On the Cold Coasts

refuge except perhaps in the abbey hospitals. Even the homes of their own families were closed to them, in spite of the common belief that the cause of the illness lay with the parents of the poor wretches, since the children had most likely been conceived during a major holy day, or on a Sunday, or—worse—while the mother was menstruating. Charitable offerings for the lepers were normally placed on a tussock some distance from the houses, where they could fetch them. These offerings were normally quite generous, as the benefactors felt guilty about their overwhelming fear of the recipients, and they attempted in this way to make restitution for their own health and well being.
    Ragna recognized the odd beneficiary, usually one who had managed to eke out a living by begging for many years, and who in return related news from other districts, recited poetry, and conferred God’s blessings upon the givers. Thus she sometimes received the first accounts of what happened in the nearby districts and related some of them to Father Ari Thorbjarnarson, who now held the post of officialis in place of Thorkell. He, in turn, told the bishop, who made a point of keeping up with events. Some things that reached her ears she did not repeat, assuming that Craxton would hear of them through other, speedier, channels. One such was the rumor that Thorkell had collected goods from an English vessel that was wrecked near Hardbakur at Sletta and had either sold them for a modest price or given them away throughout the Thingeyjarthing district, to people who had been wronged in their dealings with the English.
    “Those people who wanted to condemn Father Jon Palsson for forbidding them from harvesting sulphur got the best bits,” said the old woman who told the story, and she lifted the muddy hem of her skirt, satisfied. She wore new and sturdy English shoes made of dark cowhide, laced, with a band across the top of the foot. “But still, Father Thorkell will not allow anyone to sell sulphur to the English. He has it transported to Grenjadarstadur and says it should go toward paying Father Jon’s debts, but no one knows what he plans to do with the sulphur there, except perchance to sell it for a much higher price than people usually get and thereby earn as much as possible for the bishop.”
    “Perhaps,” Ragna answered calmly, as if she were indifferent to the news. Yet her heart was heavy. What was Thorkell up to? To claim for himself flotsam that was the rightful property of the Holar church was bad enough, but that he should let it become known was an odd strategy and hardly one that would serve him well.

    The woman with the wide hips and ample bosom was neither old nor young. Her back showed the beginnings of a hump, her posture was stooped, and she had gray bristly hair that was gathered in a thick bun at the nape of her neck. Her garments were worn and patched and gave the definite impression that they were the only ones she owned. She said her name was Gudridur Aladottir and she was looking for employment.
    “My dear Gvendur died a week after Midsummer Day. His heart stopped beating from sorrow, and it is no wonder, considering all that has happened since our Brynhildur was taken from us last year,” she said. “The housekeeper may think it strange for me to come to the place that has claimed both her and the few heads of sheep that we owned, but I see no other way to clear our debt. I can barely earn enough to feed myself on account of the hump, and will hardly be able to scrape by on my own. But though I am no longer of much use, I cannot believe that the bishop will send me to live my life as a vagrant, knowing the tribulations that I have been subjected to by the Lord.”
    “Bishop Craxton does not send anyone away into such a life,” said Ragna, hoping she was right. “I will take you to the bishop myself. His Grace is most likely in the great hall at this time of day, which as it happens is the best time to speak with him.”
    Gudridur curtsied. “It would mean a great deal to me if the housekeeper would be kind enough to first show me where my Brynka is buried. I believe she is outside the churchyard…”
    Ragna wrapped a thick woolen shawl over her shoulders and walked with her down the yard and to the northern end of the churchyard. There was a cool breeze, and she shivered.
    “Six children I lost young to paradise, and now another six have been sent to strangers throughout the district, all because