Chapter 15 #2
Katla had already buried one husband. What were her brothers thinking, trying to match her with such an old man?
The last ray of sunshine glinted on the gold at Sturlson’s throat. Well, there was his answer.
Brandr kept out of Katla’s way until she was situated at table. Then there was no escape. He still had to see to her trencher and keep her drinking horn filled.
In some respects, it wasn’t an onerous job. Sturlson was a natural storyteller. If the old man hadn’t itched to see more of the world, he might have remained in the North and been a skald. Brandr always welcomed news of strange, unexplored lands, and from his position behind Katla, he heard it all.
Otto wove tales of Rus towns on the Dnieper River.
He claimed to have seen jackals prowling the ruins of a once-great city called Rome.
He and his crew had portaged over rough roads to sail down the Volga into the Caspian Sea.
From there he rode on the great humped back of a beast known as a camel to a place named Baghdad between two rivers.
“In that rich land,” Sturlson said expansively, “the women are said to be the most beautiful in all the world.”
“You were there,” Katla said, “and yet you speak as if you don’t know whether they were or not. Is there a man alive who doesn’t fancy himself a fair judge of women?”
Despite his determination not to find anything praiseworthy in his mistress, Brandr’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement. Otto Sturlson had expressed an opinion on everything under the sun.
Leave it to Katla to catch him without one.
“That’s because I never actually saw the women. They are kept hidden away from the eyes of all but their husbands. Assuredly,” Otto said, leaning toward Katla, “if you lived in Baghdad, your jealous husband would never let you see the light of day.”
“Then I must be glad twice,” she said before she took a long sip of her ale.
Sturlson cocked a wiry gray brow at her. “How is that?”
“Glad that I do not live in this Baghdad and glad not have a jealous husband.”
Otto smiled. “And yet I promise you, fair lady, any man who becomes your husband will be jealous. He could not help it.” He lifted a gnarled knuckle and grazed her cheek with it. “Beauty does that to a man. I’d hoard your loveliness with more care than I lavish on my gold.”
“I don’t think I’d fit around your neck.”
“It would be great fun to find out,” the old man said with a wink.
Brandr’s fingers balled into fists, but he forced himself to unclench them. What did he care if the old goat played the besotted fool over her? Otto Sturlson didn’t know her as Brandr did.
She used men, as she used everything under her control, with no more tender feelings than if they were one of her sheep or oxen.
“Have you ever heard the tale of Freya and the Brisingamen necklace?” Otto asked.
“Who has not?”
“I asked only because I see that you wear amber, the goddess’s tears,” Otto said. “Are you a devotee of the love goddess?”
“Not especially, though I’ve never disrespected her,” Katla said with the caution any sensible person would show. It was never wise to be dismissive about any of the gods. “Freya had plenty to weep about.”
True words. But women who intend to wed for wealth, bed for sport, and toss men away like used rags should stick to lies. Freya would have been better served by a lie when her husband wanted to know how she acquired her new necklace.
“Ja, but Freya was so sorely tempted by the Brisingamen necklace, we cannot blame her,” Otto said.
According to legend, Freya wanted the fabulous jewelry so badly she was willing to submit to the four hideously ugly dwarves in four nights of unholy passion to possess the gem-studded finery.
“The old stories tell us she never removes the necklace to this day. She must have thought it worth the cost at the time,” Otto said.
“But the cost was higher than she expected, once her husband discovered the bargain she struck to acquire it,” Katla reminded him.
Freya’s husband abandoned her forever. Amber was said to be evidence of her sorrow, and wearing it honored her grief over the loss of her mate.
Katla touched the amber drops embedded in one of her brooches.
“Freya will never stop weeping for her lost love.”
Otto seemed to consider this for a moment.
“I don’t suppose your brothers told you, but I possess far more wealth than I’m wearing.
I’ve a couple caches of silver secreted about, each of them big as a head of cabbage.
I will not be able to spend it all in the years left to me.
That’s why I’m looking for a young wife. ”
The hair on Brandr’s neck bristled. Did Katla want a pile of silver so badly she’d take Otto Sturlson to her bed?
If coin was all Katla was interested in, Brandr was certain his share of the chest of silver his friends had sailed on to Jondal with would weigh out to be more than Sturlson’s worth. Brandr was a wealthy man too.
Unfortunately, he wore iron around his neck instead of gold, so he was unable to claim his share of the wealth at the moment. Her words echoed in his ear.
Brandr Ulfson is my thrall. Nothing more.
“Since you brought up the matter of the wealth you wear, I have to admit it seems a bit excessive,” Katla said between dainty bites of pork and barley bread. “More than most men might dare.”
“Ja, I ring my neck with gold to tempt some young fellow to try to take it from me.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
Sturlson shrugged. “I’m an old man, Katla. You think I do not know it? I don’t want to end my days wallowing in my own piss. Why should I wait for a straw death?”
The prospect of dying in bed of extreme age or disease was an end any man worth the name would shrink from. Inviting a fight was an ingenious way to avoid it.
Otto Sturlson’s cleverness ticked up a notch in Brandr’s estimation.
“Has anyone ever tried to take your gold?” Katla asked.
“Ja, but so far, I have kept my head and my wealth.” He fingered one of the gold chains at his throat. “It does me good to know I still deserve them.”
She laughed lightly at his wit.
“Of course, a beautiful young wife can be the death of an old man too.” Otto leaned toward Katla with a leer. “That kind of a straw death I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Even though Brandr knew he was nothing to Katla but a means to scratch an itch, he narrowly resisted offering to help Sturlson avoid dying in bed.
He knew Katla wouldn’t appreciate it. Thralls should be seen but not heard.