Page 39 of The Bewitched Viking

Tykir stopped abruptly, and Alinor realized that they’d arrived at his residence and place of business. He put a finger to his lips, cautioning silence, as he perused the workings of his enterprise from a short distance away. His long house was one of the larger designs in Hedeby, framed with wattle and daub and roofed with thatch. Its roof extended forward in the front about two ells to form a permanent canopy for the trading wares.

Beast, realizing that they were not moving on, dropped to the ground under the table near Alinor’s feet, with his muzzle propped on his front paws, and immediately fell asleep. She and Tykir watched the goings-on at his booth, which held a tantalizing array of amber in all its forms…from the raw stone to finely crafted jewelry.

A huge dark-haired Viking man wearing a full-length cloak of wolfskin pelts, drawn back off one shoulder with a silver pennanular brooch, was examining some jewelry set out on the table before him. Waiting on him, behind the table, was a young man of no more than fifteen. To the side of the building, with her back to them, sat a woman using fine cutting and abrasion tools and polishing cloths to fashion lumps of raw amber into workable sizes and shapes. A guard, arms crossed over his wide chest, stood beside the open doorway of the house, watching over the youth and the woman and the expensive wares.

“This would suit Drifa, my first wife,” the customer said, taking a string of amber beads in his big pawlike hands.

“A good choice,” the boy exclaimed. “See how the beads are of uniform size and color. And they are strung on the finest silk thread, with knots betwixt each bead to prevent chipping.”

The Viking nodded. “I will take that. And Grima, my second wife, should favor the pendant over there…yea, that’s the one…seeing as how she already has enough glass beads to prove my wealth.” As an afterthought, he added, “But the beads and the pendant must be of equal value, lest I have to listen to their jealous bickerings all winter long.” The pendant he chose was an oval filigree frame containing a pale yellow stone, hanging from a dainty silver chain.

“Your two wives will be well pleased, I assure you,” the boy said, his eyes twinkling with delight at the two sales.

“Hah! Think you that I only have two wives? You do not know much about a Norseman’s virility if you think one woman would satisfy. Three more wives have I besides Drifa and Grima, not to mention five wives long buried.” He winked at the boy. “Hard swiving wears down some weak-sapped women.”

The boy clearly restrained himself from smiling widely with anticipation at the prospect of additional sales.

“My helpers get a commission on each sale,” Tykir whispered in her ear. To Alinor’s dismay, she felt the rippling effect of his breath all the way to her toes…and some disconcerting place in between. “’Tis an incentive for them to work harder.”

The lout was continuing to talk to her, unaware of the effect he was beginning to have on her.

But then the lout blew softly in her ear.

Every tiny hair on Alinor’s body, from scalp to toe, stood at attention. In truth, her freckles were paying attention, too.

The lout did know that he had an effect on her.

Quickly, the boy spread out three other objects in front of the Viking, presumably of equal value: an exquisite three-cornered brooch of heavy gold, with an amber stone in the center the size of a raven’s egg; an armlet of intertwined daisies made of gold petals with amber centers and a set of silver wire ear ornaments with dangling amber gems.

The Viking waved a hand in agreement to the additional purchases, and the boy’s eyes nearly popped out at the casualness with which the Norseman spent his money.

“Five wives!” she hissed then in a whisper to Tykir.

He just grinned at her.

“Oh, and one other thing. I must needs have a special gift for Lita, my newest concubine. Only sixteen she is, butah…the things her nubile body can do!” The Viking made a smacking noise of appreciation with his mouth.

Alinor would have liked to smack him, to be sure.

The boy brought forth a delicate finger ring with a tiny amber stone.

“Perfect,” the Viking said.

“It’s worth more than the others,” the boy advised.

“Lita is worth more than the others.”

Alinor made a low, snarling noise.

Tykir chuckled softly and squeezed her hand tightly. “Say naught, my witch,” he warned, sensing her desire to lash the brute with a piece of her mind.

“Trolls…you are a nation of trolls!” Alinor grumbled indignantly.

“Come over here,” he said with a laugh. “I will give you a quick education in amber.”

The boy glanced over to where they now stood at the far end of the tables, noticing them for the first time. His eyes went wide on recognizing Tykir. “Master Thorksson, I did not see you there,” he apologized. He made as if to come to them.

Tykir waved him back. “Finish your transaction, Karl.”