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 found 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.”

“You mean Marta Bjornsdottir?”

“Yes,” said Geirrid, “She’s the one I think the best.”

“Not much chance of that, since I mean to wed her myself.”

“You!” Geirrid laughed and shook his head.

“Yes, me!” Frosti was angry. “She will love me and I will marry her. Look at this!” He took the amber pendant from his purse and held it out on his palm. “When I give her this, she will be mine!”

Geirrid looked at the pendant for a minute, then turned away and shrugged. “It’s not much without a chain.”

“I’m going to thread a red leather cord through the top.” Frosti had taken a thin piece of leather and worked it smooth with a stone. Now he was polishing the cord with a piece of rusted iron to redden it. The rust came off on his hands and he knew that he needed to find a way to fix the color so that it wouldn’t stain Marta’s clothing or her skin.

“Leather?” said Geirrid. An idea began to stir in his brain. “You need metal. Any kind would be better than leather. Silver would even be better though it doesn’t match the color of the pendant. No, leather would just look cheap, the gift of a lout.”

Frosti was downcast. All the excitement of trying to prepare a gift for Marta died. He saw himself failing and seeming a fool in her eyes. He knew that other people often thought him simple. He put the pendant back in his purse. “Perhaps it would be best not to hang the pendant at all, just give it to her as is.”

“Well, but then she couldn’t wear it and show it off to the other girls. Not much of a gift!” The boys lapsed into silence, looking out at the water. Geirrid waited until he judged the time was ripe. “You know,” he said slowly, “I might be able to find a silver chain.”

Frosti perked up. “Would it be expensive? I can probably offer a few cloaks for it.” He thought that his mother might give him some of the woven cloth that was their farm’s main wealth.

Geirrid said, “That depends. I have to get it myself first, but I think I can get it cheap. Anyway, you’re my friend, Frosti, I’ll give you a good price.” And he looked into the other boy’s face with all the sincerity he could manage.

That night Geirrid spoke with Colm. “Father, can I look at your neck-charm?” Colm took the penny from around his neck and passed it to his son. Once again, he spoke of false metal and true and described how to tell if a coin was of value. Geirrid nodded and looked up at his father. “These are lessons worth learning.” He looked back down at the coin. “Does wearing this always remind you of these things?”

“Always,” said Colm. He did not speak of the particular falsehoods that he had in mind nor of the way that the coin lay like a stone on his body.

“Perhaps,” said Geirrid, “This is something I should wear.”

“Take it,” said Colm. He watched as Geirrid hung the coin around his neck. “It is a valuable thing to always know the difference between truth and lies.”

Geirrid turned the coin so that it glinted. “It is so shiny.”

“Many things shine that are false metal,” said Colm. He felt proud of teaching this lesson to his son.

 

The next day, Geirrid and Frosti met on the cliffs. Geirrid brought out a piece of blue cloth. It was fine silk, smooth as skin. Carefully he unwrapped the cloth, making a show of it, to reveal the penny. It shone in the sunlight. “Here’s the chain,” said Geirrid. “I’ll take the silver pendant off, though. I want to keep that.”

“Where did that come from?”

“A gift from my father. He got it while raiding in Frisia,” said Geirrid. He paused. “You know the Frisians are very rich.”

Frosti nodded. He knew nothing about Frisia. “Well, it’s very fine.”

“Bring out your pendant so that we can see whether the chain will fit.” Frosti laid the amber pendant beside the penny. Geirrid laid the chain over the pendant. He moved it about, studying the jewellery. Finally, he shook his head. “It just doesn’t work.” He looked up at Frosti. “It’s just the wrong color. You see? This silver doesn’t go with the gold at all.” He shook his head again. “It just doesn’t work.”

Frosti stared at the pendant and chain together, his expression bleak. “There’s no chance of winning Marta now.”

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Geirrid put his hand over the penny, as though to pick it up, then caught himself. “Wait...” he murmured, “Maybe...”

“What?” said Frosti. “What is it?” He felt a little surge of hope.

“Well, perhaps if the chain and pendant matched...” Geirrid kept his hand over the penny. “I don’t know.”

Frosti caught the idea. “You mean if I were to give Marta the silver pendant?” Then his face fell. “Oh, but it must be very valuable.”

Geirrid slowly nodded. “Yes. And the runes are well-carved, too. You can take a close look and see how fine they are.” He took his hand away so that the shiny penny leapt into sight.

