Thrain had thought it a great thing to combine his property with Gunnora’s. She had more money than he did, but he had planned on making her pregnant as soon as he could so that one of his own children would have a claim on some of the cash. In the meantime, he thought he would work her farm and rent out his own land. He had a great many plans in his mind and now he saw them all coming to nothing. He tried to take back his words about Ljot and said that he would look after the boy as his own, but Gunnora would have none of it. She said flatly that they would never marry and that was an end to it.
Gwyneth watched all this happen and when Gunnora refused Thrain, she felt a rush of respect for the woman and was pleased that she had never voiced a bad opinion of her. Still, Gwyneth did not warm to Gunnora and kept distant from her.
Thrain married about two years later. His wife was named Stein-Unn and she came from a neighboring area. Stein-Unn had a hare-lip but she brought a large dowry. Some of the women sneered that, if they had birthed Stein-Unn, they would have exposed her. Gwyneth kept her thoughts to herself, but she visited Stein-Unn from time to time and was friendly toward her.
Gunnora, too, was contemptuous of Stein-Unn and of Thrain for marrying her. She herself never remarried. Many of the women suspected that she was sleeping with their husbands. Gunnora never bragged about her conquests, but when she spoke with other women her superior smile always held a trace of mockery. So she took a certain place among the women but, except for her children, she was alone.
16. Ingveld’s Illness
At the Autumn Sacrifice, Gwyneth noticed that Ingveld did not look well. She spoke to her friend who shrugged, “I am getting old. We all fade with time.” Ingveld laughed, then leaned in toward Gwyneth and whispered, “Come visit me where we can talk privately.”
So, a week or so later, Gwyneth made her way over to Ingveld’s farm. Thurid was in the yard, busy with some task or other, and greeted Gwyneth with a great smile. Gwyneth smiled back, always glad to see this child who brightened everything around her, at least in Gwyneth’s eyes.
Thurid ran up to her and took her arm. “Oh, Mother, I am so glad to see you! Did you know, there is a new litter of kittens? They are so cute! And my calf, Frey-Hyrna, will be in season soon and will be bred.” She prattled on and Gwyneth allowed herself to be drawn toward the house, bouyed up by the child’s energy.
Groa poked her head from the door to an outbuilding and greeted Gwyneth. Then she called Thurid over, saying that she had a chore for her to do. “Yes, Mother.” Thurid ran over to her and Groa looked at Gwyneth over the child’s head with a serious expression and tilted her head toward the main house. Gwyneth realized that Groa was getting the girl out of the way so that she could a private talk with Ingveld. Gwyneth was apprehensive as she entered the longhall and walked down to the stove-room where Ingveld sat up on her woman’s platform, toying with thread but not actually spinning.
Gwyneth sat down on the platform next to Ingveld and took her hand. She said nothing but waited until Ingveld should speak. They sat in silence for a time, then Ingveld said, “Is Mar around?”
“I did not see him. I suppose he is out in the fields.”
Ingveld nodded, “So he should be. I just wanted to make sure.”
“What is it?”
Ingveld sighed. “I am not well. In fact, I think I am very ill. I have pains in my back and my body has started to swell.” She held out her hand and Gwyneth noticed that Ingveld’s fingers were swollen and thick. She looked at Ingveld’s face and saw that it was rounder than she had last seen it and puffy-looking.
Gwyneth said, “It’s normal to put on some weight...”
Ingveld shook her head. “This is not fat, it is water. I have seen this before, in other women, and men as well, and it is always fatal, given time.”
“Given time, we shall all come to an end.” Gwyneth wanted to ease her friend’s mind. She tried to think of some comforting words.
“I have not much time, I think. I doubt I will attend the Spring Sacrifice.”
Gwyneth squeezed Ingveld’s hand but she kept quiet.
“What I want to talk about is the farm,” said Ingveld.
“All right.”
“I want to be certain Mar has a place to live after I am gone.”
“No one will turn him out,” said Gwyneth. She set her mouth. “I will speak to Colm and he will guarantee it.”
