AHMM, July-August 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "And if I do make a mistake, Mr. Giovocchi?"

  "Well, then, Lennie finds your mike and shoots you dead. We'll all say, hey, Anthony must've been a police snitch, trying to get evidence on our number three man. Lennie alone will know that he's the police snitch and it's us trying to get evidence on him, and that when we whack him none of his friends will start a war after we play the tape for them."

  Ricco sighed, and shook his head.

  Copyright © 2010 David Braly

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fiction: THE SILVER PENNIES by Mike Culpepper

  * * * *

  Art by Robyn Hyzy

  * * * *

  The more a man drinks, the less he knows, Colm thought, for he could tell where this was headed.

  Aud died that autumn. First, she seemed to swell up, then to shrivel away. Tumors broke out all over her body. She was in great pain for a while before she died. Colm wondered how her gods could allow this woman to suffer such agony—unless, of course, this was the White Christ's punishment on her for being a pagan. That raised another problem: If Jesus had struck this woman to demonstrate his power to unbelievers, then he was more to be feared than Thor or Frey, who could not protect Aud from this terrible death. But Colm thought, even if Jesus was more powerful than the pagan gods, he himself would not willingly serve a master who so cruelly abused a good woman just to win a point.

  Aud was well respected and many people gathered at her dying. There, on her deathbed, Aud granted freedom to Gwyneth. She called witnesses and swore Gwyneth to be a free woman. Gwyneth stayed with Aud through to the end when she was in horrible pain. Gwyneth made her as comfortable as possible and, when Aud was dead, wept because she felt truly attached to her.

  Colm's feelings were more complex. On the one hand Colm thought that Aud's freeing of Gwyneth earned her sainthood in whatever faith truly existed; on the other, Aud's death meant that Gwyneth was free to marry!

  So they wed, Colm and Gwyneth, after Aud was buried, by announcing that fact to newly bereaved Bjorn, who nodded and waved a hand to them as he wiped away his tears with the other, for Aud and he had loved each other for a long time. Their children were grown and far away and he had no one to comfort him.

  The newlyweds walked down the valley, swinging their arms together, laughing but apprehensive. They had both been enslaved as children and now they feared freedom a bit. But freedom was exhilarating too! So they were excited as they walked together the miles to the Trollfarm. They were excited and they were apprehensive; they were so full of feelings that happiness was only another one, mixed in with the rest.

  The Trollfarm was Colm's own place now in exchange for rent. It was Gwyneth's own house to run as she pleased. But she worried that she'd do poorly as a housewife, her chickens not lay and her children not thrive. And Colm, too, worried whether he would be able to manage after paying out twenty percent of his increase every year for seven years and ten percent for another three. Then he tried to determine how much difference ten percent would make and whether, when he had paid in for seven years, he could cease to worry. Then he thought of how his holding would increase and he thought of Gwyneth beside him, her palm a little damp now, and wondered how long until they got to his farmhouse. He picked up the pace and noticed Gwyneth wasn't lagging.

  Colm had made some repairs. He tried to fix the damaged roof, but now it required a season's growing over. Of course, even after the sod covered a roof, it still leaked, but that one part would leak worse than the rest, probably forever. Colm had tried to repair the benches too. Most of the benchboards were missing. Wood was in short supply and Colm felt lucky that people had not totally stripped the Trollfarm. Anyway, he had managed to set up some benches at the drier end of the house. There was a fire pit there and plenty of dung for fuel.

  So they built up the fire and lay on the benches and everything was just as it should be until an hour or two after dark. Then there was a howl outside, a strange sound, not a dog, and there were no wolves on this island. Colm leapt from the bench and pulled on his trousers. He grabbed up his scramasax and crouched by the doorway. Then he heard other sounds: a jangle of iron bands on a ring, the thick boom of a homemade drum, howls and shouts. He looked back at the bench where Gwyneth, laughing, was pulling on her skirts.

