Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? by Ellen Kuhfeld Read Free Book Online Page A

Ragnar dipped in the broth.
    “I butchered the buck, then threw the leavings in the river after most people were asleep,” Gunnar said quietly, after some while. “He’s in the other cauldron, simmering. I’ll buy onions and barley from one of the merchants once the fair gets going, and it should be ready a little after noon.”
    “Ah,” Ragnar smiled. “Be sure to use lots of sage. I like sage.” He bit off another chunk of bread, chewed. “What do you think of yesterday?”
    Gunnar considered the question. “Thorolf isn’t our problem. His world is going too well. But we’d better watch out for Otkel. He looks restless from being in Thorolf’s shadow.”
    “Is that just an opinion, or is it one of your prophecies? You know it’s hard for you to keep a level head around Otkel.”
    “I kept my head when he tried to take it off me.”
    “That is a hard thing to forget, or forgive. I would have helped you, but I was busy with Thorolf at the time.”
    Gunnar shrugged, made a dismissive gesture. “It just feels like an opinion to me. But it’d match up with Otkel’s past deeds.”
    Knute had heard the stories, growing up, of the famous battle between Snorri’s faction and Thorolf’s faction. Now it looked like he might be caught up in its aftermath. Be silent. Listen. Those were his father’s words, and they seemed very appropriate for a time like this.
    Men were drifting up to the fire now, holding out their bowls to Gunnar. Slowly, Northmen came to rest on the seating logs. Disheveled from sleep, surrounded by fog, they were a gloomy crew; but the hot food helped cheer them up.
    One, red-eyed and nursing a hangover, spoke. “I drank too much. There are trolls in my head, with hammers, trying to get out. But the party was worth it!”
    Several of his comrades, some in better condition and others in worse, agreed. “Aye!” “Tony has good ale!” “Thorolf horsewhipped! I haven’t laughed so hard in ages!”
    Heads picked up all around the circle, and eyes focussed on the speaker. “Thorolf horsewhipped?” Ragnar asked. “This is news to me!” A mutter of assent rose.
    Slowly at first, then words tumbling over one another, the men who’d been at the tavern told the tale of Thorolf’s discomfiture. Spirits rose, and laughter long and loud.
    Still quivering, Ragnar wiped his eyes. “And me at the abbey so I missed it all,” he lamented. “I’ve never in my life so regretted going to church.” And chuckling still, he walked off toward the river, to wash himself in water fresh from the North.
    Ragnar pictured Thorolf’s wooing in his mind’s eye. Nobody at the tavern had been sure what Thorolf had done, but the results had certainly been spectacular. Matilda, for Frey’s sake! Everybody knew Matilda was one of the gentlest women on Earth!
    He knelt at the riverbank, and began to wash his head and shoulders. “BbbbbbBB!” he blew through his lips from the chill. That’s what you needed, Thorolf—a cold bath.
    Gallantly speak, and presents bring(When wishing to win a woman’s love.(Praise the beauty of the maiden:(Courting well will conquer.
    When he returned, cheeks glowing from the spring-cold water, the fog had begun to lift and the men were thoroughly awake. Ragnar set them to work. “Get those display tables set up! Knute, pick a nice sampling of merchandise. Put it on display when the tables are ready! Atli, stand watch!” Two booths down, Olaf was preparing his display furniture. The furs and cloth would stay in his booth until the fog lifted completely.
    Ragnar went inside to dress in clothes befitting a master merchant. First he put on bright breeches and soft elkhide boots, then a damask tunic trimmed with fur. He slipped on silver arm-rings, then pinned on a short cloak with a massive silver brooch. His belt had a buckle carved of moose antler, and a dagger with staghorn handle of his own making. His shortsword had been made by James Smith, of iron he himself had supplied.