Gwyneth nodded. “All right. And I want Thurid to have a place here, too, along with Groa.”
“Well, I suppose that can be managed,” said Gwyneth. “I don’t know what the legalities are, but I don’t see that either person will be driven away. Some day Thurid will marry and I suppose she may find a new place but Mar is unlikely to take up with anyone.”
“Then I ask you to see about how this might be arranged.” Ingveld paused. “And I ask that Colm protect this farm and these two people that I love.”
“He will do so,” said Gwyneth firmly. “I swear it!”
“This is not an easy thing I ask of you. I know that it may lead to trouble and I do not want to make your life difficult.”
“There will be no trouble. Colm will see to it. And I will do anything you ask, easy or not.” Gwyneth began to cry. The two women comforted one another and then they spoke for a long time, trying to make plans.
That night, Gwyneth approached Colm and told him of her pledge to Ingveld. Colm saw that he had to agree. “It is only just,” he said, “That Mar continue to work the farm. And of course, there must be provision for Thurid...” He trailed off, weighing these considerations in his mind. Already he could see certain problems that might arise. “I need to speak to Mar,” he said.
“Not yet,” said Gwyneth. “Ingveld doesn’t want people to treat her like a corpse-in-waiting. Later, when her sickness has progressed so far that it is obvious, then talk to him.”
Colm nodded. He was a little dubious about this scheme, but he saw that the women had decided and that there was no undoing that. About a month after his talk with Gwyneth, as winter came on, he had a quiet chat with Thorolf and Hallvard, letting them know he counted on their backing.
“No one will steal the farm,” said Thorolf. “I promise that.” His brow furrowed and he pulled at his grey beard. “No, any problems will come from other places, but I do not see what we can do about that right now.”
That winter, Ingveld became so swollen that she could not easily shift her body about. She was in pain all the time. Mar and Thurid tended her and tried to ease her suffering but there was little anyone could do for her. Colm tried to talk to Mar but he was too distracted to listen. It was not until Ingveld’s final days that he began to think of his own future. Ingveld took his hand and told him that he would have the farm, along with Thurid, but that just worried Mar all the more. He had no family or friends to defend him and he saw that he was dependent on the good will of others.
After Ingveld was buried, Mar went to Colm’s farm. “I know what the best solution is to this difficulty,” he said, “I will marry Thurid.”
Gwyneth gasped. “Oh, no,” she said, “Thurid is still a child. She is only eleven!”
“Girls have married at that age before,” said Mar.
Colm said, “This is not the answer. Listen, you will have that farm until you die and no one will trouble you about it. I swear this to you, Mar! I will not allow you to be displaced. And Thorolf and Hallvard are with me on this. You will have the farm.”
Mar sat with his head bowed. He said nothing. Colm went on, “You have been Thurid’s father. You cannot now become her husband.”
“I was never her father. She had too many mothers for that.”
“Yes,” said Gwyneth, “And now she will come to live with this mother. And Groa, too.”
Colm was taken aback. Gwyneth had not told him of this, but he saw at once that it was best to move Thurid away from Mar. “Yes. I will help you find hands in the spring, Mar, and someone to look after the house. I think you will find littl
e difference there.”
Mar said nothing.
Colm said, “What can I do to convince you that this is the best course?”
Mar had nothing to offer and soon left, dissatisfied.
So Gwyneth brought Thurid and Groa into Colm’s household. She loved having the girl about – Geirrid was almost man’s age now and it seemed to her a long while since there was a child at the Trollfarm – and she spent quite a lot of time talking to Groa.
Colm went over to see Mar when he could. They discussed the herds, the slaves that had belonged to Ingveld – they went with the farm, said Colm, and Thorolf agreed. This was shaky legal ground but none of the slaves could sue about it. Colm could see that Gwyneth was working on her own plan as well. He said nothing but hoped that she would give him some warning before putting it into effect.
One day, Gwyneth said, “Groa went over to see Mar today.”
