Meadowland Read Online Free PDF Page B

how people can change their ways, if they set their mind to it.’ I yawned, rather pointedly ‘Well, it’s been a long day and I’m bushed, so I think I’ll get my head down for a bit.’
    Kari looked at me. ‘I thought you wanted to hear the story.’
    ‘I did,’ I replied, ‘and you very kindly told it to me. I enjoyed it. Now-‘
    ‘That’s only the beginning,’ Kari said. ‘Actually, it’s more like the bit before the beginning, because the story really starts with Herjolf Bardason, the man I was just going to tell you about.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said.
    ‘Or rather, his son,’ Kari added. ‘Bjarni Herjolfson. I knew him very well, of course. You’ll enjoy hearing about him, he was an interesting man.’
    ‘I’d like that,’ I said, trying to sound like I meant it. ‘Maybe tomorrow-‘
    Herjolf Bardason (Kari continued) was a wilful sort of a man, always had to get his own way People like that can cause a lot of trouble, though sometimes more good than harm comes of it and then we call them determined and resolute and stuff like that, and everybody thinks well of them. Anyhow, Herjolf could be as resolute as a billy goat when he wanted to; and as soon as he heard Red Eirik sounding off about how great Greenland was, he made up his mind right away, he was going to go out there and start a new life.
    Bloody stupid idea, because Herjolf was fifty-five if he was a day, and that’s an old man where I come from. Not like he had any need to up sticks and start over, either. He was better than well off, good farm, plenty of stock; his son Bjarni was a grown man, he’d never settled to farming so his dad bought him a ship and he’d taken to the merchant life, done very well for himself, so Herjolf never wanted for flour or timber or any of the stuff Icelanders have to bring in from overseas. Absolutely no call to throw it all over and go plunging off into the unknown. But he’d made up his mind to go, and he went.
    Now, then- (Here Kari took a deep breath, like a man about to dive into deep water.)
    Now, then: this is where Eyvind and me come into the story. Eyvind and me, we were born and raised at Drepstokk, which was where old Herjolf farmed. Our families were nothing much; they came over on the first ships to Iceland, but they were hired men, and that’s what they stayed. My dad was Herjolf’s stockman, and Eyvind’s dad helped with the horses, watched the charcoal, did pretty well anything he was told. Him and me, we were born three days apart - I’m the eldest, never let him forget it these sixty years - and I don’t suppose we’ve been out of each other’s company more than a few days all that time. Well, we both knew Herjolf’s son Bjarni since we were kids. He was a good man, Bjari, though he had more than a bit of his old man’s stubborn streak. They were alike in more ways than they were different, so it was bound to happen that they were always falling out, bickering over how things should be done round the farm. Herjolf’s ways were tried and tested and he was set in them tighter than a gatepost, Bjarni was always thinking up clever new ideas to do the job better in half the time. Both of them were right, of course, so neither’d ever give way So, soon as Bjarni was old enough, he decided to get away from the farm and take up trading. Wheat and barley don’t grow in Iceland, there’s precious little timber for building or firing, no iron for tools, no flax for linen, no tar, no honey; so we trade for what we need with what we’ve got.
    So, that first year, Bjari filled up the hold of his ship with a load of stuff his dad gave him - wool, broadcloth, sheepskins, tanned and raw hides, tallow, sulphur, six dozen cartwheel cheeses and even a cage of falcons (guess who had the job of snaring the bloody things; and they can give you a nasty nip when they’re angry, too) - and started asking round the neighbourhood to see who fancied coming with him.
    Important thing you need to remember