Having unexpectedly spent the winter with a tribe of Slavic nomads, Garrick was not inclined to tarry long at Bulgar. He was anxious to be homeward bound. He still had to stop at Hedeby to dispose of the twenty slaves given to him by Aleksandr Stasov so he could make the journey home with greater speed. His first trip to the East had been full of surprises, but very satisfying.
After leaving Norway the previous year with a cargo of furs and the slaves he had chosen to sell, Garrick and his crew of nine sailed to Hedeby, the great market town on the Schlei River, where he traded half of his slaves for an assortment of merchandise made by the craftsmen there. He took combs, pins, dice and gaming stones, all made of bone, as well as beads and pendants crafted from amber brought in from the Baltic lands.
From Hedeby they sailed to Birka, an island trade center in Lake Malar, situated in the heart of Sweden opposite the Slav town Jumne. Birka was a well known Vic, or trading market; in its harbor could be found ships owned by Danish, Slavic, Norwegian and Scythian peoples. Here Garrick bartered for Rhinish glass, Frisian cloth, which was so valued for its fine texture, jeweled stirrups and Rhine wine, much of which he kept for himself.
Thence Garrick and his crew sailed to Uppland, went on to the Gulf of Finland and then, by way of the Neva, passed the marches and continued on to Lake Ladogo. Old Ladogo, the trading center, was located at the mouth of the Volkhor, and here they stopped for provisions. By then it was midsummer, and they still had a long way to go. They sailed eastward into the land of the Western Slavs, over the Svir to Lake Onega, and on several smaller rivers and lakes to Lake Beloya, until finally they reached the northern bend of the great Volga River.
Halfway between there and Bulgar, their destination, they came upon a ship under attack by a group of Slavs who lived along the river bank. The screams of both men and women rent the still air. Garrick manned the oars and reached the ship before the bloody attack was finished. He and his men boarded the small sailless vessel and killed off those marauders who did not flee quickly enough when they saw his great Viking ship.
Only a young woman and her baby were left alive, and that because they had hidden away inside a large, empty barrel. Haakorn, one of Garrick’s men and a seasoned traveler, spoke the woman’s Slavic tongue. He discovered that she was the daughter of a powerful chieftain of a Slavic tribe. Her husband had been killed, and she lay weeping by his mutilated body as she told of the massacre. The assailants were members of an enemy tribe intent upon killing her and the baby to revenge actions of her father’s. This attack had not been their first.
Garrick held an immediate council with his men to decide what to do with the woman. It was Perrin, Garrick’s closest friend, and as near to him as a blood brother, whose sound advice won out. Since they had already made enemies of those who had fled, they did not need to make more enemies by returning the girl to her tribe for ransom. They would be traveling this route in the future; it could only be to their advantage to have friends in the area.
Thus they returned the girl and her babe to her father without asking for a reward. Feasts were given in their honor, one after another, and days turned into weeks. The rains came, giving them another excuse to linger, for Aleksandr Stasov was an excellent host and they wanted for nothing. Finally it was too late to reach Bulgar and return home before the cold, so they stayed the winter.
In the spring, the grateful chieftain sent them on their way with twenty slaves and a bag of silver for each of the crew. All in all, the time lost to them was worth their while.
In Bulgar the last of the cargo was sold. The furs alone brought an enormous sum, especially the white fur of the polar bear, of which Garrick had four. Each man sold his own goods, for this was a joint venture, among friends, even though it was Garrick’s ship that had brought them.
And so, being young men on their first voyage east (for only Haakorn had traveled this far before), they lingered long, reveling in the new and unusual. Garrick purchased many gifts for his family. Some he would distribute on his return; others he would save for special occasions and ceremonies. He had necklaces and armbands made for his mother from precious jewels he bought cheaply from the Arabs, and he also obtained Chinese silk. For his father he found a splendid sword like his own, with its prized Rhenish blade, and the handle richly engraved and inlaid with silver and gold. For his brother Hugh he purchased a helmet of gold, a symbol of leadership.
He bought gifts for his friends and trinkets for Yarmille, the woman who ran his household and commanded the slaves in his absence. For himself he purchased extravagantly—Byzantine silks and brocades to make fine robes, tapestries from the Orient for his home, and a barrel of iron utensils that would delight his slaves. Each day they stayed in Bulgar, Garrick found something new to add to his collection. Finally his friends began to make wagers on how much silver he would part with before the day ended.
This day in midsummer, with the cloudless sky almost white in its intensity, Garrick entered the house of the engraver, Bolsky, his friend Perrin at his side.
The little man looked up from his work table in the center of the room and fixed his squinting eyes on the two young Norsemen dressed in short, sleeveless tunics with tight-fitting long leggings. They were both of towering height with broad chests; corded muscles rippled on their bare arms. They had taut, powerful bodies without an ounce of excess flesh. One had auburn hair and a trim beard; the other was blond and clean-shaven. The blond had eyes that were cold and skeptical for one so young. They were the color of aqua, like shallow waters on a bright day. The other had laughing eyes like glowing emeralds.
Bolsky was expecting the blond Viking, for he had requested the engraver to make him a fine, silver medallion with the picture of a beautiful girl engraved on the underside. He had given Bolsky a sketch of this girl, and the engraver was proud of the finished work. On the front was a proud Viking ship with nine oars, and above the ship was a hammer with crisscrossed wings and a broadsword. On the back of the medallion was the girl, worked in minute detail, the very image of the sketch. A sweetheart, perhaps, or a wife?
“Is it finished?” Garrick asked.
Bolsky smiled, and opening a fur-lined bag, produced the medallion with its long silver chain. “It is done.”
Garrick tossed a pouch of silver on the table and took the medallion, slipping it over his head without even inspecting it. But Perrin, his curiosity pricked, lifted the heavy silver disk from Garrick’s chest and examined it closely. He admired the symbols of wealth, power and strength, but when he turned the medallion over, his brows drew together in a disapproving frown.
“Why?”
Garrick shrugged and started for the door, but Perrin was close on his heels and drew him to a halt. “Why torture yourself this way?” Perrin asked. “She is not worth it.”
Garrick raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Youwould say this?”
Perrin grimaced. “Yea, I would. She is my sister, but I cannot condone what she has done.”
“Well, do not fret, my friend. What I felt for Morna is dead—long since.”
“Then why that?” Perrin asked, gesturing at the medallion.
“A reminder,” Garrick answered, his voice hard. “A reminder that no woman can be trusted.”
“I fear my sister has left her mark on you, Garrick. You have not been the same since she married that fat merchant.”
A shadow came over the younger man’s blue-green eyes, but a cynical smile twisted his lips. “I am simply wiser. I will never fall prey to a woman’s charms again. I laid my heart open once, and will not do so a second time. I know them for what they are now.”
“All women are not the same, Garrick. Your mother is different. I have never known a kinder or more giving woman.”
Garrick’s features softened. “My mother is the only exception. But come enough of this. Today, our last night, I intend to drink a barrel of ale—and you, my friend, will have to carry me back to the ship when I am through.”
Brenna sat in the center of her large bed polishing her sword with the care given a prized possession, which indeed her sword was. Finely crafted and honed just for her, the weapon was lightweight but razor sharp. It was a gift from her father on the day she celebrated her tenth year. Her name was inscribed on the silver handle, surrounded by rubies and bright sapphires the size of plump peas. Brenna cherished this sword more than any of her possessions, if for no other reason than because it was a symbol of her father’s pride in her achievements.
