The Saga of Colm the Slave (3 page)

A shout roused Colm from his
contemplation of pagan rites. He was delegated with another slave
to haul barrels of beer from the storeroom to a spot closer to the
benches in the longhall, where the women could serve it. The casks
were open, so they could not be rolled in. Instead, Colm and the
other slave worked them up onto small sledges, then dragged them
along to a spot just outside the storeroom and behind the benches.
The other man was a big, powerful Slav. Colm allowed him to do the
heaviest work. Which was only fair, he thought, since one of them
had to supervise the operation.

The men’s benches ran the length of the
hall parallel to the pit where a small fire of dried dung
smouldered. That fire would be built up bright as the evening
progressed. Thorolf sat at the center of the group, a carved wooden
screen behind him. Probably the screen normally stood in the
stove-room, a smaller, warmer place off the end of the longhall.
That was where the family and guests would gather on ordinary
occasions, but there were far too many people here to be
accommodated in that space tonight!

On one side of Thorolf sat Colm’s
master, Bjorn, who had become Thorolf’s trusted lieutenant. On the
other side sat Magnus, then his son, Halldor. The women’s table was
set before the door into the stove-room, at a right angle to the
men’s table. Marta, Thorolf’s wife, finished serving each guest his
first drink with her own hands, then took her place at the center
of the women’s table. Ingveld took the place to Marta’s right, Aud,
the one to the left. Gerda sat next to Ingveld, then Gerda’s
friends. The older women sat next to Aud, their rank decreasing the
further from the center that they sat.

Lesser women and slaves continued the
serving. Marta and Thorolf exchanged a glance, a silent signal, and
Thorolf rose from his place. He had changed his bloody godi’s robe
for an elegant embroidered surcoat with great carved buttons of
bone decorating the front. All eyes turned to Thorolf and the hall
hushed as he announced that he and his good friend, the prosperous
farmer, Magnus, were uniting their families. Magnus’ son, Halldor,
and Thorolf’s daughter, Gerda, were to marry in the fall. Thorolf
then gave gifts to Magnus, a fine bow, a carved gameboard with
pieces made of amber, and silk trousers from Greekland. Magnus gave
gifts in return, excellent leather shoes and a decorated spearhead
taken from the grave of an Irish High King. Each gift that was
accepted indebted a man to the giver. Thorolf wanted very much to
have Magnus in his debt since Magnus’ farm was close to another
godi’s holding and it was up to Magnus who he would ride with to
Althing and who he would support in case of trouble. But a man
would always support the father of his son’s wife, especially if
there were grandchildren.

Halldor smiled over at the women’s
table, clearly pleased with his bride-to-be, but Gerda had eyes
only for Ingveld’s necklace. She was practically drooling over it,
thought Colm. Marta and Ingveld were exchanging gifts as well and
making subtle signs to reinforce their status and position in the
community. They seemed to get on well, though, and Colm thought
that there would be few mother-in-law difficulties, always a
potential problem. Ingveld took off her necklace and allowed the
other women to hold it and examine it more closely. Slave girls
bustled around the tables, bringing the gifts for exchange and
cleaning up spilled beer.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the
men’s table. Halldor and Gunnlaug were shouting at one another.
Gunnlaug shoved Halldor, who slapped his hand where his sword hilt
would be if he had worn a weapon to the feast. Halldor lunged
forward, but other men grabbed Gunnlaug by the shoulders and
hustled him from the hall before Halldor could reach him.
Red-faced, he took his seat just as the slave women began serving
the broth. Gunnlaug wouldn’t be doing any toasting with the
community this year, thought Colm. In fact, he had best leave the
area, if he valued his life.

The hall had begun to settle when a
sudden cry rose from the women’s table. Ingveld was standing, hand
at her throat, shouting for her necklace. The other women at the
table glanced at one another and raised their empty hands to show
that they didn’t have it. Magnus shouted and rose from his seat to
glare at the women’s table. Thorolf sat frozen, his stricken gaze
fixed on his daughter’s face. Other eyes followed his and Gerda
found herself the target of a dozen accusing stares.

