The Saga of Colm the Slave (22 page)

“Oh, Braga!” Adals slapped his head in
astonishment. “How could that ever come about?”

“I don’t know,” said Braga, “But I mean
to try to help my son.”

Adals sighed. Then he brightened. “Now
that I have a good fighting horse, perhaps I can win some
money!”

“Better that we not lose what we have
than gamble it away.”

“What we have is not enough for a
marriage contract with Marta and you know it.” Adals shook his
head. “I won’t risk our farm but I’ll put up most everything else
we own if I can find people to take the bet. When we win, I’ll give
half to Adals for bride-price.”

“When we win?” Braga had heard this
before.

“Yes,” said Adals, for in his mind he
had already won and was counting his winnings. Braga sighed, for
she knew that Adals might start spending these winnings, too, long
before they ever materialized. She decided on another plan.

Braga took Frosti to one side and had a
long talk with him. “Most girls won’t marry a man they don’t wish
to.”

Frosti agreed, “But few will shame their
parents. If a match is arranged, then the girl will decide she
likes the man well enough.”

“That’s true, but still, if Marta were
to like you best of all the boys then that would weigh heavilly in
your favor.”

“All right,” said Frosti, “I will try to
impress her.”

“Have you taken her to the hay-piles
yet?”

Frosti shrugged, a little embarrassed.
Like his friends, the boy had fumbling encounters with most of the
local girls. “I doubt that will make much difference.”

“It might,” said Braga, “Depending on
how well you do there.” She was thinking that if Marta was
pregnant, that would be a factor of some weight, though still not
enough to guarantee a marriage. “Listen, this is how a girl expects
to be wooed.” And she told Frosti everything that she thought might
improve his chances with Marta. Frosti listened carefully though he
found himself unable to resolve how to be forceful and yet gentle.
He did understand about not grabbing at a girl or teasing her about
her appearance, though, and resolved not to do either of these
things anymore.

Then Braga opened her chest and took out
a small leather parcel. Inside was the amber pendant that she had
gotten from Gunnora. “This might be a persuasive gift,” said Braga.
She didn’t mention the ring that she had. She thought she would
keep that in reserve.

The amber was a deep honey color and
wonderfully translucent. It had been polished into a smooth piece
about the size of a pigeon’s egg. Six thin gold wires enclosed the
amber and were joined into a loop at the top. “I have no gold
chain,” said Braga. “You will have to find a nice leather cord to
hang it.”

Frosti nodded and took the pendant from
his mother’s hand. It glowed in the firelight and was not cold like
a stone but warm as though it possessed life. “Marta will love
this,” breathed Frosti.

“See that she loves you,” said his
mother.

Frosti and Geirrid sat looking out over
the water. It was a warm day. The sea was green, the sky was blue,
the clouds were thick and white. It was a good day to be alive.
Geirrid said, “Have you ever thought of leaving here, Frosti?”

Frosti lay on his back, watching the
clouds change shape. “No. I mean to stay and work our farm. In
time, I will become wealthy.”

“Wealthy. You mean, own a lot of sheep?”
asked Geirrid.

“Yes. Where else do you find
wealth?”

“Silver is wealth,” said Geirrid. “I
mean to gain lots of silver.”

“Silver!” Frosti laughed. “You are
taking up raiding?”

Geirrid shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.
But I don’t look forward to living on a sheep farm the rest of my
life.”

“Sheep farms aren’t so bad, specially if
you find the right woman to live with you.”

“Well, as for that, there’s only one
girl around here worth considering.”

“You mean Marta Bjornsdottir?”

“Yes,” said Geirrid, “She’s the one I
think the best.”

“Not much chance of that, since I mean
to wed her myself.”

“You!” Geirrid laughed and shook his
head.

“Yes, me!” Frosti was angry. “She will
love me and I will marry her. Look at this!” He took the amber
pendant from his purse and held it out on his palm. “When I give
her this, she will be mine!”

Geirrid looked at the pendant for a
minute, then turned away and shrugged. “It’s not much without a
chain.”

“I’m going to thread a red leather cord
through the top.” Frosti had taken a thin piece of leather and
worked it smooth with a stone. Now he was polishing the cord with a
piece of rusted iron to redden it. The rust came off on his hands
and he knew that he needed to find a way to fix the color so that
it wouldn’t stain Marta’s clothing or her skin.

