ught to his end by hired assassins the while.
Sometimes he dwells with the friendly spirits of the land, and chiefly
with Hallmund, his friend, who saves his life in one of the desperate
fights he is forced into. But little by little all fall off from him;
his friends durst harbour him no more, or are slain. Hallmund comes
to a tragic end; Grettir is driven from his lairs one after the other,
and makes up his mind to try, as a last resource, to set himself
down on the island of Drangey, which rises up sheer from the midst
of Skagafirth like a castle; he goes to his father's house, and bids
farewell to his mother, and sets off for Drangey in the company of his
youngest brother, Illugi, who will not leave him in this pinch, and
a losel called "Noise," a good joker (we are told), but a slothful,
untrustworthy poltroon. The three get out to Drangey, and possess
themselves of the live-stock on it, and for a while all goes well;
the land-owners who held the island in shares, despairing of ridding
themselves of the outlaw, give their shares or sell them to one
Thorbiorn Angle, a man of good house, but violent, unpopular, and
unscrupulous. This man, after trying the obvious ways of persuasion,
cajolery, and assassination, for getting the island into his hands, at
last, with the help of a certain hag, his foster-mother, has recourse
to sorcery. By means of her spells (as the story goes) Grettir wounds
himself in the leg in the third year of his sojourn at Drangey,
and though the wound speedily closes, in a week or two gangrene
supervenes, and Grettir, at last, lies nearly helpless, watched
continually by his brother Illugi. The losel, "Noise," now that the
brothers can no more stir abroad, will not take the trouble to pull
up the ladders that lead from the top of the island down to the
beach; and, amidst all this, helped by a magic storm the sorceress
has raised, Thorbiorn Angle, with a band of men, surprises the island,
unroofs the hut of the brothers, and gains ingress there, and after
a short struggle (for Grettir is already a dying man) slays the great
outlaw and captures Illugi in spite of a gallant defence; he, too,
disdaining to make any terms with the murderers of his brother, is
slain, and Angle goes away exulting, after he had mutilated the body
of Grettir, with the head on which so great a price had been put, and
the sword which the dead man had borne.

But now that the mighty man was dead, and people were relieved
o