Kirstie

Kirstie leaned over the rail when they went by Stadr in the narrow place. She shouted, “We’re going hag hunting.”

The captain had the decency to yell back, “Lykke til,” which was good luck.

When they reached Solvi at the end of the fjord, Kirstie repeated her performance. The men there just laughed and waved.

After they reached the North Sea, Captain Olaf turned the ship to the southwest and did not start right away for the English shore. Kirstie asked, and Wilam showed her the goods still in the hold. They were neatly divided into three equal parts, and that took them to three stops which turned into four stops on the Norwegian shore.

“We did contact a number of villages along the way to find you, you know,” Wilam explained. “At least three of those expressed interest in possible trade.”

“Good thing Yrsa and I speak Norse like a native, and without Brant’s Danish accent.”

Wilam nodded, but he was not sure if Captain Olaf would let her get near the bargaining.

They stopped at Husastadir just over the border into the province called Raumsdalr. The people there gave them good directions to Trondelag when they were coming two years earlier in search of Strindlos. They seemed nice enough, and they bargained in good faith. Captain Olaf got plenty of the furs and grain he wanted, and the people seemed happy with their ironworks.

“It is a good day when both sides get what they want,” Captain Olaf said. “We may come back here again.”

They made a wide swing out to sea to avoid some place and came back into Borgund, a town on a small island off the coast of Norway in South Moeri. The people there were not so nice. They encouraged Captain Olaf when he passed through, but now they wanted the goods for practically nothing. Kirstie could not help herself. She stepped into the middle of it since the local men came aboard the ship to bargain.

“You should deal more honestly with these men if you ever hope to see them again. You know full well the value of these goods.”

The big man looked at her with all the disdain some men have for any woman who steps into his business. “And you are?”

“Lady Kristina from Strindlos in the Trondelag.”

“The witch from Lindisfarne.” One man tried to whisper.

“You killed Captain Ulf Hakenson?” the big man asked.

Kirstie said simply and calmly, “He was on the wrong side.”

One of the elders stepped in front of the big man. “We might double our offer if you come again. We can use more of the same if you have more. The quality of your goods speak for themselves.”

Captain Olaf took the offer. “For a reasonable payment we can certainly bring more, say, in two years’ time? We already have contracts for next spring and summer unless I can manage a second ship.”

“Two years is better than never,” Brant added.

The elder looked at his people, but no one objected. “We will look for you in two years,” he said and did his best to smile. They, in fact, got one and a half the original offer, not double, but Captain Olaf knew better than to complain. Instead, when they sailed off, he said, “Maybe two years.”

The next stop was in the village of Birdla, another settlement on an island just off the coast in Firdafylki—Firdir province. The people there were nice, but poor. They said the weather had not cooperated in the last year, so their crops were slim. Also, the winter was long, so they were not able to hunt much on the mainland. Captain Olaf felt sorry for them, but Kirstie assured him. “The fish are plentiful, even in the winter. They are hardly starving.” The captain nodded and said they might try again in another year.

The last stop was Dinganes, the village at the entrance to the Sogn fjord. Captain Olaf had hoped they did not have to stop there. When they came there before, they had heard that Sogn was a great fjord that went inland for miles. The people in Nordaland said Strindlos might be located there if it was on a great fjord. They sailed up the fjord a short distance and came to Heyangr where the village elders confiscated a portion of their goods for what they called a safe passage fee, though at the same time they confessed that Strindlos was not anywhere on the fjord. They left there and headed back to sea only to be stopped by the people of Dinganes. Those people were not surprised by the way the elders in Heyangr acted. They did not trade for much or have much to trade with, but they were the first to suggest Trondelag was in North Moeri and surely Strindlos would be there.

It turned out Dinganes had enough to buy the last bit of trade the ship carried, so it worked out. They even said they would be interested in more if they should come their way again. They said what they could not take, the town of Gulaping would certainly take. Gulaping was located just south of Dinganes on the same peninsula. It was where the Althing met.

Captain Olaf nodded, smiled, and waved as they headed back out to sea. Then he asked what an Althing was.

“A gathering of the village chiefs and representatives from the whole province,” Kirstie said. “They gather now and then to settle property disputes, village boundaries, hunting and fishing rights and act as a high court for the province. It is really a better way of settling disputes than yelling and fighting.”

“Peace is better than war,” Yrsa said, and Kirstie lifted up her son so he could wave good-bye.

Yasmina

“Lady,” Aisha got Yasmina’s attention. “Aren’t you afraid if we go back to Alexandria, they will find you? People know you were there before being taken to the Fatimid court. You are familiar with the place. And now that you have escaped from the Fatimids, they might expect you to go there, or Fustat, or Petra where you have been before in case you made plans only did not have time or the opportunity to carry them out.”

Yasmina looked at her companion. “Al-Rahim mentioned the same thing, but he said something about a dog returning to its vomit, for which I thanked him. Lovely picture. But I figure we don’t have any choice. We can’t go west through the heart of Berber and Fatimid territory. To what end? So we end up in the hands of the Caliph of Cordoba? That does not sound like a winning strategy. Then we can’t go south into true Africa. We would no doubt be taken as slaves for one tribe or another. Then, east is Egypt and the Qarmatians that we ran away from in the first place.”

“Yes, but Alexandria?”

“We have contacts there through al-Din. We have access to ships through him. If we can help him settle his affairs positively, we can take a ship into the Mediterranean. Then all the Isma’ili fanatics on both sides, east and west, and whoever else may be seeking us will have no way of knowing where we have gone. Then we can truly have a fresh start.”

Aisha rode in silence for a minute while she considered their position. Finally, she said, “Good luck with that.”

Yasmina nodded. “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley.”