“Leather?” said Geirrid. An idea began
to stir in his brain. “You need metal. Any kind would be better
than leather. Silver would even be better though it doesn’t match
the color of the pendant. No, leather would just look cheap, the
gift of a lout.”

Frosti was downcast. All the excitement
of trying to prepare a gift for Marta died. He saw himself failing
and seeming a fool in her eyes. He knew that other people often
thought him simple. He put the pendant back in his purse. “Perhaps
it would be best not to hang the pendant at all, just give it to
her as is.”

“Well, but then she couldn’t wear it and
show it off to the other girls. Not much of a gift!” The boys
lapsed into silence, looking out at the water. Geirrid waited until
he judged the time was ripe. “You know,” he said slowly, “I might
be able to find a silver chain.”

Frosti perked up. “Would it be
expensive? I can probably offer a few cloaks for it.” He thought
that his mother might give him some of the woven cloth that was
their farm’s main wealth.

Geirrid said, “That depends. I have to
get it myself first, but I think I can get it cheap. Anyway, you’re
my friend, Frosti, I’ll give you a good price.” And he looked into
the other boy’s face with all the sincerity he could manage.

That night Geirrid spoke with Colm.
“Father, can I look at your neck-charm?” Colm took the penny from
around his neck and passed it to his son. Once again, he spoke of
false metal and true and described how to tell if a coin was of
value. Geirrid nodded and looked up at his father. “These are
lessons worth learning.” He looked back down at the coin. “Does
wearing this always remind you of these things?”

“Always,” said Colm. He did not speak of
the particular falsehoods that he had in mind nor of the way that
the coin lay like a stone on his body.

“Perhaps,” said Geirrid, “This is
something I should wear.”

“Take it,” said Colm. He watched as
Geirrid hung the coin around his neck. “It is a valuable thing to
always know the difference between truth and lies.”

Geirrid turned the coin so that it
glinted. “It is so shiny.”

“Many things shine that are false
metal,” said Colm. He felt proud of teaching this lesson to his
son.

The next day, Geirrid and Frosti met on
the cliffs. Geirrid brought out a piece of blue cloth. It was fine
silk, smooth as skin. Carefully he unwrapped the cloth, making a
show of it, to reveal the penny. It shone in the sunlight. “Here’s
the chain,” said Geirrid. “I’ll take the silver pendant off,
though. I want to keep that.”

“Where did that come from?”

“A gift from my father. He got it while
raiding in Frisia,” said Geirrid. He paused. “You know the Frisians
are very rich.”

Frosti nodded. He knew nothing about
Frisia. “Well, it’s very fine.”

“Bring out your pendant so that we can
see whether the chain will fit.” Frosti laid the amber pendant
beside the penny. Geirrid laid the chain over the pendant. He moved
it about, studying the jewellery. Finally, he shook his head. “It
just doesn’t work.” He looked up at Frosti. “It’s just the wrong
color. You see? This silver doesn’t go with the gold at all.” He
shook his head again. “It just doesn’t work.”

Frosti stared at the pendant and chain
together, his expression bleak. “There’s no chance of winning Marta
now.”

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Geirrid put his
hand over the penny, as though to pick it up, then caught himself.
“Wait...” he murmured, “Maybe...”

“What?” said Frosti. “What is it?” He
felt a little surge of hope.

“Well, perhaps if the chain and pendant
matched...” Geirrid kept his hand over the penny. “I don’t
know.”

Frosti caught the idea. “You mean if I
were to give Marta the silver pendant?” Then his face fell. “Oh,
but it must be very valuable.”

Geirrid slowly nodded. “Yes. And the
runes are well-carved, too. You can take a close look and see how
fine they are.” He took his hand away so that the shiny penny leapt
into sight.

Frosti leaned close to look at the coin.
Geirrid turned it slightly with his finger so that it caught the
sun and flashed in Frosti’s eyes. Frosti started back. “It is so
bright,” he whispered.

“That’s how you know that it’s fine
silver. Good metal always shines like that.”

“Suppose...” Frosti began, then he
stopped and thought. Geirrid waited silently. “Well,” said Frosti
after a bit, “I wonder just how much that silver pendant is
worth.”