“What about?”
“About marriage. She is old enough to speak for herself in these matters.”
“But she is a slave,” said Colm.
“Why, no,” said Gwyneth. She looked at Colm with wide eyes. “Ingveld freed her at the end. Don’t you remember?”
Colm remembered that Ingveld had been so distracted and confused at the end that she had said little that was coherent. He sighed. “I suppose she would have freed Groa if she had thought clearly.”
“There,” said Gwyneth, “I knew you would remember.” Colm sighed again. Gwyneth said, “I suppose we could make some contribution to Groa’s dowry, too. At least, that is what I told her.” This time Colm did not sigh, but only nodded in dumb silence.
Groa made several visits to Mar and began staying overnight. One day they announced that they were wed. “Well,” said Gwyneth, “I think you could have allowed us all the pleasure of a celebration.”
“We are too old for that,” said Groa. “We celebrate every day the fact that we have life left to live.” Groa was somewhere around thirty-five years old. She might be older or younger than that; no one paid much attention to a slave’s birthday. Mar was about fifty. The two got on well and Mar lost the pinched look about the eyes that he had developed after Ingveld’s death.
Thurid remained at the Trollfarm. After a time, Colm and Gwyneth asked to foster her. They made a formal request of Mar and Groa together, acknowledging them as the girl’s parents. Usually children were fostered by people of lesser birth. Three of these people were ex-slaves, but Colm and Gwyneth had enough stature so no one mentioned that. So this arrangement was still unusual. Groa said to Gwyneth, “You are already Thurid’s mother.”
Gwyneth said, “You bore her and are her true mother, Groa. Everyone knows that. But I love her and wish to have as much of her as I can.” Groa wept a little and Gwyneth embraced her.
Mar told Colm, “You are already the girl’s protector.”
“And yours, Mar. I have pledged to keep you and this farm and this girl safe. I mean to honor that pledge but this is another nail to fasten things together so that everyone may understand the relationships here.”
“I am in your debt.”
“No, I am in yours, for you have provided my wife with a child that gladdens her heart.”
“Not so much my child.”
“Every bit! And I am pleased and humble that you allow me to share that fatherhood.”
So Thurid was fostered by Colm and Gwyneth and spent about half the year at the Trollfarm. Most seemed pleased with the way events turned out though no one asked Geirrid what he thought of having a new sister. He said nothing about the matter and things seemed happy and steady for a time.
17. The Amber Pendant
Geirrid’s beard began to come in. Sometimes his mother caught him looking into a mirror and rubbing the sparse hairs on his chin. Gwyneth tried not to embarrass the boy but she was amused. She was amused but she also felt a pang in her heart at the thought of her child growing up.
Geirrid began paying more attention to his appearance. He wore colored clothes when he could and kept them clean. He combed oil into his hair and braided it tight. Sometimes, if he knew he would be meeting girls, he would braid a strip of blue cloth in with his hair. His friends, Frosti and Orm, also looked to their appearance and tried to appear impressive rather than young and foolish. The girls their age played fortune-telling games and drew lots that were supposed to name their future husbands. They made dream-pillows full of certain dried flowers and plants that they might see the face of their intended while they slept. They got up at dawn and rubbed dew on their faces to enhance their beauty so they might attract the best of the young men.
Marta Bjornsdottir was a pretty girl. Geirrid, Orm, and Frosti all took notice of her. Geirrid and Orm came into their sixteenth year and began thinking seriously about courting Marta, who was about a year younger. Frosti was about eighteen. He also thought of Marta. Marta was considered a good match since the farm that her father, Bjorn, had left to Gerda was a good one and because she was granddaughter to the current godi and sister to his chosen successor. Orm’s father, Ketil Tree-foot, had a good farm but Colm’s was at least its equal. Of course Geirrid was the son of former slaves but Colm had won a high reputation and everyone thought well of him, especially Thorolf. So Geirrid was favored by many to win Marta’s hand. No one thought that Frosti Bragason, whose mother had been a slave when he was conceived, had any chance at all. But Frosti was determined to try.
