A year ago today, father passed on into heav’n as sure as snow will melt leaving me, the only and oldest child left who makes the cheese he did, and his father did. My thick woolen quilt and heating stones make it warmer than a hot summer day beneath the covers, nevermind the long johns I have on. The smell of cooking sausages from the hearth in the living room is divine, but breakfast is for the elderly, gravid womenfolk or nursing mothers, and when there’s hard work to be done, and last I check I’ve none of that to do. I rise from my bed of wool and hay, a proper bed, and check the notes for the week. On one of the scraps of parchment reads; “Jan and Krystyna are coming to town, prepare a room. Olsen and Sons are coming to town, ready some Havarti for trade. Other Merchants are arriving as well, inspect the cheese and hire Paul as a guard for the week. The last scrap reads “Go visit the Hostens to see if they need more cheese for the inn.”. I already hired Paul as a guard and he’s standing out there with a mug of cider in his armor. Mother prepared Jan and Krystyna when I was out shopping yesterday much to my ire, an old widow should concern herself with widow-y things, like crochet, or I dunno, not preparing rooms for, who are for all intents and purposes, my guests. Jan and Krystayna should be arriving today, it’ll be nice to see the man who I learned the basics of trade from, and his adoptive daughter.
I throw on my tunic, pull on my long trousers and stockings, and stride into the main room. There I see my mother enjoying a meal of sausage, rye bread, and warm cider.
“Morning Canute, how’s you?” She asks between a sip of her cider.
“Fine mother, Jan and Krystyna are coming today, so should Olsen and his boys, and the other merchants and the Sami, I also have to go to the inn. It’ll be a busy day.” I remark
“You’d have less work to do if you had a wife, maybe you should talk with Mister Hosten about Estrith’s hand.” She suggests.
“Mother we’ve been over this before…” I gripe.
“Over what? The fact that at this rate I’ll meet Erik’s kid from whatever girl he meets wherever he is or worse still have to meet that awful Estonian your father let Elfrieda marry Hilliar is beyond me.” She gripes.
“He let him marry her because if he didn’t they’d elope.” I say.
“No excuse, then there’s Sywen who just up and vanished one night, not even leaving a note.” She moans.
“I heard from a German merchant the other day that a man named Sywen got aboard a boat headed to Amsterdam promising free labor in exchange for room and board, rumor was he’s trying to go to Iberia and fight the Saracens in the south.” I say.
“Pah, he should’ve stayed under Father Ulf’s tutelage.” She spits.
“Yes mother, but Sywen was never the sort to just give sermons, you remember how he was with Lord Bjorn arrived in town when he was kid looking for volunteers for his crusade in Finland. It's either that or he ate the nisses’ porridge.” I suggest.
Mother stops for a moment. “You know, Sywen would be the sort to pick a fight with the nisse.” She stops and nods.
Mother always gets like this around christmas, overly melodramatic about the family. At the moment when she is eating again, I pour a mug of cold cider into a mug and chug it down. After finishing I reach up into the wooden shelves above the counter and cupboards on the wall and grab the Nisse’s porridge bowl.
“I’ve got a busy day today, so I’ve got to go. I'm taking fifty silver pennies with me, so would you like anything from town? Tomorrow the merchants headed towards Lund will be gathering on the green.” I plainly state as I walk over the cookpot full of last night’s porridge.
“Would you mind getting more rapeseed oil? I'll need it for teaching Krystanya some things to cook since she haven’t a mother. Well, I’m sure she has one, but not a living or proper one.” She says in a matter-a-fact manner that would give a testy abbess a run for her money.
I fill the bowl with a ladle-full of porridge and two pads of butter and leave it on the counter still steaming.
“I’ll be sure to do so mother.” I answer before setting down my mug, putting in my thick fur and linen cloak,and fur-lined boots.
I then crack open the front door and step out into the frigid air, through the snow of the now unused garden and onto the rock solid and slippery road called Tillundvej. Fortunately I hobbed my boots two months prior so I won’t slip so long as I won’t start running. As I walk my feet crunching the frozen mud, I occasionally have to avoid steaming horse droppings and the mud around them, but overall it's a fairly plain winter walk into town. In town the smells of the smokehouses, pickling houses, and smell of fresh bread wafting in from the two bakeries and a single bell toll from the town’s church where Father Ulf is surely taking confessions. The town is colorful, houses plastered in white, red, yellow, blue, green, and natural colors too. The town roads are still empty, the merchants are still probably in Ostaahavn I mutter walking towards the Church.