“Search me!” Gerda spat out and rose
from the bench, then climbed onto the women’s table. Gerda looked
defiantly about her, then unbelted her apron and pulled it over her
head. She threw it down on the table and took off her blouse, her
overskirt, then dropped her underskirts to stand completely naked
before the crowd.

Colm caught a glint of pride and
pleasure in her eyes. She’s enjoying this, he thought. She enjoys
being the center of attention.

Not to be outdone, two of the other
young women at the table leapt up beside Gerda and began removing
their garments. The older women glanced nervously about. They had
no desire to have their bodies compared to these girls!

“Wait!” Marta rose and took command of
the situation. “Come back into the stove-room. You can undress
there.” The women made their way through the door.

Ingveld’s face was stricken with
embarrassment. Gathering herself, she reached up a hand to Gerda
and helped her prospective daughter-in-law down from the table.
Ingveld snatched up some of Gerda’s discarded clothing and draped
them over her naked shoulders. As the two women followed the others
into the stove-room, she cast a beseeching look back at her
husband.

Magnus regretted his outburst now. He
fell back into his seat. “Perhaps the women can straighten this
out…”

“Yes,” said Thorolf, “This will be
settled properly. We will have a toast.” He looked about for a
woman to serve the table but they were all in the stove-room.
Thorolf got up himself and brought cups of broth to each place.
Then he raised a toast: “To the wisdom of women! May there be much
here tonight and always!”

But an hour later, Marta led the women
back from the stove-room and told her husband that the necklace had
not been found. Men dismantled the women’s table and benches to
make certain that the necklace had not been dropped there on the
dirt floor but there was no sign of it. The table was reassembled
and the women returned to their places.

Ingveld and Marta held a quiet, worried
conversation. Gerda sat proudly in her place wearing a
self-satisfied smile. The other men and women spoke quietly, eyes
shifting about. Thorolf turned to Magnus and offered him gifts:
some valuable horses, cutting rights on a rare piece of treed
woodland, the very surcoat he was wearing. Stone-faced, Magnus
refused them all.

Colm watched the uneasy scene. Thorolf
had not called for more beer yet. Probably the godi was weighing
the value of lulling his neighbors with alcohol versus the danger
posed by a crowd of drunken men. Still, Thorolf would not want to
be called stingy and soon enough the beer would start flowing.

Bjorn approached and Colm stood up,
attentive to his master. “You’re an intelligent man,” said Bjorn,
“If you can think of anything that will help this situation, you
will be rewarded.”

Colm was amazed. Not only was he a slave
but he was half Bjorn’s age, yet the man came to him for help! Once
before Colm had solved a sticky problem for Bjorn but Hastein’s
death was not something they had ever discussed – better not to
know of some things, or at least not to speak of them. Still, Colm
had no choice now but to nod, agreeing to help as he might.

Colm made his way back to the storeroom
to try to catch a moment to think. Just inside the doorway, Gwyneth
grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to do something!”

“Do? Me?” Why was everyone looking to
him for help?

“If they don’t find that necklace, then
some slave girl will be made victim!”

That was true enough, thought Colm.
Someone would pay for this crime and it might well be a slave. Even
Gwyneth! He looked into her blue eyes. “I’ll do what I can. Tell me
what happened at the women’s table when the fight broke out between
Halldor and Gunnlaug. Where was the necklace then?”

“The young women sitting below Gerda
were admiring it. I was at the other end, near Ingveld, and didn’t
see what happened to it,” Gwyneth said. “I looked up at the ruckus
between the men – everyone looked that way – and when I looked
back, the necklace was gone!”

“So one of the young women took it?”

“None of them had it on her when the
women were undressed and searched. Anyway, which of them would have
the courage to do that? I think this was done by someone very
audacious, yet young enough not to be able to control her
desires.”

Colm knew who she meant. “Gerda
certainly desired that necklace.”

Gwyneth nodded. “And she was right there
with her friends as it was passed around.”

Colm thought a moment. “Who else was
there near the young women?”

Gwyneth spread her hands. “No one.”

“No one at all? No slave girl waiting on
them?”

“Wait! Braga was there, before the
fight, then I didn’t see her. No! I saw her stand up later. She was
down on the floor picking up the cups that were knocked off the
table. But Braga hasn’t the sense to be this thief!” Braga was
considered thick and dim-witted. The other slave women teased her
and Braga always responded with an uncomprehending stare and a
slow, broken-toothed smile.

