Besides, he wanted to find Helga and tease her some more. She rose so easily to his taunts about their upcoming wedding. Not that he really planned to wed her. Leastways, he probably didn’t. Undoubtedly didn’t. Well, all right, he was still considering the possibility, but in the meantime, he would test the waters and see if he could goad Helga into revealing her true feelings.
Thus far, her voiced feelings amounted to “Dolt!” or “Lackwit dolt!”
Vagn chose to interpret that as I think she likes me.
He approached the open doorway of the solar and leaned against the doorjamb, not wanting to interrupt what seemed to be a business meeting between Helga and Saleem, an Arab merchant whose trading vessel docked periodically at Jorvik. Saleem was also known as Sly-Boots for his ability to pull off many a shrewd trading deal… often to the detriment of his customers. At this moment, though, he didn’t appear to be faring so well.
“Five mancuses for these simple fabrics? ‘Tis thievery!” Saleem said, fingering one of the ells of finely woven wool spread across a large table. An embroidered diamond design highlighted the jade-green cloth in shades of yellow and red and black.
“This wool is the best in all Britain, and you know it,” Helga said, brushing his fingertips away. “Besides that, the exquisite embroidery makes it nigh priceless. But that is neither here nor there. I have changed my mind. I think five mancuses for these three ells is way too cheap. I would need at least six to part with it.”
“The fabric is indeed exquisite,” Saleem conceded.
“You know, I can always sell this at my own stall in Coppergate.” Coppergate was the trading section of the port city.
“It is a deal,” Saleem said, “but only if you sell me the white silk over there.” There was a bolt of cream white silk set aside on another table. Along its edge was an embroidered pattern of gold thread which enclosed a border of red hearts. Vagn had never seen anything like it afore, and he had been in all the important trading towns of the world, including Birka and Hedeby.
“Nay!” Vagn said, stepping into the room.
Helga’s eyes widened with surprise… and concern for his health, he could tell.
I am just as surprised as you, m’lady, and just as concerned. What am I thinking? Am I thinking? “I wish to purchase that fabric myself,” Vagn shocked himself by saying. Has some other being taken over my tongue? Why would I want a piece of white cloth?
“You?” Helga and Saleem said at the same time.
“Yea, I wish it for a bride gift,” he announced blithely. “I mean, a possible bride gift.” I mean, what in bloody hell is going on inside my brain?
“Not that again!” Helga groaned with dismay. “Where would you find so much coin?”
“I had a hide pouch tied round my waist, under my tunic and armor. The battlefield scavengers never got to it. Besides, I have access to other money, if need be.”
She did not seem pleased that he was not a pauper.
“I must have that particular cloth,” Saleem whined. “There is an Arab sheik who would give a caliph’s ransom for it. His favorite houri has an overfondness for white silk. Five mancuses for that fabric alone.” It was a generous amount to pay for such a small swath, and they all recognized that fact.
“I will give you six,” Vagn said. I must be mad.
Helga’s mouth dropped open. Causing a woman’s mouth to drop open was always a good thing, in Vagn’s opinion. Worth going mad over, he supposed.
“Are you demented?” Saleem wanted to know.
“Perchance,” Vagn replied with a shrug. Exactly my assessment of my mental condition, if you must know. I am beginning to think I might suffer from Herfjöttr, the battered-soldier condition that leaves grown men walking about in a daze.
“Who are you?”
“Vagn Ivarsson.”
“I thought you were killed at the Battle of Stone Valley.”
Vagn winced. “That was my brother Toste.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am sure.” Reasonably sure.
Saleem shook his head as if to clear it. Then he turned his attention back to Helga, red-faced with frustration. “Seven mancuses, and that is my final offer.”