And folk said women were subject to their moods…
Hulda had known these particular men all her life. For this venture, she and Faðir had between them selected each man. Yet she was already sick of their childish jokes, their careless bickering and complaints.
Men, ja, were like the weather. One could do naught but put up with it.
These men—all but the despicable Ivor—had been chosen for their reliability, their skill at sailing, and their strong backs when rowing became necessary. If they did not overly question her orders, it was a bonus. But they, like any good Norsemen, had come along on this venture for profit. Bored near to death after the long winter, they’d been apt to jump aboard any vessel heading out of the bay.
Still, she would have to offer them something.
The settlement where Jute had died did, indeed, look large and no doubt wealthy. Also well defended. She would have to be careful if she meant to satisfy her men. She would have to be smarter than anyone else involved.
She got very little sleep and was up before the sun, staring out at the ocean and the rocks of their little isle. The men, other than the two guards she’d set for the end of the night, still slept, wrapped in their cloaks, snoring and farting.
Garik, who was one of the crew members Hulda could best tolerate, soon got up and came to stand with her at the rail. He was young like most of the crew and had been a friend of Jute’s. Well, everyone in their settlement at Avoldsborg had been a friend of Jute’s, him being well liked.
Garik towered over her even though she had a decent height. He had very fair hair, clear blue eyes, and a number of tattoos that had been poorly applied.
He nodded at Hulda before leaning on the rail. “Going to be a clear day,” he said.
“Ja. We will move out of the inlet in a while and let ourselves be seen.”
“I wanted to say, do not listen to Ivor. You know what he is like.”
“I do.”
“He will try to undermine your authority for the sake of it. He did the same to Jute.”
“Did he?” That made her eye her companion.
“Ja. I was on that voyage, when Jute died. Here in these waters.”
The very reason Hulda had brought him, as well as some of the others.
“Jute and Ivor were great friends. Yet Ivor loved to needle him.”
“Ivor loves to needle everyone.”
Garik agreed, “It is how he is made. Do not let him discourage you. If you think you can win this through negotiation or sleight of hand—do so. We are but one ship.”
“And it is a strong settlement.”
Garik shrugged. “Ja. I was fighting on that shore not far from Jute when he went down. These are not defenseless holy men.”
That made her eye him again.
“And Ivor—” Garik began, and paused abruptly.
Another man had joined them at the rail. Was it Hulda’s imagination, or did the clear morning darken a whit?
Ivor asked, “Did I hear you speak my name, Garik?”
“Ja. I was but saying to Hulda, you must want vengeance more than any of us, Jute having been such a good friend to you.”
“I fair thirst for it.”
Hulda nodded. Behind them, the rest of the crew were coming awake, grunting and coughing.
“But,” Ivor went on, “it seems we hang here like that cat outside the mousehole.”
