Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [1]
“And your brother is a man of strong appetites, Merrik. A female doesn’t necessarily have to be toothsome for Erik to want her. Look at Caylis, I’ll grant you she’s a beauty even though her son is close to ten years old now, but Megot, whom he beds just as much, is a plump pullet and her chins shake when she laughs.”
“Aye, ’tis true. We must consider many factors before I pick the right female. My mother needs a female slave who will be loyal to her and work only for her. My mother wants to teach her to spin, for her fingers stiffen and give her pain now. Roran told me this should be an excellent selection this morning, many slaves were brought in just last night from Byzantium.”
“Aye, and the great golden city of Miklagard. How I should like to voyage there, Merrik. It is the greatest city in the world, it is said.”
“Aye, ’tis difficult to believe that more than half a million people live there. Next summer we will have to build a stronger longboat, for the currents and rapids below Kiev are vicious. There are seven rapids and each is more deadly than the last. The one called Aifur kills more men than all the others combined. Even the portage is dangerous for there are many vicious tribes living along the Dnieper waiting for men to come ashore with their longboats to drag them overland to beyond the rapids. Aye, we’ll join an armada of other trading ships for protection. I don’t wish to die just to see Miklagard and the Black Sea.”
“The Aifur, huh?” Oleg grinned at Merrik. “You have been talking to other traders, Merrik. You are already preparing this in your mind, aren’t you?”
“Aye, I am, but Oleg, we grow rich trading in Birka and Hedeby, for we are known there and trusted. The Irish slaves brought more silver than even I believed possible. And this year we grew even richer trading our Lapp furs in Staraya Ladoga. Remember that man who bought every reindeer comb we had? He told me he had more women than he wanted and all of them begged combs from him. He said their hair would beggar him.
“Nay, we will wait to travel to Miklagard next year. Be content.”
“ ’Tis you who aren’t content, Merrik.”
“Very well, I will be patient. We return home with more silver than our fathers and brothers have. We are rich, my friend, and there is no one to gainsay us now.”
“Forget not that lovely blue silk that came from the Caliphate, at least that’s what Old Firren claimed.”
“He’s a liar who has grown over the years to believe his own words, but the material is beyond beautiful.”
“Aye, and you will continue the lie. Will you give it to your bride? You plan to buy your own farmstead now, Merrik? Or perhaps return with your bride to her father’s?”
Merrik said nothing, but he frowned. During the winter, his father had negotiated with the Thoragassons, not bothering to tell his son until the two fathers had come to agreement. Merrik barely knew the seventeen-year-old Letta. He’d felt anger at his father at such interference, for Merrik was, after all, nearly twenty-four years old, but he’d said nothing. The girl was lovely, appeared gentle, and her dowry would be impressive. He would look closely at her when he returned home, then make his decision. But if he wedded her he would have to leave his father’s farmstead, for already his eldest brother and his wife of two years, the gentle Sarla, lived there and would continue there after their parents died. Surely they would have many babes, and soon it would be too crowded, what with all his father’s and brother’s people and his own men and slaves as well. He shook his head. He disliked thinking of leaving his home, but if he wed, he would have to take his wife somewhere, and there was no more land in Vestfold that could be farmed. His brother, Rorik, had gone to Hawkfell Island, just off the coast of Britain, and had prospered. Ah, but to leave his home, it was something he didn’t yet wish to do. He also disliked