The Merman's Children by Poul Anderson

intended. They would bring her back with them and put her in Asmild Cloister near Viborg.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Tauno inquired.
    Ingeborg did her best to explain. In the end she could say: “They’ll house Margrete and teach her. When she’s of the right age, she’ll take her vows. Then she’ll live there in purity, no doubt widely reverenced, till she dies, no doubt in an odor of sanctity. Or do you believe that the corpse of a saint does not stink as yours and mine will?”
    Aghast, Tauno exclaimed, “But this is frightful!”
    â€œOh? Many would count it glorious good fortune.”
    His eyes stabbed at hers. “Would you?”
    â€œWell…no.”
    â€œLocked among walls for all her days; shorn, heavily clad, ill-fed, droning through her nose at God while letting wither what God put between her legs; never to know love, children about her, the growth of home and kin, or even wanderings under apple trees in blossom time——”
    â€œTauno, it is the way to eternal bliss.”
    â€œHm. Rather would I have my bliss now, and then the dark. You too—in your heart—not so?—whether or not you’ve said you mean to repent on your deathbed. Your Christian Heaven seems to me a shabby place to spend forever.”
    â€œMargrete may think otherwise.”
    â€œMar—aah. Yria.” He brooded a while, chin on fist, lips taut, breathing noisily in the smoke. “Well,” he said, “if that is what she truly wants, so be it. Yet how can we know? How can she know? Will they let her imagine anything is real and right beyond their gloomy cloi—cloister? I would not see my little sister cheated, Ingeborg.”
    â€œYou sent her ashore because you would not see her eaten by eels. Now what choice is there?”
    â€œNone?”
    The despair of him who had always been strong was like a knife to her. “My dear, my dear.” She held him close. But instead of tears, the old fisher hardheadedness rose in her.
    â€œOne thing among men opens every road save to Heaven,” she said, “and that it does not necessarily bar. Money.”
    A word in the mer-tongue burst from him. “Go on!” he said in Danish, and clutched her arm with bruising fingers.
    â€œTo put it simplest: gold,” Ingeborg told him, not trying to break free. “Or whatever can be exchanged for gold, though the metal itself is best. See you, if she had a fortune, she could live where she wished—given enough, at the King’s court, or in some foreign land richer than Denmark. She’d command servants, men-at-arms, warehouses, broad acres. She could take her pick among suitors. Then, if she chose to leave this and return to the nuns, that would be a free choice.”
    â€œMy folk had gold! We can dig it out of the ruins!”
    â€œHow much?”
    There was more talk. The sea people had never thought to weigh up what was only a metal to them, too soft for most uses however handsome and unrusting it might be.
    At the end, Ingeborg shook her head. “Too scant, I fear,” she sighed. “In the ordinary course of things, plenty. This is different. Here Asmild Cloister and Viborg Cathedral have a living miracle. She’ll draw pilgrims from everywhere. The Church is her guardian in law, and won’t let her go to a lay family for your few cups and plates.”
    â€œWhat’s needed, then?”
    â€œA whopping sum. Thousands of marks. See you, some must be bribed. Others, who can’t be bought, must be won over by grand gifts to the Church. And then enough must be left for Margrete to be wealthy Thousands of marks.”
    â€œWhat weight?” Tauno fairly yelled, with a merman’s curse.
    â€œI—I—how shall I, fisherman’s orphan and widow, who never held one mark at a time in this fist, how shall I guess?…A boatful? Yes, I think a boatload would do.”
    â€œA