met southmen, the Westmann islander met the Grimsey islander, and the man from Seydisfiord met the man from Patriksfiord. And because Althing gathered only every other year, many musty kisses went round, with snuffboxes after them, among those who had not met before for two long years.
It was a vast assembly, chiefly of men, in their homespun and sheepskins and woollen stockings, cross-gartered with hemp from ankle to knee. Women, too, and young girls and children were there, all wearing their Sunday best. And in those first minutes of their meeting, before Althing began, the talk was of crops and stock, of the weather, and of what sheep had been lost in the last two hard winters. The day had opened brightly, with clear air and bright sunshine, but the blue sky had soon become overcast with threatening clouds, and this lead to stories of strange signs in the heavens, and unaccustomed noises on the earth and under it.