Frosti leaned close to look at the coin. Geirrid turned it slightly with his finger so that it caught the sun and flashed in Frosti’s eyes. Frosti started back. “It is so bright,” he whispered.

“That’s how you know that it’s fine silver. Good metal always shines like that.”

“Suppose...” Frosti began, then he stopped and thought. Geirrid waited silently. “Well,” said Frosti after a bit, “I wonder just how much that silver pendant is worth.”

“It’s hard to say,” said Geirrid, “And it was a gift from my father, you know, and a father’s gift is always of great value.”

Frosti, who never knew his father, agreed. “But I wonder anyway, how many cloaks it would take to buy such a thing.”

“Cloaks? Who can say?” Geirrid pondered the question. “Well, a mark of silver will buy, say, four cows.”

“That’s not a mark!”

“No, of course not. But, I’m saying, my father paid two full ounces for a good cow from Ketil Treefoot.”

“All right. That’s not an ounce, either.”

Geirrid picked up the penny and hefted it. “Hm. With the chain, I’d say this is, oh, half an ounce.”

“I think less!” Frosti reached out a hand and Geirrid dropped the penny in it. The false metal was heavier than silver and the coin was much thicker than a true penny so Frosti was surprised at the weight. “Not half,” he muttered, though he seemed unsure.

“So the silver alone is worth, oh, perhaps ten or even twelve cloaks of good cloth.” Geirrid emphasized the word “good”. Braga’s weaving was not thought to be particularly fine. He shrugged, “But then there is the fine carving on the pendant, the work on the chain, and of course the fact that it is a father’s gift.”

Frosti nodded dumbly, staring at the item in his hand. After a while he said, “I have two cloaks.”

“Oh,” said Geirrid, “Two.”

There was silence for a moment, then Frosti said, “And I have this.” He held out the amber pendant.

Geirrid prodded the amber with his finger but did not take it from Frosti’s palm. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Amber. Well...”

“It has gold wire, too.”

“Not much, though. I suppose it doesn’t weigh much.”

Frosti felt the amber in his hand. It seemed weightless as thistledown, something that might blow away in the smallest breeze. “No, but gold is worth eight times silver.”

“So is that pendant an eighth of the weight of the fine carved silver necklace?”

Frosti had the amber in one hand, the penny in the other. He knew the answer. Finally he said, “Suppose I offered you the amber for the silver necklace?”

“Oh, no,” said Geirrid, “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Suppose I offered the amber and a cloak?”

Geirrid looked away off the cliffs and considered. “Well, I don’t know. Suppose the amber and three cloaks?”

“I only have two.”

Geirrid turned to Frosti and looked into his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, then! The amber and two cloaks, my friend!”

So they struck their deal.

 

When Frosti got home, he was bursting with excitement. He got his mother’s attention and told her, “I have traded the amber for a valuable silver pendant that has a chain! Marta will be mine now!”

Braga’s heart sank. “Let me see.” She held out her hand and Frosti carefully placed the penny in it. “I don’t know,” said Braga, “Let’s see what Adals has to say about this.” But she already suspected that the penny was worthless.

Adals knew a little about coins. “This is poor metal,” he said. “It is too thick to be a good penny...”

“A penny?” said Frosti. “It’s a carved silver pendant!”

“No,” said Adals, “It’s a bad coin.”

Frosti was mortified. Then he realized: “So I shouldn’t give it to Marta?”

“No,” said Braga gently, “Best not.”

Frosti sat in silence, then his jaw set with anger as he recalled how Geirrid had cheated him. “I am a fool!” he said, and realizing this, he became angrier still.

“Wait,” said Braga. “All is not lost. We need to plan.” She turned to Adals. “How certain are you that your horse will win?”

“As certain as any man could be. He has never lost a fight.” Adals had fought the stallion a few times in other districts. Although he had won some money, it all seemed to melt away by the time he got home.

Braga nodded. “All right. Then we will bet all we have on him.” She turned to Adals. “I will hold the money for now.”

Adals hesitated but then he agreed. He took out his small hoard and emptied his purse, too. Braga took charge of the money. She knew that when she added her own savings there would only be a few marks of silver. “I will sell what cloth I have, too,” said Braga.

“I also gave Geirrid two cloaks.” Frosti hung his head in shame.

