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Updated: June 24, 2025
It was wrecked on the coast of Ireland, and many of the company drowned. Gudrid's son Biorn was born at Brattalithe and named after a brave man; and then it became a question for Karlsefne what he had better do. He had had from Gudrid a fine estate in Greenland, but he had one of his own at Rowanness in Iceland, and wanted to take her there.
Eric said it should be as he wished. The last feast that fine old man was ever to see was that which he made for Gudrid's wedding with Karlsefne. Directly he was married Karlsefne began to talk about the Wineland voyage, first to Gudrid, and then to the company at Brattalithe, where he still lived. Gudrid was eager to go.
The boat came alongside, and they were hailed. "Who and whence are you?" Thorbeorn told his name and port of origin. "I hoped to make Ericsfrith," he said. "You have made a poor business of it," said the master of the boat. "This is Heriolfsness, a good ten hours' sailing from the frith; and I am Heriolf at your service." Gudrid's heart leapt.
If you will accept of my love and service I am content to trust myself to win yours." Gudrid's throat was dry. She had difficulty in speaking. "I shall do my duty," she said. And then, "I shall obey my father in all things, as I ought." Eric went over to her and took her hand. "I won't deny I shall be sorry to see you leave Brattalithe," he said.
He held her close to him, with a passion which despair may have quickened into flame. Wildly as he had loved her since she had given him herself, he never loved her as he did now, when the end seemed close upon them. For a week they lived so, the supreme week of Thorstan's and Gudrid's lives.
Gudrid's fortune was envied by the girls of the house, who expressed themselves freely about it. "With your looks," they said, "it was to be expected she would take notice of you. But to see so much, and to tell you all!" The poor girl herself, however, took it very hard, and saw herself punished for impiety.
Then, gradually, the song ran into a minor key, as Thorir's pitiful crew landed upon the sand. Haggard and worn and almost too weak to walk, they clung to the brawny arms of their rescuers; and the horrors of their privations were written in pitiless letters on Gudrid's fair white face. The rejoicing and laughter sank into wondering questions and pitiful murmuring.
There is that in her which will prevent me." "She is like all women, I fancy," Orme said; "very tender where they are loved. They set more store upon love than men do, and whosoever offers it to them, it is a valuable thing, and enhances the offerer." "That is not Gudrid's way," said Einar. Orme felt sorry for him. "Thorbeorn will make a marriage for Gudrid, you may be sure," he said.
Gudrid's gentle eyes opened wide with wonder and alarm. "Not Helga the Fair of Trondhjem," she gasped, "who fled from Gilli to his kinsfolk in Greenland? Alas, my unfortunate child!" In the eagerness in which she clasped her hands, the wine-cup fell clanging from Helga's hold. "Is he dead?" she cried, imploringly. "Only tell me that, and I will serve you all the rest of my life! Is Gilli dead?"
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