Page 38 of The Bewitched Viking

Afterwards, Tykir led her through the craftsmen’s quarters.

A woodworker, maneuvering a foot-treadled pole lathe, was making cups from solid pieces of wood. As the wood spun around, the woodworker held a chisel that gouged and shaped the bowl of the cup.

“This is Sone the Woodworker,” Tykir told her. Then he addressed the craftsman. “Have you completed the items I commissioned last spring?”

“Yea,” Sone said, nodding enthusiastically. He led them to the back of his shop, where two armchairs and a matching side table sat, all intricately carved in the Viking style with gripping dragon beasts interwoven with the more traditional motif of vining acanthus leaves.

Tykir paid the woodworker with coins from a pouch he carried at his belt and gave directions for the furniture to be delivered to one of his ships.

At another stall, a leatherworker was making boots, shoes, belts and sheaths for knives. The stench of the tanned hides being stretched and processed behind his property took any pleasure out of inspecting his products, to Alinor’s mind.

Tykir laughed at her when she crinkled her nose with distaste. “Living as you do amongst animals on your estate, I would have thought you’d be accustomed to such earthy smells.”

“In Coppergate, ’tis a common sight to see skins cured with chicken dung. That does not mean I have to relish the odor.”

He laughed again, and it was with much alacrity that they moved on to the comb maker, where a skilled artisan carved his product out of the antlers of a red deer. Once he had the comb itself cut out, he used a fine saw to form the teeth. Finally he decorated his wares. There were also craftsmen working in other types of bone, making ice skates, knife handles, spindle whorls, dice and playing pieces. “I have a herdsman at Dragonstead with an even finer talent for carving,” Tykir told her in an undertone, and bought nothing.

Dragonstead, Alinor thought. Tykir had previously mentioned to her the name of his estate in Norway. Now that she knew him better, she deemed the title fitting. Big lumbering beast who blows hot air.

Next, they stopped to watch a jewelry maker melting gold and silver and other less precious metals in small crucibles. He poured the molten metal into stone molds, and it was like magic watching the liquid cool into shiny brooches or coins, with the patterns already on them. Especially interesting to Alinor were the fine filigree pendants he was working into delicate designs, like gold or silver spiderwebs. Some jewelry makers, whose booths they visited next, displayed samples of beautiful ornaments made of amber, ivory, jet and silver. And many of the jewelers carried the colored beads that were so prized by the Viking women…not to be worn as neckrings, but as signs of affluence, strung between the utilitarian brooches that rested on either shoulder, holding needle, thread, miniature scissors and keys. The more beads, the wealthier the woman.

“Oooh!” Alinor sighed again and again when they came upon the gossamer-thin silks from the Orient, patterned fabrics called brocades from Byzantium, soapstone products from the Norse lands, rich furs of sable, fox and the rare white bear from the Baltic, Frankish glass of jewel-like colors and swords with ornate hilts, millstones of basalt from the Rhineland, quern stones from Koblenz and fanciful harness mounts and jingly spurs from the dark-eyed Saracen craftsmen.

Tykir smiled at her unrestrained appreciation for such frivolous objects. “You should see my treasure room at Dragonstead,” he boasted.

“Will I see your treasure room at Dragonstead?” she asked.

“Nay, but you should see my treasure room at Dragonstead,” he corrected. “These baubles that impress you so here,” he said, fingering a length of gold-threaded silk, “are naught compared to my collection.”

What an arrogant, overbearing, prideful man! I will see his home, and then he will return me to my home, she decided with an emphatic uplifting of her chin. He is my guardian Viking angel, no matter what he says.

In the back of Alinor’s mind, however, lingered the image of the naked slave girl, and Tykir doing naught to help. He will not stand back and let Anlaf harm my person. He surely will not.

In many stalls could be seen the strong ropes made of walrus or seal skin that were popular with seamen. “Look at that,” Tykir said, picking up a huge length of strangely twisted rope. He explained how it was made, by cutting the beast’s hide in a single continuous strip, in a spiral, from the shoulder to the tail. Tykir bought three of the ropes—all that the craftsman had on hand—and ordered three more to be picked up next fall.

But there were even more wondrous sights to behold, including live birds in gilt cages and collections of bird feathers, which fascinated Alinor to no end, till finally Tykir pulled her away with a laugh.

“Someday you may meet Abdul, the talksome parrot I gave to Eadyth as a wedding gift.” The secretive smile on his face bespoke some mischief, but all Alinor could think of was his implication once again of life for her beyond Anlaf’s court.

“Better yet, I should show you the collection of bird feathers I purchased from a Baghdad sultan who was disbanding his harem. There are at least fifty different feathers, of all sizes and textures, in their own satin-lined chest of gold.” The mischievous smile grew more mischievous.

“I never could see the sense of collecting useless objects. My brother Egbert collected rocks as a youthling. Rocks, I tell you. And Hebert collected birds’ eggs. One of them was rotten and it took three sennights to get the stink from his bedchamber.”

Tykir smiled at her sudden sharing of tidbits from her personal life.

Her curiosity got the better of her then. “What use would there be for feathers in a harem?”

Tykir laughed aloud and nudged her playfully in the side with his elbow. “Alinor, Alinor. For a thrice-widowed, worldly woman, your innocence astounds me.”

“I never claimed to be worldly,” she blustered, and elbow-jabbed him back.

They moved on, comfortable with the silence between them.

Many different accents and languages could be heard as the customers and merchants argued over price and quality. Instead of coin or barter, most of the buyers used hack silver for their purchases—pieces of silver that could be cut and weighed on collapsible bronze scales. The merchants were often seen scratching the pieces to make sure they were pure silver before putting them on the scale.

She could see that Tykir was amused by her amazement at the scene. He smiled as he said, “Most Viking wealth comes from trading, as you see here. Not pillaging and war.”

In truth, the Norse traders were well-dressed and well-behaved and prosperous. Just like their Saxon counterparts in Jorvik. Oh, some of the seamen looked as if they might engage in a bit of plundering and pillaging on occasion, like the rapist back at the slave mart, but in this more peaceful setting, she could find no fault.