Everyone was silent for a moment. “Well, it can’t be helped now,” said Braga. “We will wager what we have and then see where we are.” She did not mention the ring that she had.

Frosti said, “I will speak with Geirrid.”

“Do not threaten him,” said Braga. “We cannot afford to pay for a killing as well as finance your wooing of this girl.”

“I will speak with Colm,” said Adals. Then the three plotted and planned deep into the evening.

 

The next day, Adals rode out early and found Colm in the upper meadows.

Colm held out his hands in greeting. “Well met, neighbor. How goes it for you at Helgafeld?”

Adals said, “Not so well, for it appears Frosti was robbed.”

“Robbed? Well then, we must get together a group of men and...” He stopped, for Adals was shaking his head.

Adals said, “It was Geirrid who robbed him.” He told Colm what had occurred.

Colm’s face turned red, then white. He was angered and embarrassed and he was ashamed. He thought what to do. “I will go to Geirrid and see what he has to say. But, whatever happens, I will make up any loss to you.”

“It’s not so simple. Frosti meant to impress a young woman with the gift of that amber. Money is not the same.”

Colm nodded. “I understand. Even so, I will speak to Geirrid now.”

The men parted and Colm rode back to the Trollfarm, his mind in a turmoil. He was still on the ridge above the farm when he spotted Geirrid riding along the river. He galloped down and intercepted him.

“Hello, father!” Geirrid smiled at him, a great wide smile.

Colm almost struck his son then. “Tell me, Geirrid, what did you do with that bad penny I gave you?”

“Why, I sold it. I got quite a price, too. I did well in that bargain. You should be proud!”

Colm choked in amazement. Finally he said, “Where is the amber pendant? We must return it to Frosti.”

“Oh, we can’t do that,” said Geirrid. “I just sold it to Orm Ketilsson. Altogether, with the cloaks I got from Frosti, I must have gotten almost two ounces of silver for that worthless coin.”

“You must go and try to get the pendant back from Orm.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be honorable to back out of a deal in that way.”

“You must go back. Offer to buy it. Offer him a mark of silver for it.”

Geirrid shook his head. “It’s no use. There’s a girl he wants to give it to. Nothing will induce him to part with it.”

“All right,” said Colm, “Then I must swallow my pride and go myself and beg this boy to sell me back the thing my son has cheated another boy out of.” His face was red with anger.

Geirrid was taken aback. His head rocked as though his father had slapped him. “There was no cheating! There was only good bargaining! I did well and Frosti was foolish, that’s all.”

“This is about honor and you need to understand what honor means!”

Geirrid hung his head. “I do not think Orm will return the piece, but I will go and ask.”

Colm said, “I will go with you. And I will speak with Ketil, too.”

The two rode in silence to Ketil’s farm.

 

Geirrid greeted Orm and took him to one side. “My father believes that I should get the pendant back from you. I will return what you paid for it.”

“No,” said Orm, “I am satisfied with our bargain.”

“I will pay extra. My father is unhappy about this. I got that amber piece in exchange for something of his. Now I need to undo the trades that I have made to satisfy him.”

Orm shrugged. “What happens between you and your father is nothing to me.”

Meanwhile, Colm spoke to Ketil. “We have had dealings in the past.”

“Yes, and I am satisfied with them. Do you have a problem with any transaction between us?”

“No. This is about our sons. Geirrid has sold a piece to Orm that I need to have returned.”

“Oh?”

“He got it from another boy for too low a price. It needs to be returned.”

Ketil shrugged. “What is that to us? Go to the other boy and take it up with him.”

Geirrid joined them. “It is no use. Orm will not sell the amber back to me.”

Ketil called Orm over. “How much are we talking about here?”

Orm said, “I gave him a few cloaks and some silver and copper, altogether about two ounces worth I think. But now he offers me a mark for it.”

Ketil’s eyes lit up. He turned to Colm. “So how much is it really worth?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even seen it. But my honor is very valuable indeed.”

“Four times the price, eh?”

Colm saw the greed in the man’s eyes and knew that any offer he made would only be a starting point for negotiations. “Name a price. I will tell you if it is too much.”

Ketil tugged his beard, calculating, but Orm broke in. “No! I mean to give this to Marta and win her for my own!”