“It’s hard to say,” said Geirrid, “And
it was a gift from my father, you know, and a father’s gift is
always of great value.”

Frosti, who never knew his father,
agreed. “But I wonder anyway, how many cloaks it would take to buy
such a thing.”

“Cloaks? Who can say?” Geirrid pondered
the question. “Well, a mark of silver will buy, say, four
cows.”

“That’s not a mark!”

“No, of course not. But, I’m saying, my
father paid two full ounces for a good cow from Ketil
Treefoot.”

“All right. That’s not an ounce,
either.”

Geirrid picked up the penny and hefted
it. “Hm. With the chain, I’d say this is, oh, half an ounce.”

“I think less!” Frosti reached out a
hand and Geirrid dropped the penny in it. The false metal was
heavier than silver and the coin was much thicker than a true penny
so Frosti was surprised at the weight. “Not half,” he muttered,
though he seemed unsure.

“So the silver alone is worth, oh,
perhaps ten or even twelve cloaks of good cloth.” Geirrid
emphasized the word “good”. Braga’s weaving was not thought to be
particularly fine. He shrugged, “But then there is the fine carving
on the pendant, the work on the chain, and of course the fact that
it is a father’s gift.”

Frosti nodded dumbly, staring at the
item in his hand. After a while he said, “I have two cloaks.”

“Oh,” said Geirrid, “Two.”

There was silence for a moment, then
Frosti said, “And I have this.” He held out the amber pendant.

Geirrid prodded the amber with his
finger but did not take it from Frosti’s palm. “Oh,” he said. “Yes.
Amber. Well...”

“It has gold wire, too.”

“Not much, though. I suppose it doesn’t
weigh much.”

Frosti felt the amber in his hand. It
seemed weightless as thistledown, something that might blow away in
the smallest breeze. “No, but gold is worth eight times
silver.”

“So is that pendant an eighth of the
weight of the fine carved silver necklace?”

Frosti had the amber in one hand, the
penny in the other. He knew the answer. Finally he said, “Suppose I
offered you the amber for the silver necklace?”

“Oh, no,” said Geirrid, “That wouldn’t
be right.”

“Suppose I offered the amber and a
cloak?”

Geirrid looked away off the cliffs and
considered. “Well, I don’t know. Suppose the amber and three
cloaks?”

“I only have two.”

Geirrid turned to Frosti and looked into
his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled and clapped him on the
shoulder. “All right, then! The amber and two cloaks, my
friend!”

So they struck their deal.

When Frosti got home, he was bursting
with excitement. He got his mother’s attention and told her, “I
have traded the amber for a valuable silver pendant that has a
chain! Marta will be mine now!”

Braga’s heart sank. “Let me see.” She
held out her hand and Frosti carefully placed the penny in it. “I
don’t know,” said Braga, “Let’s see what Adals has to say about
this.” But she already suspected that the penny was worthless.

Adals knew a little about coins. “This
is poor metal,” he said. “It is too thick to be a good
penny...”

“A penny?” said Frosti. “It’s a carved
silver pendant!”

“No,” said Adals, “It’s a bad coin.”

Frosti was mortified. Then he realized:
“So I shouldn’t give it to Marta?”

“No,” said Braga gently, “Best not.”

Frosti sat in silence, then his jaw set
with anger as he recalled how Geirrid had cheated him. “I am a
fool!” he said, and realizing this, he became angrier still.

“Wait,” said Braga. “All is not lost. We
need to plan.” She turned to Adals. “How certain are you that your
horse will win?”

“As certain as any man could be. He has
never lost a fight.” Adals had fought the stallion a few times in
other districts. Although he had won some money, it all seemed to
melt away by the time he got home.

Braga nodded. “All right. Then we will
bet all we have on him.” She turned to Adals. “I will hold the
money for now.”

Adals hesitated but then he agreed. He
took out his small hoard and emptied his purse, too. Braga took
charge of the money. She knew that when she added her own savings
there would only be a few marks of silver. “I will sell what cloth
I have, too,” said Braga.

“I also gave Geirrid two cloaks.” Frosti
hung his head in shame.

Everyone was silent for a moment. “Well,
it can’t be helped now,” said Braga. “We will wager what we have
and then see where we are.” She did not mention the ring that she
had.