“Do not worry about Magnus. As I said before, he is stubborn, and pig-headed sometimes. Gunnar is far more sensible, and he has given you his blessing. Does that not speak louder to you?”
It should, but in her heart, she still believed partly as Magnus did, that they should find a way to preserve their way of life.
“Have we not been acquiring items from other cultures for generations and incorporating them into our everyday life?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since we started trading, we have brought home things like new spices for our food, new fabrics for our clothes,” she said as she tugged on a piece of gold stitched edging from Saga’s tunic. “That gold thread was not made in this village or by our weaver. How can you criticize diluting our culture when we’ve been doing just that our entire lives?”
Saga looked down at her own garments. She had not considered that other cultures had been seeping into their own for a very long time and no harm had befallen them. Well none from that form of trade anyway.
“You always find clarity for me, Freydis. If I was to leave here, what would I do without you?”
“You’d take me with you is what you’d do. I for one would love to see more of the world and learn of other healing ways outside of our own.”
“Do you speak true? You will come with me if I have to leave here.”
“I speak the truth. There are plenty of others in the village who know enough of the healing ways to protect the villagers.”
Suddenly the thought of travelling to Alba with Giric did not sound so unappealing now if both Vigdis and Freydis were with her.
“Giric leaves here on the morrow. I will speak to my brother. I had not intended to go with him this time, but you and your runes have awoken a curiosity in me about his land and his people.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” Freydis said. “For we are all better off if there is tolerance in our hearts.”
“How wise you are for one so young, Freydis.”
“I am not so very young,” she said.
“You are but two summers older than me.”
“Ja, and at twenty-one summers, I am already an old maid.”
“That is not true. You are young and beautiful. I remember the way my brother used to stare at you.”
“That was years ago. He is a man now and no doubt has no interest in an old maid in a tiny village.”
“I think you still have feelings for him,” Saga said. When Freydis turned her head away, Saga thought she may have hit her mark. Disliking the frown upon her friend’s face, she kissed her on the forehead, thanked her and left. She would ask Gunnar if Freydis could accompany them to Alba.
* * *
The setting sun cast a red hue over the horizon as Giric left the hall to check on the galley. They would have had a good sea on the morrow, but now he must wait another day and he hoped the good weather held out. Not that he was complaining. The cause for the delay would be worth it if she agreed.
As he approached the dock, he caught full sight of a ship that had not been in the harbour when they arrived. It was as large or larger than the ship that was being constructed in the shed. With a long prow that curled outward into a spindle and a massive sail tied to the mast, he wondered if there was any sea this ship could not tackle.
“Do you think my ship is pretty?” Magnus asked from behind him.
“Aye, that I do.”
“Yours is well built, but your shipbuilders do not seem to possess the craft for making yours quite wide enough. That aspect really aids a rocky sea.”
Giric nodded. Magnus pointed out the positioning of the wood on the hull.
“But I suspect you get more sea spray on your face,” Giric said with a grin.
“That keeps us from falling asleep,” Magnus said and crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to know how I really acquired Short-Beard’s treasure, don’t you?”
“Aye, the thought had crossed my mind.”