  They walked outside to find nine slaves, men and women, cheering and yelling at them. Gwyneth ran forward to embrace the women, who were all her friends, and Colm walked over to the men, once his fellow slaves but now creatures of a lower order. He slapped hands and greeted the other young men and he saw the envy and the admiration in their eyes, envy and admiration for him, Colm, the slave who won a farm, a woman, and his freedom. Colm decided to ignore the envy and gently mock the admiration, which diminished the one as it increased the other. But he was a little ashamed that he could not offer hospitality; he had neither beer nor food to offer. Then the slave women unwrapped their parcels and there was cheese and meat and even some beer, enough for everyone to have a taste. No doubt these were victuals purloined from Aud's funeral feast, but that is the slave's rightful portion and not to be denied. After some time spent feasting and laughing and talking of things no one would remember later, the slaves left and Colm and Gwyneth tumbled onto the bench again.

  The next morning, they were both reflective. Colm said, “I have no marriage price for you."

  Gwyneth said, “I have no dowry for you."

  Colm, a sweet-talking man, said, “But I have a morning-gift for you.” He took Gwyneth by the hand and out the door and they stood in the front yard, totally naked, and Colm said, “All of this, all of it, this is your morning-gift."

  Gwyneth looked about her at the field that had not been mowed in years. At the lack of animals in the yard, no pigs, no chickens, not even a dog. At the damaged roof in the longhouse and she asked, straight faced, “Am I supposed to be pleased or horrified?"

  Colm looked around and began laughing. “Whichever it is, I feel the same way.” He gathered himself up and put on his farmer face. “But we will build this up! Sheep, cattle, hay . . ."

  "Chickens!"

  ". . . chickens. Pigs, horses, goats . . . I think there's a place where you can grow barley. That's something! We can brew beer and . . .” Colm caught himself waving his arms about and looked at Gwyneth who regarded him, hand on hip, with her eyes narrowed and a smile on her lips. They looked at each other for a silent moment, then ran back inside.

  Colm mowed the home field. It was hot in the sun but days were running shorter. The grass might not dry properly. Anyway, it was full of dried grass from years of neglect. How would that affect the hay? But Colm discovered that if he pitched the grass on top of the stone fence, away from the ground, it dried more quickly. Gwyneth helped, too, and Colm mowed the faster for seeing her work beside him. Most of the home field was good hay before the snow fell.

  That winter, Colm's ewe delivered twins. Often a first-time mother will not birth twins successfully, but Colm and Gwyneth saw the ewe through her birthing and coddled her so that she was able to nurse both lambs. The lambs thrived. All this work, all this excitement, everything came along one thing after another so that Colm and Gwyneth never had much opportunity to reflect how happy they were and how delicious they found life to be! Then, in the spring, Bjorn came to see Colm.

  Gwyneth was tugging loose fleece from the ewe when she saw the horse approaching. She watched for a minute, recognized Bjorn, called Colm, and went in to prepare what food she could to welcome her guest who was also the former master of Colm and herself.

  Bjorn got directly to the point. “Eystein has returned from raiding.” Eystein was brother to Halldor, who had been murdered by Gunnlaug. Colm then killed Gunnlaug and won the Trollfarm for himself. “He wants to meet you."

  Colm nodded and gestured to his house. “He is welcome."

  Bjorn said, “He, and others, will visit my place soon. You and your wife come too."

  Colm thought first that Bjorn meant his
house was not good enough to entertain Eystein and his father, Magnus, a wealthy farmer. Then he thought that Bjorn was honoring him as a guest. He weighed the two thoughts and decided to take honor above insult. After all, he owed Bjorn much.

  * * * *

  Bjorn's longhall was packed. Marta, wife of the chieftain, Thorolf, sat in the place of honor on the women's bench—Aud's place, when Aud was alive. Her daughter Gerda and the unmarried young women took their places on one side of her. Ingveld, wife to Magnus and mother of the murdered Halldor, sat on the other side ahead of the other married women. Gwyneth took her place at the very end of the bench. She held her chin high and her back erect. Colm ached for her, though there was nothing he could do to help Gwyneth's status except improve his own. Ingveld went down to Gwyneth's place and took her hand and said some words that caused Gwyneth to smile. Colm smiled too.