Frosti spoke with his mother, Braga, about Marta. Braga thought that the match was beyond Frosti’s grasp but she promised to do what she could. Later, she spoke with her husband Adals. “My son is thinking of marriage,” she said.
“Well, it’s time, I suppose,” said Adals. “But I don’t know how much we can offer for his side of the contract.” Adals didn’t mention that they also had a daughter, Freydis, who would need backing at some point. That was a few years off and Adals took little heed of the future.
“We need to offer quite a bit for the match Frosti has in mind. He wants to court Marta Bjornsdottir.”
“Oh, Braga!” Adals slapped his head in astonishment. “How could that ever come about?”
“I don’t know,” said Braga, “But I mean to try to help my son.”
Adals sighed. Then he brightened. “Now that I have a good fighting horse, perhaps I can win some money!”
“Better that we not lose what we have than gamble it away.”
“What we have is not enough for a marriage contract with Marta and you know it.” Adals shook his head. “I won’t risk our farm but I’ll put up most everything else we own if I can find people to take the bet. When we win, I’ll give half to Adals for bride-price.”
“When we win?” Braga had heard this before.
“Yes,” said Adals, for in his mind he had already won and was counting his winnings. Braga sighed, for she knew that Adals might start spending these winnings, too, long before they ever materialized. She decided on another plan.
Braga took Frosti to one side and had a long talk with him. “Most girls won’t marry a man they don’t wish to.”
Frosti agreed, “But few will shame their parents. If a match is arranged, then the girl will decide she likes the man well enough.”
“That’s true, but still, if Marta were to like you best of all the boys then that would weigh heavilly in your favor.”
“All right,” said Frosti, “I will try to impress her.”
“Have you taken her to the hay-piles yet?”
Frosti shrugged, a little embarrassed. Like his friends, the boy had fumbling encounters with most of the local girls. “I doubt that will make much difference.”
“It might,” said Braga, “Depending on how well you do there.” She was thinking that if Marta was pregnant, that would be a factor of some weight, though still not enough to guarantee a marriage. “Listen, this is how a girl expects to be wooed.” And she told Frosti everything that she thought might improve his chances with Marta. Frosti listened carefully though he fou
nd himself unable to resolve how to be forceful and yet gentle. He did understand about not grabbing at a girl or teasing her about her appearance, though, and resolved not to do either of these things anymore.
Then Braga opened her chest and took out a small leather parcel. Inside was the amber pendant that she had gotten from Gunnora. “This might be a persuasive gift,” said Braga. She didn’t mention the ring that she had. She thought she would keep that in reserve.
The amber was a deep honey color and wonderfully translucent. It had been polished into a smooth piece about the size of a pigeon’s egg. Six thin gold wires enclosed the amber and were joined into a loop at the top. “I have no gold chain,” said Braga. “You will have to find a nice leather cord to hang it.”
Frosti nodded and took the pendant from his mother’s hand. It glowed in the firelight and was not cold like a stone but warm as though it possessed life. “Marta will love this,” breathed Frosti.
“See that she loves you,” said his mother.
Frosti and Geirrid sat looking out over the water. It was a warm day. The sea was green, the sky was blue, the clouds were thick and white. It was a good day to be alive. Geirrid said, “Have you ever thought of leaving here, Frosti?”
Frosti lay on his back, watching the clouds change shape. “No. I mean to stay and work our farm. In time, I will become wealthy.”
“Wealthy. You mean, own a lot of sheep?” asked Geirrid.
“Yes. Where else do you find wealth?”
“Silver is wealth,” said Geirrid. “I mean to gain lots of silver.”
“Silver!” Frosti laughed. “You are taking up raiding?”
Geirrid shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t look forward to living on a sheep farm the rest of my life.”
“Sheep farms aren’t so bad, specially if you find the right woman to live with you.”
“Well, as for that, there’s only one girl around here worth considering.”
The Saga of Colm the Slave Page 16