Ketil was surprised, though Orm had spoken to him and his wife about courting Marta. Neither parent had thought Orm’s suit had much chance of success but Orm’s mother, Ingunn, had counselled him in much the same manner as Braga had counselled her son: “Flatter her, speak sweetly, and give her gifts.” Now Ketil saw that Geirrid would not be his son’s rival and thought Orm might have a chance to woo Marta after all. It would be a fine thing to have a future godi’s sister as a daughter-in-law. Here was wealth and power and status!

Ketil said, “Honor dictates that this bargain is a done deed. But you are my friend and I must hear your best offer.”

Colm considered carefully. Even knowing that Ketil would raise his offer, he had to be generous enough to stir the man’s avarice. “I will give you a mark of gold. And you will have my friendship forever.”

A mark of gold! This was a handsome sum and Ketil understood the implied threat that, if he refused, Colm might no longer be his friend. Colm was a killer of men and not one to have opposed to you! Still, he weighed the offer. Finally, he turned to Orm. “Is that enough to keep your honor in this bargain?”

“No!” said Orm. “Marta is worth a thousand marks of gold!”

Ketil turned to Colm. “Well,” he said, “There it is. The amber is not for sale.” He was a little disappointed because a mark of gold was worth having. Still, he thought, if the story were told properly and got back to Gerda and Thorolf, Marta’s grandfather, it would show to his credit.

Colm and Geirrid rode slowly back to the Trollfarm. “A mark of gold is a great deal of money,” said Geirrid.

“It is less than what Adals would have to pay in wergild should Frosti kill someone close to me.” He reined in and faced Geirrid. “Of course, I would refuse it and there would be a feud between our families.” Geirrid was dumbfounded. For the first time, he began to understand the possible consequences of his actions. Colm kicked his horse back into a walk. “There is nothing I would not do for my son.”

 

Adals had arranged for a horse-fighting ring to be set up near the main river. Gunnar had a good horse that he had bought in another district and some other farmers had horses they wanted to try against one another. A nearby farm prepared and served the food and drink that Adals and the other farmers provided. People gave small gifts of money to the local farm in return. This farm was also providing a mare on heat to provoke the stallions. The best stallion would mount her and, if the coupling was successful, the farm would gain the colt as well.

It was late summer, the time of Frey, and hot. People were tired of work and ready for some entertainment before settling into the labor of harvest. There were horse fights all over Iceland at this time of year.

Colm and Gwyneth drove up in a wagon and greeted friends and neighbors. Geirrid had not arrived yet, something that pleased Colm. He hoped his son stayed away altogether. The sword that Eystein had given him swung heavy at his side.

Gwyneth moved among the women, talking to this friend and that. She cast her eyes toward the places where the young people milled about, laughing and yelling at one another. She saw Marta and Orm Ketilsson in deep conversation. The girl’s eyes shone with excitement and her smile was bright. Gwyneth was glad and disappointed. She was gladdened by the sight of the young girl’s happiness and recalled her own fifteen-year-old self and the excitement she felt at having young men glance her way. But she was disappointed that the person receiving Marta’s smiles was not Geirrid. But that was not to be and now she hoped only that there would be no trouble.

Gwyneth saw Braga watching the two young people. Braga’s mouth was twisted and her eyes hard. Gwyneth thought of going over to speak to the woman, then decided better not.

Colm spotted Thorolf in the crowd and went to have a word with him. Colm sat above Thorolf now in the Logretta and Hallvard sat below. Thorolf could lean forward and whisper explanations of events and point out lessons for the guidance of his heir. He could lean back and discuss matters with Colm, sometimes asking for advice, before rising and speaking to the assembly.

“Well met,” said Colm.

“Indeed,” said Thorolf. He wiped sweat from his face. “A fine day.” It was very hot but no one in Iceland ever complained about too much sun.

“Marta looks well. She has her grandmother’s eyes.”

“Well,” said Thorolf, “I suppose she can see fairly well.” He regarded Colm. There was a half smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, an expression Colm had come to recognize. He knew that Thorolf understood his plight.

There was no time to waste, thought Colm. Appropriate or not, he needed to try to head off trouble. “This may not be the time to speak of it,” said Colm, “But I understand there has been talk of her betrothal.”

“There is always talk of such things when a girl reaches a certain age.”

“Well, I want you to know that I support Frosti’s suit and will aid it in any way that I can.”

“I can understand how that might be, but you should know that Marta’s mother, Gerda, has more say in this matter than I do.”