The towering stone church is one of the few buildings in town made entirely of stone. The main gate onto the church grounds is open, the graveyard between the main gates and the church proper is perhaps twelve paces across, and maybe two score paces wide. I hesitate a moment at the courtyard gate, I don’t why, I just need to clear a question with Father Ulf. Feeling a tightness in my chest I cross into the courtyard and hurry my way to the church door, closed but unlocked like normal in wintertime. I pull the heavy, iron bound oak door open just a tad so I can slip in and close the door behind me as quietly as possible. Turning from the door, I find the towering white-bearded priest staring down at me.
“Good morning F-Father Ulf” I stammer
“Good morning to you too, Canute.” He responds with an eyebrow raising with an unspoken question.
“I need your advice Father, I think Holy guidance would be better for my predicament than any business knowledge.” I spill out.
The old priest nods. “Come, join me by the fire, I’m not the young man I once was.” He says beconning to follow towards his padded chair by the fireplace.
I follow him down the main procession passing the empty congregation. He sits in his chair and suggests I sit in its twin across from him.
“I imagine this isn’t a confession?” He says expectantly
“No father. Today has been a year since my father passed, and ever since my mother has been insisting I find a wife. Today I am to house guests, friends of the family, you know Jan the Horsetrader?” I ask.
“The Pole right?” Ulf asks.
“Yes the Pole, he and his daughter Krystanya, are supposed to arrive today, with rooms prepared at my house, I just fear my mother will make a deal of an unwed man and unwed woman sleeping under the same roof.” I admit.
Ulf just looks at me and blinks. “There is nothing in the Holy Book that says an unmarried man and unmarried woman cannot sleep under the same roof, if you're worried your mother will exaggerate things, all mothers do. Even when I was a young man, perhaps thirteen years old, my mother exaggerated a story of me and a girl named Helen to the point where she was telling folks we had wed and already had three kids!” Ulf laughs.
“Not a year later I joined Duke Valdemar as an aide on a crusade to Prussia, where I met Father Heinrich and joined the church. Never married.” Ulf remarks. “Of course my mother was happy, but I feel like she’d rather I have a wife.” He follows.
“Thank you father.” I say before reaching into the pocket of my cloak and take out one of the small cubes of cheese I keep in there. “Please, have some cheese for your troubles.”
I sit there, hand outstretched, cheese wrapped in a bit of cloth. Father Ulf is just looking at the cheese in the cloth.
“Why is the cheese so hard Canute?” he asks.
“I tried a process called cheddaring, the cheesemakers in England do it.” I explain
Father Ulf’s face loosens as the words leave my mouth. “I guess it’d be rude to decline a foreign delicacy, or the first batch of a new kind of cheese. I guess anyway.” He hesitantly says taking the cheese.
“I’ll eat it with my midday meal. Also do you happen to just keep cheese in your pockets?” He asks.
“Yes father, so I can give samples to merchants and smokers around the town to see if they’d be interested in buying, it boosts sales a lot and lets me feed passing travelers if I bump into them.” I explain.
“Smart, though I haven’t the head for trade.” He states.
“And I have not the spirit for sermons.” I reply in a rush to be humble.
The two of us sit there, I haven’t anything to say, and I don’t think he does either.
“Thank you father for the advice, I must be off.” I say before getting up and leaving to face the cold again.
The silent walk back out to the door and back onto Tillundvej then from there to Rogerigade. From the simple turn off from the main road I can see the inn, a three story structure of stone and wood construction with plastered walls and four chimneys
.
“Pah the merchants aren’t here yet and Spak has yet to open his store yet, may as well go to the inn.” I mutter aloud being the only man on the hundred pace street.
