“I shall be on my way to see the mistress, then,” Erik said.
Tara watched him go with regret. She remembered that he had been unsuccessful in his bid to buy her. At the time, she had been disappointed; he had a kind face and she was sure he would’ve been good to her. But she’d had little time or energy to waste on regrets and disappointment over things she couldn’t control. She’d had to stay focused on the present to survive and stay strong. The young merchant had slipped from her mind and she hadn’t given him another thought. After all, there was no way she would ever see him again.
So when he’d appeared beside the trail that led to the farm, it had taken her a moment to remember where she’d seen him before. When he’d mentioned the awful day that Taft had bought her, the memories came flooding back and she found herself shaking as she relived the experience. Surely God must have been with her or she would never have survived it.
“Heill,” Erik greeted the slave that answered the door. “May I speak with the mistress of the house?”
“I will ask if she wishes to speak with you,” the slave answered before disappearing into the interior of the house, leaving Erik standing on the doorstep.
It was customary for homeowners to offer hospitality to all who came by, especially in remote regions such as this. Sudden storms and the sheer distance between villages meant that any travelers were at the mercy of the elements and shelter. Getting caught outside during a storm or being forced to spend the night out in the open could mean death. The culture of hospitality was strong and Erik was surprised that the slave had not invited him inside. But he conceded that it was Taft’s house; the man was not known for kindness or generosity. A lack of hospitality would not be surprising either.
“Yes. What do you want?”
Erik blinked in surprise as Taft’s wife suddenly appeared in front of him. Her face looked tired but it did nothing to disguise the unhappy expression and pinched, mean look that it had worn for years.
“I have come to visit you as I said I would when we met at the marketplace in Fram Hváll.”
The woman quickly stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Do not speak loudly,” she said.
“I apologize,” Erik said, although he was sure he had not spoken loudly. “Do you remember our meeting?”
The woman nodded. “You gave me some trinkets,” she said. “My name is Gunilla.”
“And I am Erik. I have come with a wagon full of goods if you wish to take a look,” he told her.
She looked around as if expecting someone to appear from nowhere and oppose her. “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “I shall take a look.”
Erik led her to the wagon, where she was soon greedily eyeing off an assortment of goods.
“Will you trade?” she asked.
“If you have something of value that is of use to me,” Erik said. He wondered what she might have to trade. He’d expected her to pay with coins but perhaps she had nothing of her own to give him.
She straightened up and looked at him. “My husband has been suffering from injuries,” she said. “He is unable to work as he usually does.”
Was he supposed to accept that as the explanation for a lack of money? He decided that this situation could work in his favor.
“What goods do you wish to purchase?” he asked. “Perhaps we can work out a deal.”
She gathered a pile of leather, fur, household items and metal goods. She hesitated at the elaborate belt with the fancy silver buckle; it was expensive. She reluctantly laid it aside. Then she stepped out of the way so Erik could get in. He started to add up the cost of each item, listing the cost out loud as he went so that she could follow along.
As he neared the bottom of the pile, he realized that the total cost of all the items was a little over the standard price for a female slave. Excitement started to rise inside him but he was determined to keep a cool head. He couldn’t afford to lose this game.
Finally, he named the total cost of the goods and Gunilla hung her head. She knew there was no way she could pay that amount of money.
“I do not have that much money,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.
“What do you have to trade?” he asked.
“The skin of a sheep, a little wheat, a couple of wooden stools ...” her voice trailed off.
Erik shook his head. “It is not enough, I am afraid,” he said.
She looked crestfallen. “Then tell me the value of the things I just mentioned and I will just take a few of the items.”
Erik looked at her thoughtfully. “There is another way you can have the things you want,” he said.
She raised her head sharply and her eyes were watchful and wary. “How?” she asked suspiciously.
“I would take your female slave in exchange for the goods. The one with the red hair. I saw her beside the road when I was coming to the house.”
Gunilla looked surprised.
“Think about it,” Erik urged. “She is young and beautiful. Does it please you to have her around your husband?”
Gunilla’s face took on a thunderous expression and she shook her head.
“Has he taken her as a bed-slave?”
She shook her head