“Even so, I am talking to you. I am willing to do all that is possible to bring about a successful marriage between Frosti and Marta.” Colm did not mention money and material support, nor did he speak of backing Adals in time of trouble, but his meaning was clear.

“As to that, I rather think there are better matches for Marta. Adals is a spendthrift and a gambler.” Thorolf waved his hand at the horse ring. “Even were you Frosti’s foster-father, I would not call him a good match. He is dull and foolish. I understand that he makes bad decisions and bargains poorly, too.”

Colm nodded. “I am trying to remedy that.”

“I understand and I wish you well. Still, I cannot support Frosti to Marta.” Thorolf pulled his beard and thought a moment. “But speak to Gerda. See what she says.”

Colm nodded. The first horses were led into the ring and Thorolf went over to watch. Colm caught Gwyneth looking his way and went over to her. “Thorolf says that only Gerda can help Frosti’s suit.”

Gwyneth nodded and squared her shoulders. “I will speak to her.”

Colm said nothing. He knew what Gerda’s response would probably be and he did not want Gwyneth to suffer insult. Still, this was for Geirrid.

“This is for Geirrid,” said Gwyneth, and she went off to find Gerda.

A shout went up from the crowd. Some farmer’s stallion had been driven from the ring. People hooted and mocked. The winning stallion was led away, perhaps to fight again later. Colm made his way to the ring and waited for the next horses to be led in. Across the way he saw Ljot and Styr laughing together. There was another problem waiting to develop, he thought. As soon as those boys were old enough to lift a sword, there would be plenty of wagging tongues to lash them into a duel, each boy being convinced he fought for his dead father’s honor. A new stallion was led into the ring and the crowd cheered and yelled. Ljot and Styr jumped up and down in excitement.

Gunnora saw Colm looking across the ring at her boys and smiled. She knew that Gwyneth had been barren since Geirrid’s birth. She watched Colm, noticing the way he held his body and the way he moved. She decided to walk near him.

Gwyneth came upon Gerda. The two exchanged pleasantries and Gwyneth made flattering comments about Gerda’s look and dress and the quality of her children. “That Marta is so pretty,” said Gwyneth, “And I suppose you’re already thinking of a match for her.”

Gerda shrugged. “There’s been talk, but I’ve heard no names mentioned that appeal to me.”

“Well,” said Gwyneth, “As for that, I wouldn’t discount young Frosti...”

“Never!” Gerda spat upon the ground. “Marta shall never marry the son of a slave! No, not even if that slave were to sit in the Logretta!” She turned and walked away.

Gwyneth flushed, then drew herself erect with her head high. She turned back toward the horse ring and saw Gunnora walk up beside her husband and bump him with her hip. Then Gwyneth’s vision turned red and she thought of beating Gunnora with a stick, beating her like a dog, but in her thoughts she kept on beating her, beating her until she lay broken and bloody on the ground. Her vision cleared and Gwyneth calmed herself and considered the scene for a moment. Then she walked over to Colm.

Colm became aware of Gunnora next to him when she started babbling in his ear. Something about the horse fight, Colm paid little attention, his eyes were fixed on the sight of Geirrid in the crowd. Gwyneth came up behind him. Colm turned and grabbed her by the arms and walked her back away. “Geirrid’s here!” he said.

“Oh, no!” said Gwyneth. Then she said, “Gerda will not allow her daughter to marry Frosti.”

Colm nodded. He could imagine the words that had passed between Gerda and his wife. Suddenly he put his arms around her. “We will work this out. You’ll see!” But he doubted the things he was saying.

Gwyneth said, “Yes. It will be all right.” But she heard the doubt in Colm’s voice.

 

The last horse fight had been a good one. The two stallions had gone at each other with abandon, biting and kicking, until one farmer withdrew his horse, rather than see it die in the horse ring. But now came the match everyone wanted to see, the one between the stallions of Adals and Gunnar. Colm pushed to the front so that he could watch. Perhaps, he thought, if Adals won a great deal of money, that would take some of the sting from losing the match with Marta. He thought of loaning Adals money to bet or of betting against his horse so that the winnings would be greater. He even thought of paying Gunnar to lose. But these plans could easilly turn bad and create yet another grievance between Adals and Colm, so he rejected them all.