The inn is like a giant version of every other building, a massive stone first story that encompasses the same space as five of the townhouses, or two smokehouses. Above the first story is typical wood and plaster, but in a colorful pattern of yellow and red. Above the main double-door sits a sign that in bright-blue paint reads “The Brewer Bear” and above it the wooden statue of a bear, not a bearfolk, like a regular old bear in monk’s robes sitting over a german brewing pot. If I recall correctly when the inn was built by a soldier returning from a successful campaign before the second smokehouse was built, and when his second son sent the statue to his father and older brother, the village council threw a hissy fit, while the town priest found it hilarious and let it stay. The roof is shingled rather than thatched, it was thatched when I was kid but after the Jarl of Stettin stayed with his retinue he loved the place so much he offered to tile the roof instead of paying his keep. A year later we learned it was because he owned a shingle-maker and it was cheaper for him to pay for shingling than it was for his stay, but for the Hosten’s it would’ve been more expensive to pay for the shingling, so both parties think they practically robbed the other. So much so that the Hosten’s oldest son went to be a squire of his house and from what I hear, married the Jarl’s fifth daughter. He never was fit for hospitality though.
As I approach the inn I feel a pair of eyes on me as I near. Just as the hum of music through the walls can be felt, I notice one of the curtains is peeled back just enough for an eye. Probably Mrs. Hosten, just looking for the eventual merchant’s caravan. I carefully step up the stone steps to the door and, like every other door in wintertime, open it with only a crack to slide on through. The main stew is unusually empty, the two cooks, both men named Snaer but usually called Snoat and Snegull, for their respective folks. Both are chugging down warmed spiced cider from the smell of it. The Hosten’s, well those that still live in Hverby, are centered around one of the long tables, nine of them in total. There’s Mister Hosten, a bull with grey in his hair, beard, tail, and now even his ankles and wrists, his mother who’s white as a snow-hare, his second-eldest Harald and his wife Ingrid, and their newborn who’s name I do not yet know, all cow-folk, his boy of a third son Fot, and his four daughters, the eldest being Estrith at nineteen, being the third-eldest child, then Mary at fourteen, Brunhilda at twelve, and Une at ten.
“Mornin’ Mr. Hosten, Harald, Fot. And I hope you ladies are faring well Mrs. Hosten, Mary, Brunhilda, and Une. And lest not to my favorite fair hostess Estrith. I do hope your wife is fairing well Mr. Hosten, I heard she came down with a cold.” I say to announce my entrance.
Every head swivels towards me like chickens to a bag of grain and a knife seems to slash through the tension in the room.
The towering Mr. Hosten strides over to me on his hooven feet and places his hands upon my shoulder. “Providence must’ve been working strong in our favor today!” He proclaims before using his powerful arms to attempt to press my ribcage like a wheel of cheese in what I believe to be a hug.
“It’s good to see you too today Mr. Hosten.” I choke out while tapping his arm.
He releases me and I fall to the floor in a fit of coughing.
“Pardon Canute, let me get you some mint tea, you must be freezing.” He says so fast I can barely understand him before he rushes off.
I rise from the ground and Estrith approaches for her own hug. “Since me mother ain’t here for it.” She says making sure to press her bosom against mine before taking two steps back.
“I actually brought samples for all of you of a new kind of cheese to taste.” I say, taking a good look of Estrith.
Estrith is somewhat short of a cowfolk sort, perhaps five feet four inches compared to my own five feet ten inches or her fathers six feet one inch. Her shoulders are slim by any metric but her bosom and hips are worthy of bearing any proper man’s seed cloaked in a heavy, brown, woolen winter dress lined with fur at the cuffs and hem. Her white, short fur is peppered with black spots at random. While I can only see the spots on her comparatively short snout, near enough to everyone has seen everyone else naked from going to bathe in the stream in the summer. The image of her bare body running through the town as I was running to the stream after a long day of pressing cheese is one that lives in my head. The way her bosom swayed with her tail and the ways her thighs and hips shook, why it could drive a man to sin. I can feel my face grow warm at the thought.
“You’re as beautiful as ever Estrith. Anyways…” I say reaching into the coat pockets to take out the large block of white cheddar cheese wrapped in a bit of linen scrap I got from the tailor. “How about you try some cheese made in the English fashion.” proclaim.
Estrith stares at the cheese, almost disappointed. Snegull and Snoat stare at the cheese in puzzlement, Snegull’s beaked face clicking shut, white the Snoat’s bearded maw hangs agape. Harald and Fot look curious, while Brunhilda, Mary, and Une, look as if they couldn’t care less. At least the menfolk here can respect properly made cheese, you’d figure for a family of cow-folk there’d be more proper respect for a new sort of cheese, at least more so among the womenfolk than the men. No matter, I wonder why Estrith seemed down.
