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Tora’s words echoed Káta’s own thoughts. ‘I for one think that something is indeed approaching. But something by no means good. A battle, but the looks of it, but how will it end? And, most of all, will we live to see its outcome?’
It was a grim question, and one which Káta had chewed over and worried at until the bone of it was nearly picked clean. Grimr had listened to her concerns and in his own way tried to be reassuring. She knew he and others of the men were deep in talk about the fermenting situation. But much of what was discussed was kept secret, even from her. ‘It is your protection that you do not know fully what is in the wind. Our protection. When the time is right I will tell you all, heart of my heart.’
Bah! She gave her shoulders a little shake as if to let go the old quandary, at least for the moment.
Káta’s attention was diverted for the moment. Gunna had come in at last.....and with some Borrim. Interesting..... She must talk to her, when the man was gone. How long had Gunna been trading with those of the Bor group, she wondered. And why would a man want to hang about a gaggle of women? Grimr would have smiled pleasantly, graciously, at the invitation and hied himself off as quickly as he could having made his excuses. She stifled a laugh thinking of her husband’s face.....his brow raised in consternation, his mouth set in a sort of rabbity grin, his eyes haring about for the quickest means of escape.
Her mind flicked back to Tora’s words again. And best you leave off that line of thought she concluded, thinking back on the observation by Tora which had preceded her woolgathering. At least until only the small group of women she counted as close friends were gathered and those less known to her, more suspect in their unfamiliarity, were well out of hearing range.
Káta motioned for Jóra as she passed by with the pot of tea. She offered up her cup, though she’d only taken a small swallow of the fragrant beverage. As her daughter bent closer to pour the tea, Káta in turn leaned nearer her, murmuring low. ‘Keep a close watch on your tongue, Jóra, when you serve that man. Be pleasant, but cautious.’ Her flicked to the man in the corner and quickly away. ‘And let me know all of what he says and what he asks.’
‘Have you heard,’ she said in a louder voice, turning to the other women as Jóra went off on her little errand, ‘about Hálma’s younger daughter? The one just turned sixteen years this last harvest? Seems she’s run off with her older sister’s promised man. Emund’s middle son. The boy’s mother, Gisla, is fit to be tied. As is Hálma and her husband. There’s the whole question of the bride-price already half paid for the other daughter.’ She turned and looked at Dulaan. ‘And some little bird told me they’d already jumped the broom and there’d be a babe most likely come this harvest.....’
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