Gunnar led in his stallion, Gryr. The horse was gray with a dark stripe along his spine. Many people considered this to be the finest kind of fighting horse. There was a scar on Gryr’s muzzle in front of his left eye where he had been bitten before. Gunnar was dressed in a bright blue shirt and patterned silk trousers from Greekland. He wore a wide leather belt and his horse goad had a silver pommel. He had the Swedish bracelet that Colm had given him on his wrist. He looked very fine.

Now Adals brought in his horse, the one that had belonged to Egil, whose widow had given him to Braga, dark brown with black mane and tail and white stockings on his rear hooves. This stallion was called Raven’s-Mane. Adals wore plain tunic and trousers but he had a red cloth wrapped around his waist. He carried a plain wooden goad. Colm wished he had thought to gift the man with bright clothing or a fancy goad. Yes, he thought, so the drunkard regrets the beer that was spilled instead of drunk.

Colm felt Gwyneth beside him and thought she trembled a little. “I could not find Geirrid.”

“He was over there. I saw him just for a moment.”

“Well, Frosti is occupied now, anyway.” Frosti stood at the front of the crowd with Braga. Her fists were clenched and her eyes bulged.

Adals and Gunnar released their horses and the two stallions rushed together immediately and reared up, chest to chest, and bit at each other’s mane and neck. The crowd shouted in appreciation. The stallions dropped and Gryr turned as if he were running away from Raven’s-Mane, but instead kicked him hard in the shoulder, then whirled about and reared again. Colm saw that Gryr was a crafty, experienced fighter.

Raven’s-Mane staggered at the kick but recovered to rear and meet Gryr, but he was a little behind and Gryr bit him, deep, across the muzzle. Raven’s-Mane did not pull away but chopped at Gryr with his front hooves. Gryr, too, was working his forelegs but his neck was extended and vulnerable and Raven’s-Mane cut and bruised him. Both horses fell away and gathered themselves for another charge. Neither animal showed any sign of backing down.

The air was full of the smell of blood and horses and the sweat of man and beast. Colm smelled the mare as she walked past, circling the ring, staying clear of the fighting except to kick out if a stallion came too close. The sun beat down and increased the heat and the smell of the packed bodies and fighting horses.

Again the stallions slammed chest to chest and again Gryr bit down on the other horse’s muzzle. Blood poured from Raven’s-Mane’s nostrils as he fought back. The horses parted, then reared at each other once more. This time, Raven’s-Mane used his hooves before Gryr had a chance to bite him. He opened a gash below Gryr’s eye and stunned that horse briefly so that he fell away. Raven’s-Mane charged and reared. People cheered, but Gryr kicked into the stallion’s exposed underside. Colm heard Raven’s-Mane go Whoof! He thought some ribs might have been cracked by the kick.

Raven’s-Mane staggered back, clearly hurt, and Gryr charged in. Raven’s-Mane reared and the two horses slammed chest to chest and Gryr bit through the stallion’s muzzle once more. This time, when the horses separated, Colm could see flesh hanging from exposed bone. That, and the rib injury, meant that Raven’s-Mane should be taken out of the fight. He looked at Adals but that man raised his goad. He had everything riding on this fight. It was all or nothing now! His horse would fight to the death.

Raven’s-Mane needed no goad. Injured or not he reared and, this time, bit Gryr right through the nostrils. The horses dropped away and Gryr kicked back but missed Raven’s-Mane, who had learned that move. He, too, was a crafty fighter.

Once again the stallions reared. People were screaming with excitement. Raven’s-Mane got the bite in first. It seemed as though he would close his teeth on the scar below Gryr’s eye, but that stallion rolled his head and Raven’s-Mane took a piece from his cheek instead. Gryr brought his head around and caught the other horse by the mane, biting, and trying to force him down. Raven’s-Mane pulled away and kicked out but Gryr dodged away.

Now the two horses faced one another, blood running down their muzzles and pooling on the ground. They gathered their strength and rushed together. Colm thought this was the last of Raven’s-Mane. That horse had been injured too badly to go on much longer. The stallions reared, chest to chest, Raven’s-Mane coming in quickly for a bite under Gryr’s eye. Gryr rolled his head and Raven’s-Mane waited, an instant, then darted snake-like under Gryr’s cheek and bit into his neck below the jaw. Gryr fell back and Raven’s-Mane was atop him, still biting deep into his throat. Gryr thrashed about and fell to the ground. He used his hooves but Raven’s-Mane never loosed his bite. While the crowd shouted and cheered, he held on like a fanged beast, like a wolf, while Gryr’s blood began to spurt and gush onto the ground.

