Buku The Viking’s Daughter by Susan Dietrich
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The Viking’s Daughter by Susan Dietrich

Author:Susan Dietrich [Dietrich, Susan]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Published: 2014-09-04T07:00:00+00:00

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The Viking’s Daughter by Susan Dietrich

Chapter 24

Torgunna’s Curse

It happened that sickness struck the farm shortly before the beginning of winter

 

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The Viking’s Daughter by Susan Dietrich

 

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The Viking’s Daughter by Susan Dietrich

Author:Susan Dietrich [Dietrich, Susan] , Date: June 6, 2019

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Author:Susan Dietrich [Dietrich, Susan]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Published: 2014-09-04T07:00:00+00:00
Chapter 24

Torgunna’s Curse

It happened that sickness struck the farm shortly before the beginning of winter

We had been in residence at Sandnes for less than four months when disaster struck. Word was sent to us one early winter morning that Gard was missing. Or at least the man had not been seen anywhere about the farm for several days. Perhaps he had taken ill, and was lying unattended in his hut. Franklin Swart seemed reluctant to check on his henchman, and asked Thorstein if he would look into the business himself. Thorstein replied that he would be happy to do so, and asked me if I would care to pack a basket of food and herbal medicines and go with him. The overseer might need tending, and this could be a chance for me, as mistress of the estate, to get to know him better. Of course I agreed to go along with my husband, although I was certainly not eager to visit Gard’s isolated hut; but since the man lived alone and had no one to care for him, it was only reasonable we should try as best we could to help the wretched fellow.

When we reached Gard’s filthy abode, which had a small yard in front of it, fenced off by pointed stones, littered with broken farm implements and rusted iron tools and well-gnawed bones, no one stirred, other than a few half-starved curs chained to wooden posts, who growled at us in a menacing manner as we carefully skirted around them. Thorstein knocked at the door and yelled out a greeting, but received no answer. After waiting a moment more, he pushed the door open, and with me following behind clutching my basket of home remedies, entered the stuffy dwelling.

It took a while to adjust to the feeble light inside. At first the hut appeared to be empty. Besides the blackened hearth, it contained a bench, a small table littered with orts of food, a rickety three-legged stool, an old wooden bucket, and a cot fashioned out of sticks, covered by a lumpy sheepskin blanket, that had been shoved against one wall.

Saying to me in a loud voice, “I guess Gard is not in here, but let’s make certain,” Thorstein walked over to the cot and lifted the covering—hastily dropping it to the floor as he gasped out “Thor‘s Teeth!”—and reeled back in horror. Gard was lying huddled underneath the fleece, stone dead. “Don’t come any closer, Gudrid,” he warned me. However, I was too fascinated by the morbid scene not to take a closer look.

The overseer’s gaunt face and naked body were covered in weeping pustules; his glassy eyes remained wide open; his lips drawn back from his blackened teeth in a hideous grimace, as if the poor man had died in terrible agony. Next to the corpse lay a small hoard of coins and other trinkets, such as silver necklaces and beaded earrings and gilded brass arm rings. Apparently the overseer had prized these objects enough to take them into his bed while he lay dying.

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