  The place of honor on the men's bench was held by Bjorn, the host, and beside him sat Thorolf, his chieftain. On Bjorn's other side sat Magnus, Ingveld's husband. No couple was more unlike: soft-spoken and diplomatic Ingveld and choleric Magnus given to anger and invective. Beside Magnus sat his son, Eystein the raider. Big and broad shouldered, with a hint of his father's anger flickering in his eyes, Colm wondered if Eystein had inherited any of his mother's wisdom.

  Next to Eystein sat his lieutenant, Grani Lopear. The top of Grani's right ear was gone and a white scar ran across the side of his head and down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. He had the coldest, sharpest blue eyes Colm had ever seen. A single glance pierced you to the marrow. He glanced at Colm now, then stood up and gestured for the other men below him to move down the bench. If any man objected to this slight, he did not say so to Grani's face. Grani beckoned Colm forward to sit between him and Eystein.

  Two seats from the host! This was honor! At least, it was honor for him. Those who had to move down the bench had other feelings, perhaps. But Colm took his place without looking at them.

  Eystein rose and embraced Colm and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed him by the shoulders and made a great roaring speech. Colm was so overcome that he missed the words but he took their meaning: Eystein welcomed him and thanked him and loved him for avenging his brother's murder. Colm had other motives when he drove a knife into Gunnlaug's heart but no one cared about that.

  Then Eystein reached under the bench and hauled out a long parcel that he placed in Colm's hands. A gift! Colm was both honored and apprehensive. By accepting this gift, he was indebting himself to Eystein, yet there was no possibility of refusing it. Colm untied the knotted thong and unrolled the leather wrapping. He knew already, from the weight, that he was probably being given a weapon.

  The gift was a sword, a fine Frankish sword. Colm slid the weapon from its fleece-lined sheath and the greased steel shone in the firelight. Runes were inscribed on the blade—a magic spell, perhaps, or the swordsmith's name—but Colm could no more read them than he could any other kind of writing. This was a valuable weapon, better than most men in the district owned. Colm thanked Eystein warmly and received a friendly clap on the back that would have sent him over the table if he hadn't sensed it coming and braced himself.

  The men took their seats again and Eystein pressed Colm to tell of how he killed the outlaw Gunnlaug. Colm replied as directly as he could. He added no flourishes or heroics. Gunnlaug had not held a weapon when Colm killed him. Eystein made him tell again the part where Colm shoved the scramasax under Gunnlaug's ribs and thrust it up into his heart. Colm was aware of Grani's intense interest. The man never said a word, but Colm could feel his eyes drilling into the back of his head. Then, seized with inspiration, he beckoned a slave forward, a man he knew, and asked him to run to the Trollfarm and fetch the scramasax so that Eystein could view it.

  Now the conversation became general. Eystein spoke of raiding. It was no use going to Ireland anymore, he said. The place was looted out. Anyway, the descendants of Ivar who once ruled Ireland and the sons of King Harald Finehair were invading now, one after the other it seemed, trying to establish their own kingdoms. Ivar had many descendants and Harald had fathered a great many sons, so this state of affairs would continue for a time.

  Colm thought back to what he could remember of Ireland before he was taken into slavery. He tried to decide if the country would do well under a Norwegian king, but could not make up his mind. He had been a child when he was taken and had not much knowledge of politics.

  Eystein said England was wealthy but well defended under Edgar the Peaceable and hard to raid successfully. Scotland and West Britain were poor and kept that way by constant raiding from the Norse settlements in the Hebrides. No, said Eystein, the place for raiders now was on the continent. Frankia was all right, though one might run into the dreaded Frankish army, the best in the world west of Greekland and north of Andalusia. Frisia, on the other hand, was disorganized and poorly defended. In fact, the Franks had handed the place over to a Dane to defend. He was a member of the Danish royal line and looking back north to maybe push a relative off the throne. South, no one was looking. There, a raider could slip through the channels between the Frisian settlements. These people still had wealth from their great days, two centuries before, and even now did enough trading to make the place rich.