Gunnar ran forward and signalled to Adals that his horse was done and the match was over. Adals tried to goad Raven’s-Mane away from Gryr but the horse held on. Finally, Raven’s-Mane was pulled away but Gryr’s blood continued to pump out until that horse died there.

The crowd cheered as Raven’s-Mane made his way to the mare, but he could not mount her. Adals and Frosti rushed forward to help him but their stallion had not the strength. He staggered back and whinnied at the mare. They guided him over to a quiet pen and Frosti tended his wounds while Adals went about collecting his bets.

The winner of the first fight, the stallion that had driven his opponent from the ring, was brought to the mare. The farmer who owned her was disappointed, he had hoped for a champion as stud. Still, this was something. The crowd shouted approval as the two horses joined. Colm looked around, but there was no sign of Geirrid.

 

Back at the Trollfarm, Gwyneth said, “Now that Adals has won, things will be better.”

Colm shook his head. “We hoped Adals would win so that he would have enough money to make Frosti an attractive match. Now we know that Marta’s family is set against him.”

“Well, if Frosti couldn’t marry her anyway, will he still blame Geirrid?”

“Who can say? Given two humiliations, which might a man seek to avenge?” Colm looked at the floor. “I think Geirrid must leave for a while.”

“Oh, no!” said Gwyneth.

“It will only be for a time, a few years perhaps, until this matter is forgotten. Marta will marry someone, Frosti will find a match somewhere, and I will try to make his life sweeter.”

“You will give him money?”

“Yes, money, and anything else that will keep him from attacking Geirrid.” Colm shook his head. “Perhaps this is because of Gudbrand. Perhaps I should have...”

“No! There was no other way. Would you have rather seen Geirrid hang?”

“I would not have allowed that.”

“Then it would have been doom for us all,” said Gwyneth. “You did the best thing you could.”

They were both silent for a time. Gwyneth finally spoke, “What was it you and Gunnora had to talk about?”

“Gunnora?” Colm was puzzled. “I don’t recall... Were we talking?”

“Oh, yes,” said Gwyneth. “She was rubbing up against you like a cat.”

Colm slowly shook his head from side to side. “I really don’t...” Then he took a closer look at Gwyneth. “Are you jealous?” He almost laughed. He went over to Gwyneth and put his arms around her. She turned her face away. “Oh, Gwyneth, there is no one for me but you. How could you think otherwise?”

“I thought maybe I hadn’t... I thought perhaps you are tired of me.”

“No! Never!” Colm pulled Gwyneth over and sat her on his lap as he had used to do years before. He spoke soft words to her and caressed her.

When they were first married they sometimes spoke their native languages to one another. Colm’s Goidelic differed from Gwyneth’s Brythonic, but they understood each other’s Gaelic well enough as they lay in each other’s arms. For this was mostly something they did in intimate moments, a secret lovers’ language. They never used this speech in front of other people, not even Geirrid, though Gwyneth had sometimes sung to him in Brython when he was a baby. But when it was important that meaning be absolutely clear, then they always spoke in Norse. The words were more exact, Colm thought, like hard stones laid in a row. Gaelic was music and sounds flowed together and around and twined with one another. It was a language of misdirection. Now he said a few words in Gaelic and caught himself. He did not want Gwyneth to think he was trying to deceive her. She caught his hesitation and laid a finger on his lips. “Hush. I am foolish, that’s all. I know you are true to me.” Then she put her head next to his and murmured something in her Brythonic tongue. So they sat that way for a time, waiting for Geirrid.

 

“It seems there will be no match between you and Marta,” said Colm.

“I know,” said Geirrid, “She will never marry the son of a slave. I figured that out a long while ago.”

Colm swallowed a bit of anger. He went on, “Well, there seems little for you here except trouble. I propose that you try trading for a while. I will find you a place on a ship and give you money to start with.”

“Getting me out of the country, is that it?”

“Do you really want to stay?”

Geirrid thought for a moment. “No, not really. And I don’t like sheep very much, so trading is probably a good choice for me. I think I can do well at it.”

