The Saga of Colm the Slave Read Online Free Page B

“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!
    Colm broke free his gaze and examined
the other idols in the shrine. Each of the three great stone slabs
bore some sign of the deity it represented. Thor held a carved
hammer, Njord’s idol was decorated with a ship, and Freya bore
breasts of stone. Smaller figures of carved stone or bone or wood
stood up from the earth around the large idols. Lesser gods? Great
kings? Ancestors? Perhaps no one but the godi knew.
    Colm drew Ingveld’s necklace from his
shirt and examined Freya’s statue. He had thought the Goddess might
have her arms extended to drive her cart, as they were on the
pendants women wore around their necks. But the only protrusions on
this slab of granite were the two hard breasts. Probably they were
formed by wind or water on this stone, and, being noticed, caused
it to be selected as an idol. Two sets of carved concentric circles
were Freya’s eyes and below them, a great semi-circle meant to be
her woman’s smile. But now Freya’s