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LATE THAT AFTERNOON, there was a great commotion outside the longhouse. Men were shouting, but it wasn’t in fear or the kind of shouted orders before an attack. She went outside to see that visitors had come to Malverne.
“It is the Thoragassons,” Sarla said at her elbow. “They live to the north in the Bergson Valley, some three days’ journey from here.” She paused a moment, then added, “Before Merrik’s father died, he negotiated a marriage contract with Olaf Thoragasson between his eldest daughter, Letta, and Merrik. I do not know if Merrik will honor it. It is expected that he will do so. Perhaps he wishes it, I do not know.”
“Oh,” Laren said.
Sarla gave her a quick look. She looked off into the distance, at the vivid green of the thick fir trees that covered the mountains on the opposite side of the fjord. “I know Merrik took you to his chamber last night, as well as the night before. All know of it, Erik as well.”
“Aye, Merrik made no secret of his intent.”
“Erik was furious. He ordered me to remain in the outer hall. He took both Caylis and Megot into his sleeping chamber with him.”
“He doesn’t deserve you, Sarla.”
Sarla shrugged. “He is a man and now he is the lord of Malverne. Whatever he wishes he can have. Me included. Other women included as well. I am glad he left me alone.” She paused a moment, then added, a touch of surprise in her voice, “I speak so frankly with you and I do not understand why I do so. Many of the women here are my friends, they welcomed me here two years ago when I arrived at Malverne as Erik’s wife, and yet I say nothing to them about, well, I speak of nothing save household matters. It was the same with Tora, Merrik’s mother, and she was very kind to me.”
“I will not betray your trust. I was not raised to do that.”
“I never thought that you would. Somehow, I sense it. Perhaps you will confide in me. I doubt I can help you, but perhaps it would be possible. Did Merrik hurt you?”
“No.”
“Ah, you are not like me. No, don’t apologize to me, Laren, it doesn’t matter. You are used to being alone and having no one save a child to share your confidences. Merrik is a man to trust. Perhaps you can bring yourself to confide in him.”
“No, that would never gain me anything. He doesn’t want me, Sarla, I will tell you that. He does want to protect me from Erik, and he has the last two nights, as I think he will continue to do. He does this because he loves Taby, and he feels he wouldn’t be keeping faith with the child if he allowed me to be raped. He doesn’t think of me as a woman, which is fine with me. As for trust, who can say? He is a man and a Viking and I have always known that Vikings seek profit, and that they only hold faith and honor amongst themselves, not with outsiders or slaves. Aye, I know this very well.”
“But Taby—”
“He loves the child. But how long will that last?”
“I do not know him that well. But you are fond of him. You must sense something worthy in him. I have seen you look at him, Laren. Do you know that when you tell of Grunlige the Dane, you look nearly always at Merrik? Ah, say what you will, Laren, deny it until your tongue dries out with all your denials, but I will keep my own opinion.”
“Your opinion is wrong, Sarla.”
“We will see. Ah, I must greet the Thoragassons.”
The Thoragassons had brought some dozen men and four women. They were a handsome family, Laren thought, but then again most of the Norsemen she’d ever seen and known were well made and pleasing to the eye, both here and at home. As for Letta, Laren thought she looked like a spoiled child. Oh, she was pretty enough, seventeen years old, with thick blond braids coiled atop her head, a full mouth that looked as if it pouted a lot, and breasts that were surely too large for such a small girl. Laren was only a year her senior, yet she felt like the girl’s mother. She felt ancient and cynical and bone-weary. She could scarce remember now the times when she was happy and a child and there was nothing more than playing and riding her mare, Selje, to concern her.
Laren saw Erik eye those big breasts and quickly looked over at Merrik. He, too, was looking at the girl, but he wasn’t looking at her breasts. He merely looked harassed. No pleasure at seeing his father’s choice of a bride, just harassed.
When the Thoragassons learned of the deaths, there was consternation, and it wasn’t due entirely to an overabundance of sorrow at Harald’s and Tora’s passing. No, it was because there were no negotiated ties now to hold Merrik Haraldsson to their family.
Still, the elder Thoragasson, a bluff, hearty man with white threaded through his blond hair, slapped Merrik on his back, inquired, discreet as a wild bull, as to his current wealth after his summer trading, and pointed out with a sly wink the lovely attributes of his daughter. “Aye, she’s even more finely endowed than she was during the winter solstice when last you saw her,” he said. “Aye, more than a handful she would give a man.”
Merrik agreed that this was true.
Olaf Thoragasson frowned. “I wonder why her mother isn’t so, well, bountiful.”
Merrik wisely kept his mouth shut.
“You have reached your twenty-fifth year, Merrik,” Thoragasson said, his voice fraught with meaning.
Merrik only smiled. “I am not ready to lose my teeth or my virility just yet.”
“Ah, but to have children relieves a man’s mind, for there are his progeny to succeed him if he falls in battle of if struck by illness. Aye, a wife and children make a man’s life fuller and richer.”
Merrik agreed that this was probably so.
“A man needn’t just cleave to a wife,” Olaf said, lowering his voice, giving Merrik an understanding leer. “I know your brother Erik surrounds himself with women and enjoys all of them. A man may do whatever he wishes if he has the silver for it.”