“Maybe go east to the Baltic,” said Colm. He could not stop himself from adding, “There is plenty of amber there.” Geirrid regarded his father coolly, looking straight into his eyes. He said nothing. Colm regretted his words. He said, “You need to stay a while until things settle down. Then come back and, if you decide you prefer farming to being a merchant, well, that can be arranged. But just for now, it is best that you leave.”

“I suppose I might stay away three years.”

“Perhaps.”

“That is the penalty for lesser outlawry.” A man might be sentenced to something less than full outlawry by being ordered to leave Iceland for a period of time, usually three years.

“This is not a penalty, it is an opportunity.”

“I suppose,” said Geirrid. “Well, it appears I have done wrong, though I still don’t understand exactly how. So I will leave for a few years until Frosti forgets that I exist, then I will return and everything will shine like the sun.”

“I’m sorry, Geirrid, I don’t know what else to do. If you stay I foresee a great deal of bloodshed.”

Geirrid nodded. “I suppose,” he said again. “Well, then, let’s find a ship and I’ll take my leave.”

 

A day or two after Geirrid sailed from Iceland, Colm went in search of Frosti. He did not wear his sword. He found the boy by an upland meadow where he was tending Raven’s-Mane. The stallion was confined in a stone pen while he healed so that he wouldn’t wander off and stumble over the rocks and so that other horses couldn’t get to him and harm him.

Frosti greeted Colm cordially enough and the two watched the horse crop grass. There was a great scar on his muzzle, but he seemed to be healing well. “That is a very fine horse,” said Colm.

“Yes,” said Frosti. “Adals now is buying mares and talking of raising a great herd of fighting-horses.”

“Well, that might be a sound proposition.”

“It might be. It depends on how well they are trained.”

“I see,” said Colm. “Do you know someone who can train them?”

“Adals says that he can do it,” said Frosti, and Colm understood right away that Frosti doubted the man’s ability and was dubious about the entire scheme.

They watched the horse in silence for a time, then Colm said, “There is a serious matter I need to speak to you about.”

Frosti nodded. He knew what Colm meant. “I will not hurt Geirrid, though I would rather not see him for a while in case my anger overrides my sense.”

“Geirrid has gone abroad.”

Frosti’s head jerked up. “Is that true?”

“True as daybreak.”

Frosti nodded. “Well, I’m glad of that. Now people won’t pester me to fight him.”

“Are people pestering you?”

Frosti shrugged. “Some of the boys have said a few things. Orm says that I was cheated and should seek vengeance, but he’s just bitter because Gerda has refused to let Marta marry him.”

“Has she?”

“Yes. And Orm is the one Marta likes best, too. I don’t think the amber piece mattered all that much in the end. She just likes Orm better, that’s all.”

“I see,” said Colm. “Well, there’s no use trying to win a woman’s heart if it’s set elsewhere.”

“No. That leads to trouble later.”

Both men were silent, recalling instances where a woman had allowed, or even connived at, the killing of an undesired husband.

“There is one thing,” said Colm. “You have something of value to me.”

Frosti was puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared. “Oh, Raven’s-Mane is not for sale.”

“No, not the horse. You have a silver penny on a chain that has great meaning to me. I know you came by it honestly, but I would like to buy it from you.”

“You mean this?” Frosti hauled the penny out of his shirt. “I have been wearing it to remind me not to be a fool.”

“Yes,” said Colm. “I also use it as a reminder.”

“Well, I hear it’s not worth much.”

“To me it’s worth a great deal. It is a valuable ward against... Well, against various things, not just foolishness. To me it speaks of truth and lies.”

“Ah! Because the coin itself is a lie?”

“Partly. Anyway, I will give you a good price.”

Frosti shrugged and started to speak but Colm cut him off. “I will give you a gold mark and twelve cloaks for it.”

Frosti’s mouth hung open. “That is a great price for this piece.”

“It is worth as much to me as that piece of amber. At least as much!”

Frosti nodded. “I understand. Well, this is a done deal.” The two slapped hands. Frosti took the penny from around his neck and gave it to Colm. Colm took a purse from under his tunic and gave it to the boy. “I’ll send the cloaks over later.”

Frosti nodded. “No hurry.”

The two men stood talking for a while in the sunlit meadow before Colm made ready to go. “Frosti,” he said, “If you ever need anything at all, come to me and I will help you all I can.” Frosti nodded and they parted, both feeling good about the morning’s events.