Harald walks over to the cheese, pokes it with one of the wooden spoons he has in his apron’s pocket and nods. “Canute, why is it so firm?” He demands.
“Because that’s what cheddaring does, it makes it firmer and melt better. I’ve had in the cheese basement since last summer, and the anglo fellow was quite adamant about a year and a half being better than a year for first tasting.” I explain.
“Oh, so this is a locally made foreign delicacy is it?” Asks Harald with a wink.
“I’d call it English Cheese personally.” I say with a wink and draw my knife to cut cubes out of the block.
I rapid set of clops and Fot is leering at the white, solid block of cheese. “May I have a piece of cheese?” He half pleads with eyes the size of apples in his cow-like head.
“Shouldn’t ye wait for your father, or thine mother, or the new mother of a newborn babe?” I scold to the approval of Harald and Estrith
“Oh but it looks so wonderful and I’m famished.” He begs.
“Well, I came here to ask if your kin needed more cheese to feed the comin’ merchants, I might be inclined to give ya more than just a taste if you led me a hand or two.” I say as if in passing.
Estrith walks over to her middle sister, Brunhilda, and whispers something in her ear that sends her off scurrying towards the cellar. While Harald gives a look at his wife and child.
“So, ya chose a name for the youngin’?” I ask, tripping over the last word.
“We were thinking Christian, ain’t no Christian in town since ye pa passed, and he was a good man, though why he let his only daughter marry Hilliar Hafdan is beyond me.
“Well, at least we know the kids will be three-quarters-Dan.” I say jovially.
Ingrid laughs at the poor joke but her babe stays as still stone in her arms. Harald just stares at me with his big bullish eyes, flatly, her posture relaxed but clearly unamused.
“So, Canute, when you think you’d be taking a wife?” Ingid asks politely shooting a look at Estrith.
A ping of embarrassment shoots from the center of my chest. I open my mouth to protest, but Harald stops me from doing so.
“She’s right ya know, I’m three years younger than you and I’ve got my first born son. Pa is wondering who Estrith will be wed to, but so far no suitor’s came forth, poor Fot though he’ll have half the women from Vilstrandhavn banging down the inn doors looking for a husband.” He teases, Fot’s nose going pale.
“I can’t be thinking of marrying now Harald, as much as I’d like to, I’ve got Jan and Krystanya coming in and mother intends to “teach that foal fool of a girl to be worthy of a being a wife”. I start talking about marrying with a unwed woman under the roof and it’ll be a disaster, next think ya know you’ve got womenfolk from five towns up talking about ya and Teutons chasing you out of town calling ye a pagan. Like what happened with Lowe over in Loyaabro two summers past.” I claim, boldly, and with a face hot enough to bake bread on.
The Hosten’s all start to laugh.
“Ya remember when Lowe rode right up the Tillundvej and ran off his horse as the Germans chased him right up into a wedding Father Ulf was having between the Nielsons and the Svendsons.” Une beams
“Yeps then the german monks grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, gave him the rites of baptism and german and tossed him straight into the confessionals, taking his confessions four at once and all dawned in armor.” Estrith cheers.
A shrill shriek from the cellar breaks the laughter. Harald and I rush to the cellar door in the back of the main room, opposite the kitchen, and draw our long-bladed knives before entering the dark, musty cellar. The wooden steps creak under the weight of both Harald and I. After reaching the bottom the two of us each take on the sides of the cellar divided by barrels of ale and cider or crates of pickled foodstuffs. The scampering of rats can be heard all around either hissing or just running off into the dark as I pass.
“She’s over here, Canute. Crying.” Harald announces.
I walk around the crates to find Brunhilda crumpled on the ground like she fainted and crying. I look around the area, finding a single wheel of five-year old mannerhouse cheese with a rat’s nest in it.
“Looks like the rats made a home in the last of your cheese.” I remark. “She probably got a good spook when she lifted it up.”
“No doubt.” Harald answers. “Ya mind taking Brunhilda upstairs? I need to get the ratting club and snare the two cats to do their job.” He requests
“Haven’t anything better to do.” I say, picking up the teenaged cowgirl and carefully head back up and out of the cellar while Harald looks for the spiked club.
Estrith is waiting for me at the top, finding me carrying her sister like a knight in the stories. “She okay?” She asks, moving Brunhilda’s hair out of her closed eyes.
