decorated sheaths, charms to hang round the neck, sets of pins and needles in cases of polished horn, enamelled crosses to keep away ghosts and devils. The trader is dressed in a red tunic and green trousers, and the rings on his fingers are gold. His belt and knife scabbard are soft woven leather, and his boots are engraved with spiralling patterns. He is tall and fair, and his eyes are pale blue. He has set his scales up on the table in front of him, and as he talks to the farmer he juggles absentmindedly with the weights.
Orm the farmer wears rough woven trousers and a sheepskin tunic. He has left his muddy boots at the door. The bald patch on his head is much whiter than his face, because out of doors he always wears a hood. His hands are engrained with dirt, and his fingernails are black and broken. His dogs lie at his feet.
The girl passes the door at the end of the hall on her way to the dairy. Her hair is the colour of willow leaves in autumn, and it hangs loose to her waist. She holds herself very straight, even though she is carrying a milking stool and a bucket. She does not seem to have noticed the men at all.
The trader stares, and stops juggling. A weight rolls across the table.
‘Orm, who’s that girl? She’s not your daughter, is she?’
‘What girl?’ Orm looks round, but there is no one to be seen, only a faint clinking sound from the dairy. ‘Oh, that must be Gudrid, my foster daughter. She’s the daughter of Thorbjorn of Laugarbrekka.’
Einar picks up the weight, and turns it over in his hand. ‘She must be a good match,’ he remarked. ‘I expect there’ve been suitors for her hand?’
‘Naturally. But she won’t be easy to get. Gudrid is particular about husbands, and so is her father.’
‘Is that right?’ Einar lays his weights out in a row, in order. ‘If I were to propose a marriage contract, would you speak to her father on my behalf?’
Orm raises his eyebrows, otherwise his face is expressionless. It is impossible to know whether Einar’s words have surprised him or not.
‘I’d repay you with my support,’ urges Einar. ‘Thorbjorn must think it’s a good match. It’s hardly a secret that he’s getting through his money. Everyone talks about how much he spends, and the estate can’t possibly pay for it all. Now I’ve got land, and more money than I know what to do with, and so has my father. Thorbjorn could hardly say no. Only the kind of contract that a man like me can offer will save him from complete ruin.’
‘I’m not sure that Thorbjorn will see it that way.’ Orm pauses, and frowns. ‘Maybe you’re right. I won’t say you’re wrong. I’d be your friend in this matter, as in any other, but Thorbjorn is a proud man.’
‘He’s no more to be proud about than I have. Oh yes,’ Einar adds, a shade aggressively. ‘You’re thinking of my ancestry. Is Thorbjorn’s any better? If my grandfather was a slave – well, so was his. And at least in my family we’ve made the most of our opportunities.’
‘You’ve barely seen the girl.’
‘I’ve seen her, and that’s enough. I know what I want, Orm, and I’m not afraid to take it. It’s time I was married. If you want to do your foster daughter a good turn, you’ll speak to Thorbjorn for me. Wouldn’t you like to see her the wife of a wealthy man who’ll give her the kind of life a woman wants? You know she’d be better off with me to look after her than with her father.’
‘I’ll think it over,’ is all Orm will say, but clearly he has begun to be interested.
I suppose that what attracted me about Einar was his obvious admiration of me. I remember the meal we had that night. He was sitting beside Orm, and every time I looked at him his eyes were on me. I took care not to look too often, but all through the evening I was self-conscious as I had never been before. As I moved round the table, pouring the milk, I was aware of my own body, and the effect that it might have on him. When I
Orm the farmer wears rough woven trousers and a sheepskin tunic. He has left his muddy boots at the door. The bald patch on his head is much whiter than his face, because out of doors he always wears a hood. His hands are engrained with dirt, and his fingernails are black and broken. His dogs lie at his feet.
The girl passes the door at the end of the hall on her way to the dairy. Her hair is the colour of willow leaves in autumn, and it hangs loose to her waist. She holds herself very straight, even though she is carrying a milking stool and a bucket. She does not seem to have noticed the men at all.
The trader stares, and stops juggling. A weight rolls across the table.
‘Orm, who’s that girl? She’s not your daughter, is she?’
‘What girl?’ Orm looks round, but there is no one to be seen, only a faint clinking sound from the dairy. ‘Oh, that must be Gudrid, my foster daughter. She’s the daughter of Thorbjorn of Laugarbrekka.’
Einar picks up the weight, and turns it over in his hand. ‘She must be a good match,’ he remarked. ‘I expect there’ve been suitors for her hand?’
‘Naturally. But she won’t be easy to get. Gudrid is particular about husbands, and so is her father.’
‘Is that right?’ Einar lays his weights out in a row, in order. ‘If I were to propose a marriage contract, would you speak to her father on my behalf?’
Orm raises his eyebrows, otherwise his face is expressionless. It is impossible to know whether Einar’s words have surprised him or not.
‘I’d repay you with my support,’ urges Einar. ‘Thorbjorn must think it’s a good match. It’s hardly a secret that he’s getting through his money. Everyone talks about how much he spends, and the estate can’t possibly pay for it all. Now I’ve got land, and more money than I know what to do with, and so has my father. Thorbjorn could hardly say no. Only the kind of contract that a man like me can offer will save him from complete ruin.’
‘I’m not sure that Thorbjorn will see it that way.’ Orm pauses, and frowns. ‘Maybe you’re right. I won’t say you’re wrong. I’d be your friend in this matter, as in any other, but Thorbjorn is a proud man.’
‘He’s no more to be proud about than I have. Oh yes,’ Einar adds, a shade aggressively. ‘You’re thinking of my ancestry. Is Thorbjorn’s any better? If my grandfather was a slave – well, so was his. And at least in my family we’ve made the most of our opportunities.’
‘You’ve barely seen the girl.’
‘I’ve seen her, and that’s enough. I know what I want, Orm, and I’m not afraid to take it. It’s time I was married. If you want to do your foster daughter a good turn, you’ll speak to Thorbjorn for me. Wouldn’t you like to see her the wife of a wealthy man who’ll give her the kind of life a woman wants? You know she’d be better off with me to look after her than with her father.’
‘I’ll think it over,’ is all Orm will say, but clearly he has begun to be interested.
I suppose that what attracted me about Einar was his obvious admiration of me. I remember the meal we had that night. He was sitting beside Orm, and every time I looked at him his eyes were on me. I took care not to look too often, but all through the evening I was self-conscious as I had never been before. As I moved round the table, pouring the milk, I was aware of my own body, and the effect that it might have on him. When I
Similar Books
