Runestone by Don Coldsmith Read Free Book Online

uncomfortable over the conversation. He had been seeking information, and had learned much. Or had he? A crazy legend about two seas, one fresh and one salt, connected by a river? Probably a native myth, he decided.
    But the encounter with the Skraeling had affected him deeply. He had been so impressed by the spirit of this man, and the uneasy feeling that Odin could tell what he was thinking. The feeling became stronger the more he thought about it. Before long he was convinced that of the two, the Skraeling had learned far more from the conversation than he had.

5

    N ils had met Olaf Knutson, the cooper, on their second day in Straumfjord. The
Snowbird
needed another cask or two for water, and he had gone to make the purchase. Partly, he had to admit, he was curious about the girl’s husband. His first impression was one of wonder that such a man could ever have acquired such a woman as the blue-eyed Ingrid. The man’s nondescript reddish hair and beard stood out in all directions, brushy and matted, like the hair of an un-groomed horse in winter. Somehow, his thin body, his clothing, all reflected the same impression. There were even flecks and chips of sawdust in his hair and beard, as well as on his tunic and trousers. Of course, the man was working at his trade. Yet, Nils had the strong feeling that some of the larger chips in his hair and beard had resided there for some time. It was doubtful if there had ever been a time when Olaf the cooper had not appeared disheveled. Again, the jealous resentment surfaced, resentment that such a man would be permitted to share the bed of such a woman of quality.
    The other emotion that Nils felt, though more slowly, was an appreciation for the artistry of the cooper’s work. He watched the shavings of oak curl from the knife’s keen edge like living creatures, to drop to the ground in a fragrant-scented pile around Olaf’s feet. He watched the staves fittedtogether, the hoops hammered into place, skillfully and accurately. There was no doubt, the man was an artisan at his craft.
    By the time he had finished his business with the cooper, Nils saw him in a new light. There was respect for his skills, yet pity for the man. Undoubtedly Olaf knew that everyone laughed at him because of his wife’s promiscuous ways. He did not look like a man who would beat her because of it. No, he had instead withdrawn into his work.
    This meeting had entirely changed Nils’s attitude toward the cooper. Previously, he had envied the man whose bed Ingrid shared. Now he pitied him. There could be nothing but frustration in the life of this unkempt, hardworking man of great skill. His bed, far from being the paradise Nils had first imagined, was undoubtedly as cold and frustrating as any man’s bed had ever been. Worse, most likely. To have that magnificent body within reach yet unattainable would be torture beyond belief.
    He saw the girl, Ingrid, occasionally during the remaining days at Straumfjord. Usually it was at a distance. He could not help but admire the movement of her body, the swing of her hips as she walked. He resented her, because it seemed certain that she had attempted to use him. Perhaps the resentment was directed more toward himself. If truth were known, he was embarrassed that he had been so completely fooled by this woman whose reputation was legend in the colony.
    That was most of the time. But sometimes their eyes met, and he experienced emotions of an entirely different sort. The blue eyes looked deep into his, wordlessly pleading for help. At these times, he could not believe that there was any truth in the rumors of her indiscretion. As he looked into that angelic face, he saw only a frightened, helpless child, of unquestionable purity, who needed help badly. It was only a short step to the conclusion that he, Nils Thorsson, was the only one who could help her. And he had promised to do so. The memory of the implied reward was still strong. He recalled vividly the feel