“I think she tried to lift a wheel of cheese that rats had made a nest in. Harald is clubbing them right now, and I think I’ll go find your cats to lend a hand. You might want-” I say.
Before I can finish I feel Estrith’s broad wet nose on my cheek placing a kiss with her soft lips. “Thanks, but would you mind taking Brunhilda to her room on the second floor? I need to make sure she’s fine.” Estrith asks, her eyes taking on an almost mother tone. It's odd but leaves your heart racing.
I take a glance down the hall and see Ingrid partially covering a most devilish grin with her hand. Great. Another vector of the rumors that spread like plague. Though why Estrith has been getting so hands on since Harald married three years ago is beyond me. Estrith follows close behind me as I go upstairs to Brunhilda’s room. I lay her atop the covers of her bed, and turn to Estrith.
“Should I leave?” I ask politely.
“No, I need your help in stripping her.” Estrith states.
I just stand there and hold her unconscious arms back above head while Estrith just slides Brunhilda’s winter tunic above her head, taking off her long woolen undershirt while Estrith strips her of her woolen hose leaving the new unconscious Brunhilda in her small clothes. Estrith starts at her ankles, just above the hoof and begins running her hands through her short fur, all the way up her thighs and stopping at her small clothes. Estrith turns to me.
“I’m going to strip her in full.” Estrith says, flashing her eyes at the door.
Without a word I set Brunhilda’s arms down atop her pillow and leave the room where Harald and Ingrid are waiting just beyond sight of the room itself. You see two sets of cow tails swining from two hiding not-quite-calfs.
Softy I meet the two. “Ya know Fot and Une are by the stairwell?’ I ask.
Harald nods. “We know, do ya know what’s wrong with Brunhilda?” Ingrid asks, still whispering.
“I don’t know, Estrith was checking her over and had me leave before stripping her of her small clothes.” I admit.
Ingrid shrugs at that. “I don’t really see the problem, it’s not like we haven’t all gone to the stream together.” Harald mumbles.
“You know how girls her age get about being around menfolk. Being naked around one would be too much.” Ingrid offers.
“I think its in case Brunhilda wakes up, it’d look awful to see me holding her arms above her head in the nude.” I suggest.
Harald nods thoughtfully. “I think you might be onto something there.”
I make my way back to the main room from the second floor to find Mr. Hosten looking downright baffled at why the room is so empty.
“What on earth happened here Canute?” Be asks, setting down a steaming mug of mint-smelling tea.
“Brunhilda went to go check your cheese reserves, screamed, cried, then fell unconscious, at least that’s what Harald and I think. I suspect it has something to do with the rat nest in that final wheel of mannerhouse.” I detail.
“Where is Brunhilda?” Says a quite clearly concerned Mr. Hosten.
“A room Estrith led me to, I think its her own.” I provide.
Mr. Hosten thunders up the stairs, the thick, oak stairs yearning to snap under the bull’s massive bulk. Leaving me alone with the steaming ceramic mug of mint tea. I wait for a while in the common room, Snegull and Snoat dart in and out of the kitchen before Snegull takes the stool across and one to the right of me. His feather’s are more ruffled than normal, and his usually perfectly white cuff feathers have various stains on them.
“I know it ain’t my place to do so Canute, but would you mind getting us some cheese? We’re down to maybe a pound or two. A rider came to town when it was still dark and told us there’s gonna be forty merchants and their caravans coming along plus a Sami clan. I know Jan will stay with you, but Master Gorm might try to get his own to go to other houses for as long as the caravan’s are in town. I know Master Gorm will be hesitant to ask, but could you do it for either of us in the kitchen, not even to mention the girls.” He whispers leaning in so I can hear even the softest clack of his beak.
I lean in as well. “I came here to do just that, Mr. Hosten is like an uncle to me Sne. Moreover the special rate I give the inn pays itself back threefold every year. He’s so quick to boast about the fair prices and quality of my father’s and now my cheese come third morning of their stay; they're practically laying siege to the cheese barns, its why I have to hire Paul.” I confess.
Snegull seems to take a moment ot revaluate me, inspecting me like I the mold on blue cheeses. In this silence I take a few sips of the hot tea, the minty, warm water being the perfect thing to get the taste of cold morning cider out of my mouth. After a while of his inspection, he straightens up.