  Eystein went on in this manner for a time and Colm's attention began to slip. Bjorn, he noticed, hung on Eystein's every word. There was food on the tables now, and beer, and people were becoming merry. The slave Colm had sent to the Trollfarm returned, breathing hard. Colm caught Bjorn's eye and got permission to give the man a cup of beer. Then he turned to Eystein and made a little speech. He said this was not much of a gift, compared to the one he had been given, but perhaps it might have some special meaning to Eystein and he begged him to accept it. Then Colm gave Eystein the scramasax, wrapped in a scrap of leather.

  Eystein unwrapped the knife slowly, then held it up for all to see. The blade was almost two spans in length, edged on one side, and clipped at an angle into a sharp tip. It had runes on the blade, like Colm's Frankish sword. In fact, from the leather wrapping to the rune-marked steel, it was a much lesser version of that weapon. Now Colm regretted his act. He thought Eystein might think it mockery and Colm was afraid, for he was only a freedman without any status to speak of.

  But Eystein treated the blade respectfully. He examined it closely and Colm thought once that he was about to weep, though perhaps it was only the way his eyes glittered in the firelight. Eystein pointed to some dark specks and said they must be blood and passed it around for others to see. Colm had cleaned the blade thoroughly and knew that there was no blood on it, but he held his tongue. The knife passed to Thorolf, who studied the runes carefully.

  "Can you read those?” asked Bjorn.

  "Maybe. These are Christian symbols here.” Thorolf looked up at Colm. “Where did this knife come from?"

  "England, I think. I got it from an Englishman.” A little ripple of laughter ran around the men's table as they speculated on how Colm the killer might have taken this weapon. Colm did not tell them that he had stolen it from the belongings of an English slave who died. He died of a bellyache, clutching his middle, not from any fight or weapon blow, but there was no use speaking of that.

  "English,” said Thorolf. “Well, then, I think these runes say something like . . .” He looked up to judge the effect. Every eye in the hall was on him. “I think they say, ‘Mankiller'."

  "Well named!” said Eystein.

  "I thought you would like it,” said Thorolf, with a slight smile, as he handed the scramasax back. Colm heard something behind those words, a little disdain perhaps, and he sensed Grani tense behind him. But Eystein gave no sign of noticing, just grinned the wider as he handled the knife.

  Colm felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to face Grani's blue eyes. “That was a well-considered gift,” said Grani. “Well done."

  Colm muttered some thanks at the kind words and settled back to his beer. Bjorn was talking. He said, “A
man should go raiding once in a while!” He had been drinking heavily and his speech was slurred.

  Thorolf said, “Plenty of work for a man to do on his farm without shipping out to who knows where."

  Bjorn said, “The world is full of people to see and things to do.” He quoted Havamal, the Words of the Wise One, “'He who has traveled and seen the world knows the hearts of men.’”

  Thorolf replied, “'A man is his own master at home, no matter how small his hut.’ And better he knows his neighbors well than any foreigners."

  Bjorn: “'A man who fears death and avoids battle has a sad old age.’”

  And Colm thought, “'The more a man drinks, the less he knows . . .'” For he could tell where this was headed.

  Bjorn said, “Eystein has invited me to go with him on his next voyage."

  Thorolf said, “You would be sorely missed here."

  "Still, I am going,” said Bjorn, “And Colm is coming with me!"

  Eystein turned to Colm with a great toothy grin. “With all my heart, I would have you by my side!"

  Colm's heart sank, for he knew he could not refuse his former master. He looked desperately toward the women's table but could not pick out Gwyneth's face in the low light.

  Thorolf said, “If I cannot talk sense to you, then so be it.” He looked toward Colm. “At least you remembered that ‘the best gear to pack on a voyage is good sense.’”

  Bjorn huffed, “You think I am a fool?"

  Thorolf shook his head. “I think there is enough talk. If this is to be, then I wish you good fortune and a swift return.” He took Bjorn's arm. “You will be missed and I shall feel the loss until you come back.” And he spoke with such feeling that Bjorn quieted. But Colm felt only a growing chill of apprehension and fear.

  Colm and Gwyneth had planned to spend the night at Bjorn's farm, but now they wished to speak privately so they walked back to the Trollfarm. It was very late and the dew had begun to fall. Colm said, “I can't refuse. I am only a freed man."