Odinn's Child Read Online Free Page A

notorious for her long-running affair with a neighbouring farmer — Bjorn Breidvikingakappi. Indeed it was confidently rumoured that Bjorn was father to one of Thurid's sons. But Thurid ignored the local gossip, and in this respect, as in several others, there was a marked resemblance between the two women who now met on the deck of the trading ship — Thurid and my mother.
    My mother came off best. Thurid clambered aboard from the small rowing boat which had brought her out to the ship. Scrambling up the side of a vessel from a small rowing boat usually places the newcomer at a temporary disadvantage. The newcomer pauses to catch breath, straightens up, finds something to hold on to so as not to topple back overboard or into the ship, and then looks around. Thurid was disconcerted to find my mother sitting impassively on a large chest on the stern deck, regarding her with flat disinterest as she balanced unsteadily on the edge of the vessel. Thorgunna made no effort to come forward to greet her or to help. My mother's lack of response piqued Thurid, and as soon as she had composed herself she came straight to the point and made the mistake of treating my mother as an itinerant pedlar.
    'I would like to see your wares,' she announced. 'If you have anything decent to sell, I would consider paying you a good price.'
    My mother's calm expression scarcely changed. She rose to her full height, giving Thurid ample time to note the expensive cloth of her well-cut cloak of scarlet and the fine Irish enamelwork on the brooch.
    'I'm not in the business of buying and selling,' she replied coolly, 'but you are welcome to see some of my wardrobe if that would be of interest here in Iceland.' Her disdain implied that the Icelandic women were out of touch with current fashion.
    My mother then stepped aside and opened the chest on which she had been sitting. She riffled through a high-quality selection of bodices and embroidered skirts, a couple of very fine wool cloaks, some lengths of silk, and several pairs of elegant leather slippers -though it must be admitted that they were not dainty, my mother's feet being exceptionally large. The colours and quality of the garments — my mother particularly liked dark blues and a carmine red made from an expensive dye — put to shame the more drab clothing which Thurid was wearing. Thurid's eyes lit up. She was not so much jealous of my mother's wardrobe as covetous. She would have loved to obtain some of it for herself, and no one else on Iceland, particularly in the locality of Frodriver, was going to get the chance to buy it.
    'Do you have anywhere to stay during your visit to our country?' she asked as sweetly as she could manage.
    'No,' replied my mother, who was quick to discern Thurid's motives. 'It would be nice to spend a little time ashore, and have a chance to wear something a little more elegant than these sea clothes, though I may be a little over-dressed for provincial life. I assembled my wardrobe with banquets and grand occasions in mind rather than for wearing aboard ship or going on local shore visits.'
    Thurid's mind was made up. If my mother would not sell her clothes, then at least she could wear them in Thurid's farmhouse for all visitors to see, and maybe in time this haughty stranger could be manoeuvred into selling some of her finery to her hostess.
    'Why don't you come and stay on my farm at Frodriverr" she asked my mother. 'There's plenty of room, and you would be most welcome.'
    My mother was, however, too clever to run the risk of beingdrawn into Thurid's debt as her invited guest, and she neatly sidestepped the trap. 'I would be delighted to accept your invitation,' she replied, 'but only on condition that I earn my keep. I would be quite happy to help you out with the farm work in return for decent board and lodging.'
    At this point, I gather, I let out a squawl. Unperturbed, my mother glanced across at the bundle of blanket which hid me and continued, 'I'll be