“That polish rapscallion made you not just a cheesemaker but a merchant too eh? Handing out samples and whatnot, lemme guess if Master Hosten did buy you’d throw in two wheels of that English cheese as a gift to the inn. Ain’t I right Canute, or should I call ya Mister Koberg?” Snegull asks in a flurry of questions, his heavy Gutnish accent on full display.
“Perhaps, but I still need to get gifts for the girls, I already got two Frisian blankets for the the mothers under this roof I got for nine silver pennies each from Lenoard when he last came. A new tunic for Gorm, a pair of shears for Snoat, but for the girls I haven’t a clue.” I confess.
“Estrith want’s a ring, any kind will do really, but I . Mary want’s to be left alone but I think a trip to Lund and Copenhagen or Ystad and Gdansk would fitting, I know Jan owes you one. Brunhilda wants a pair of stockings, and Une wants kitten.” Snegull details.
“Thank you spymaster, I’ll reward you fittingly” I say, handing him a cloth bag over the table as a corrupt tax man would.
“What on earth is this Canute?” Snegull asks.
“Just something I think you’ll be needing at the start of summer I’d say.” I say with a wink.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.” Snegull says flatly.
Eventually the Hostens minus Brunhilda emerge from the second story after perhaps a half hour, or however long it took for both Snegull and I to discuss that city of demons that ought to have those Teutons, Lord Valdemar, and all good Christians of the world raze it as the Lord did Sodom called Lubeck. That and the wonderful smoked herring they have in Ystad. I’m long out of mint tea, and turn to face the family.
“Well, I didn’t mean to snoop around your cellar Mr. Hosten, but I fret you may be out of cheese.” I say.
“Its true father, and the merchant’ll be here any moment.” Harald concurs.
Mr. Hosten gives me a warning look. “No free wheels of cheese for me this time Canute.” He warns.
I give him a sly look. “No free wheels for ‘you’ this time Mr. Hosten. But for Estrith, or the fine establishment I make no guarantees, I might count wrong if I’m thinking of her. “ I say, feeling my mouth twist into a caricature of a lecher’s grin.
Estrith’s nose pales and her ears flush while her father’s eye’s just roll in his skull. “Aside that, I think I’ll need Harald and Fot to help with the moving and loading since Galt and Ful aren’t on until tomorrow.” I state.
“Worry not, this place is mostly ready, just need cheese and more rooms as always, never enough rooms.” Mr. Hosten gripes.
“If you really need one more, I have a spare room if you really need it.” I offer.
Mr. Hosten looks at me with the look of a proud uncle, which, in all manner and form, is. “If I have need I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.” He states.
“Canute, its not getting any brighter and its a mile and a half going, then loading, and another mile and a half coming, even with your sled we’ll be hard pressed to make it back before sunset.” Harald proclaims
“Best be off then” I say with a smile before Mr. Hosten hands me a list of what he wants.
Harald practically takes Fot by the scruff of his neck as I turn to leave “Yer coming with us boy.” He huffs.
Getting back home on the ice takes perhaps a half hour, getting the sled, loading the sled, and then getting Hoigo into the reins takes all of two hours. I and Harald had no issue moving the twelve full wheels of mannerhouse from the far back of the top shelf. Lots of havarti, butter, and blue cheese get loaded in while I half two wheels of cheddar and throw them atop. Its exhausting work climbing around the shelves like a mink and moving the fifty pound wheels of cheese down a level at a time. I shed my cloak, tunic, and even peel back the top half of my long johns as I work and sweat moving the cheese. Overall Harald, Fot, and I moved a half-ton of cheese
“One for Estrith, one for the inn.” I say with a sly smile.
Harald just shakes his head before he loads into the sled. “That poor girl is going to have to drag you to Father Ulf herself at this rate.” He gripes.
I just shake my head as I take the driver’s seat. Give Hoigo a slap on the ass, and watch as the sled begins to move towards Tillundvej. Just the ride there makes it obvious the first merchants have arrived in town, with the creaking of overburdened caravan wagons and roaring laughter of merchants and guards. Upon arrival Estrith meets us to lead us to the exterior entrance to the cellar where the three of us menfolk get to work unloading the cheese. Estrith frowns at the two halved wheels of cheddar.
“And who might those be for? Father didn’t ask for them.” She says slyly.
“Why a halved wheel cheddar for the lovely Estrith and another for my thanks to the inn itself.” I say.