“How did the cups get on the floor?”

“They must have been knocked over when
the fight started.”

“Do you think Gerda looked at the fight
or the necklace?” Colm was forming an idea. “After all, she didn’t
raise her eyes from the necklace to Halldor before that, not even
when her betrothal was announced.”

“All right, but how did the necklace
disappear?”

Colm smiled. “See if you can get Braga
here.”

“Braga? I can get her, but…” Gwyneth
shook her head. “That’s impossible!”

Colm said, “She’s the only one around
the necklace that wasn’t searched. It has to be her!” Gwyneth began
to speak but Colm stopped her. “Quickly now, before Gerda speaks to
her.”

Gwyneth left and Colm stepped into the
corner of the storeroom, just beside the door. The lamplight from
the longhall illuminated a small area inside the door, but it was
dark in the corner. Colm shrank back and thought about Braga and
the necklace. He had an idea and hoped that it was right. Gwyneth’s
return interrupted his thought.

Braga was protesting. “Mistress Gerda
wants me. I got to go.”

Gwyneth soothed her. “Just a moment,
Braga, that’s all. Just in here.”

Gwyneth persuaded Braga into the
storeroom. Colm came up behind her and slipped his hand under
Braga’s apron. The slave girl started and jumped back. “None of
that,” she said. She gave Gwyneth an accusing glance. “I thought
you was better than that!” Braga ran out the door.

Gwyneth wasn’t certain whether to be
angry or not. “So,” she said, “Did you make me fetch Braga just so
you could fondle her big bottom?”

For answer, Colm held out his hand so
that Gwyneth could see that he held Ingveld’s gleaming necklace.
“It was Gerda,” he said. “When the fight started, she knocked the
cups onto the floor. Then, when Braga was down on her knees picking
them up, Gerda hooked the necklace on her skirt under her apron.
There it would stay until she was ready to take it. No one would
search her again.”

“Of course! And if it was discovered
then Braga would be blamed.” Gwyneth looked at the glass baubles
shining in the light from the hall. She said, “Any woman would be
glad to own such a thing!”

It was true, thought Colm. The necklace
was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever held in his hands.
A cunning and seductive notion crept into his brain then. Colm
raised his head and met Gwyneth’s gaze. There he could see the same
notion glittering in her eyes. Then they both of them blinked and
beheld reality. Colm saw the thin apron of second-grade cloth that
Gwyneth wore over threadbare skirts, a cord of hemp making do as a
belt. And he knew what she saw before her: a thin young man in a
ragged shirt and trousers with patched knees. They owned nothing,
not even their own bodies; what could they do with this necklace
that was worth twenty slaves like themselves? Even so, if Gwyneth
wanted it, she might have it, Colm thought. She might accept her
certain doom and his, too, for a moment of pleasure. There would be
few enough in her life.

But Gwyneth was a woman of sense. “Now
you must find a way to get it back,” she said. Colm nodded. A woman
shouted, then another. Gwyneth turned to go, “They’ll search the
slave girls now that Gerda can’t find her loot.” She turned back to
Colm, parted her lips as if to speak, then thought better of it and
left the storeroom.

Colm squatted, his back against the turf
wall, and thought about what he should do next.

It was an uneasy night and Colm woke
before dawn, lying in the straw in the cowshed with some other
slaves. He lay listening to the snores of other men, as the first
birds began singing and light began to break. He heard the murmur
of women making their way to the shrine for their own secret
ritual. Tense, he listened and waited. Soft chanting rose from the
shrine, then… A sudden shout! Colm knew that meant the necklace had
been found.

The night before, Colm had crept to the
shrine. There was no moon and only starlight lit his path. The
temple entrance was a black hole before him. Stifling a sudden
terror, Colm ducked inside. He crouched, letting his eyes become
used to the darkness, straining to see just a little. The chamber
stank of blood. Suddenly, Colm saw two great eyes staring into his
own. He started and almost screamed before he realized that he was
looking into the carved orbs of Thor’s face. The beloved god! The
friendly god! Thor’s cold stare pierced Colm like a weapon-thrust.
This was no friend of his!