On the Cold Coasts

wounded sailor and her Michael, but she wasn’t sure whether it was just the black hair and brown eyes. Michael’s countenance had long since been obliterated from her memory, but the recollection of his toned, sinewy body still lived within her.
    Had the Englishman been remotely conscious before, that state was completely obliterated when Herbal-Anna arrived with a red-hot knife blade just taken from the fire, and with pincers placed it swiftly on the open wound. The man bucked to one side with a heavy groan and then lay still. The stench of burnt flesh filled their nostrils. She then applied the hot compress firmly over the entire wound and wound a linen bandage tightly around it, talking incessantly to the unconscious sailor, Ragna, and herself, all at the same time, asking why on earth the English were engaged in brawls with upright persons and what sort of dreadful times these were that they could not even keep peace with God’s ordained men, to say nothing of others. And now there was talk once more of children being abducted, and still no sign of those poor bairns that the new bishop in Skalholt had made the English promise to release and return from slavery in England. Ragna said little, and she was not surprised as to how well-informed the herbalist was about these events, since those who sought her services were all plagued by some illness, and in return for healing sorrel for their wounds and juniper berries and angelica and caraway seeds for their headaches or tooth-aches, she received all the tidings that could be passed on. No doubt those who had few reports simply made things up, or at the very least exaggerated them.
    But Herbal-Anna proved to be right about the sailors having been wounded in a brawl with the men of Grenjadarstadur. They were from the vessel Bartholomew from King’s Lynn and had come to Holar to make peace with the Icelanders and to seek strategic advice from the bishop, since he was one of the few men who understood their language to any useful degree, as well as their cause. After talks behind closed doors in the great hall, it was decided that the English would be given sole occupancy of the guest quarters. They were just as mistrustful as the locals, and wanted to be able to lock the doors at night, despite the bishop’s assurances that no one would touch a hair on the head of any of the overnight guests at Holar.
    Craxton had the Englishmen seated at his own high table at supper, along with the Holar priests and others who were proficient in English. Little was said at first, neither by the Icelanders nor the foreigners, but as the eating went on and toasts had been drunk to all the relevant holy personages, they became more talkative. Gradually their dispositions grew more amiable from the strong mead and tender lamb.
    Ragna served the bishop’s table as usual, along with two female servants, and the men kept them on their toes. The English greedily imbibed the meat, laughing and remarking that from spring until fall they rarely received other freshly caught food than the fish that they drew from the sea. Consequently they were weak—and virtually ill—from shortage of meat.
    In the kitchen, the servant girls whispered among themselves about the excesses they observed, and they were mildly indignant about the hospitality and generosity shown by His Grace the bishop toward the men who had accosted his own priest and friend. Moreover, it was now being said that they had harmed upright farmers in Thingeyjarsysla—unless that had been sailors from another vessel. At any rate, they were nothing more than English thugs, each and every one of them. That the bishop should have promised them protection they found incomprehensible—that is, until one of the girls claimed to have heard Jon the notary say that the sailors planned to sell a half-share in their seagoing vessel in return for the see’s current supplies of stockfish, which nonetheless amounted to only about twelve ship holds.
    Ragna did not scold them for gossiping, nor did she join in, any more than was her custom. On the other hand, she was filled with resentment about Craxton’s servile reception of his countrymen. What was he thinking, provoking everyone around him in this way? Later that evening, wagging tongues in the kitchen grew considerably more kindly, since the English compensated each and every girl who had served at table generously with a silver coin. They then went and fetched the chest they had