She rolls her eyes and snags me by the cloak as I turn around. Her soft lips press against mine in a quick, frustrated, but clearly hoping for more, kiss. “There, now I’ve paid for my cheese in full. As for pa’s” She says tossing me a sizable coin purse.
“Its eleven crowns and a hundred and twelve silver, now come on in and let's get all of you a bowl of stew.” She says with a cheer, not a hint of her past frustration.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I say matching tone and hauling up a half wheel of cheese in either arm.
After going though the main doors I set the cheese down on the “guest samples” table with my calling card. “Koborgskor Cheesemaker: English Cheese”
Mary zips out of the kitchen and sits us near to the kitchen, where Snoat strides out with three bowls of beef stew with carrots, onions, and herbs. The tender meat and soft, hot carrot chunks are just the thing I needed after a few hours of hauling heavy wheels of cheese. Brunhilda eventually emerges and reluctantly thanks me while my mouth is full of stew.
After I finish my bowl I leave a penny on the table for Snoat and begin to move towards the door. Before I can reach the iron-bound door I am seized by the cloak and dragged into one of the storerooms. I find myself staring into the eyes of a frantic bull.
“Canute, can you let Estrith under you roof? There’s already more merchants alone than rooms, I’m having to double them up by guild.” He half-huffs half-pleads.
“Of course Mr. Hosten, do the rest of the girls have accommodations?” I ask, clear to have an offer in my tone.
“‘Course, they’re over at Harald’s farmhouse by the spinner. But Brunhilda and Estrith are not very pleased with one another right now and Estrith is old enough to be about herself.” He explains.
After that he bound’s out, takes his eldest daughter by the arm and gives her a point towards my sleigh. Before I’m able to successfully depart Mr. Hosten once again returns.
“I forgot to to tell ya, just before you came Jan arrived with Krystanya and a Sami companion.” Mr. Hosten informs. before letting me leave.
Hopping into my sleigh I turn to Estrith. “Ya need anything ‘for we go?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, but I would like it if I could learn the reins.” She asks
I shrug and hand her the reins but rather than something normal, or sane, she climbs onto my lap and places my hands atop her own. “Now you can start a proper lesson.” She says with a sly grin.
The driving lesson home is an exercise in virtue for me. The way her derriere presses and rubs against my loins is a fight to remain in the Lord’s good favor. Either she knows what she’s doing or doesn’t know or care and I don’t know which is worse. I find myself muttering prayers for forgiveness while she hums to Christmas songs in an evermore enthusiastic tune while in town. Once we leave the town proper I swear I hear “When the children I get as presents” rather than “When the children get their presents” though it may be the wind. Maybe.
After arriving back at Koborgskor Estrith hurriedly makes her way inside leaving me to wrastle Hoigo back into his stable alone and push the sled back into the wagon port where the summer wagon lives in winter. The affair leaves me stripping my cloak and tunic again but not the long johns. I swear a wight must’ve tied a wheel of cheese to both my eyelids as I feel as if they want to close and never open again.
I stride my way back inside, almost regretting not having brought my hat to find Jan and Mother talking over some of the nicer cider, and a staring contest between Estrith and Krystanya.
“Ah, good to see ya Canute, I’d say join us for a mug of cider, but you look like you need some porridge and a rest.” Jan calls in Polish.
“Its wonderful to see you as well Jan, I must say though I cannot rest until I’ve met this Sami friend of yours.” I answer.
“Ah yes, Lieddi. She’s a bit shy but I’ll call her over.” Jan states.
“Lieddi, Mr. Koborg has returned, it would please him greatly if he could meet his new guest.” He beckons now in Danish.
Out from Erik’s old room sets the cloven foot of a tall reindeer woman, young to be sure and dressed modestly in a winter dress lined with fur and embroidery. “Hello Mister Koborg, it is a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afeared I am exhausted and must ready this room.” She states in such a manner to avoid me and remain polite.
“I’m exhausted as well, if you’re not up for talkin’ now I understand.” I say before going over to the barrel of cider mother had tapped and pour myself a mug of the spiced hard cider. It cools off my heated muscles and relaxes the mind. I take a look out of the window to see the sun setting now, maybe three hours passed midday. With that I strip off my cloak and tunic, not caring if Estrith, Jan, or Krystanya see, and go to my bed.
I'm already enjoying these characters!