Two women walking by the pier: a chubbier one little over twenty summers, the other in her early forties; one carrying a bucket on her shoulder and a sack in her hand, the other supporting a basket on her forearms and a bag on her back; one wearing rings on her fingers and rows of beads, the other an embroidered apron fastened with a silver-embossed belt from which a bronze leather purse and a bundle of keys were dangling. Absorbed in chatter, the younger woman noticed not how the heavy swinging sack in her hands bumped against a hurried passer-by: the stranger tripped and nearly fell, and the woman's sack dropped on the dusty path. Both parties stopped.

“Easy...”

“Pardon...”

they both began, but paused simultaneously. The passer-by was a raven-haired lad – thirteen years old at most, skinny, his nose sharp and aquiline - who stooped on the ground to retrieve the fallen fruits and herbs and heave the sack to hand it over to the woman. But as he caught sight of her – of them both – his grey eyes glimmered wide as if in surprise. “What? What is it, boy?” they wondered.

“Forgive my boldness, kind ladies,” he blushed coyly, “but such beauty as yours I've rarely beheld! Are you, by chance... disir walking among mortals? If so, it is my lucky day to have crossed your path!”

The ladies gaped a moment confounded, then burst into chuckles, puffing up their chests and batting eyelashes.

“Hear that, girl!” the older one exclaimed, flipping her hand. “Oh, quit the flattery, lad! You may want to sweet-talk my sister-in-law here, but leave me out of it – I'm nearly twice her age! And three times yours, I presume! Whatever beauty I might've had once...”

“Nonsense, Dagny. You're as slender as a stripling, while I've the elegance of a veal...” the younger one joked poutily, her right hand - sporting a shiny decorated golden ring - patting her wide hips.

“Oh,” wondered the lad, eyeing each of them in turn, “but true beauty fades not with age, while the swaying of a curvy body is mesmerizing to behold! I honestly can't decide which one of you is prettier for the life of me: your rosy cheeks and radiating smile could melt a heart of stone,” he pointed to the younger, “while your bright eyes and golden curls could stir the envy of the goddess Sif herself!” he looked at the older. “Please, allow me to help you carry your load.”

He took over the dairy bucket from the younger woman and the bag from the other, filled with bread rolls and hardtacks, and squeezed himself between them as they walked up the path.

“You know, there is a poem you remind me of,” he went on. His voice turned deep, almost secretive, but retained a sensual sweetness as he recited: Two maidens on a peak I see, in a meadow making love – woman seducing woman - until one of them gives birth, though neither has a husband. Who might they be?”

Wonder beamed in their faces a moment, then the wonder turned to curiosity:

“Oh, it's a riddle – and a naughty one too! That's so exciting! What do you say, Dagny?”

“They dwell in a meadow on high...” pondered the older woman, frowning in concentration, “... are they animals, or... or plants? Plants that bear a womanly name...”

“Ah! I know: it's angelica, isn't it? I have it right here in my bag!” the younger amused herself.

“Well done - beautiful and wise!” the boy approved. “Angelica roots fertilize each other.”

“The lad knows both rhyme and herbs!”

“Have you got another one?”

Not letting himself begged twice, the boy's eyes narrowed mischievously:

“It dangles at a lad's waist, hard and stiff under his shirt. It longs to enter that secret hole that it has visited many times before...”

The women burst into a high-pitched laughter. Dagny elbowed him playfully:

“Ah, you mad cat!”

“It's not that, surely, there must be a catch...” the younger one pondered, her chubby cheeks flushed.

“Definitely not for me, I haven't seen a stiff one inages!”

“Is it a sword?”

“Swords don't enter holes, you goose!”

“Well, there's the sheath...”

“It's already sheathed, if it's at his waist...”

The young man intervened:

“I'll give you a hint, ladies: a woman may keep it between her thighs as well, if she's the mistress of the house...” and brushed his hand along the woolen folds on Dagny's hip to make the bundle of keys jingle.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised and inspired by the tickling touch, “it's a key, of course! What was your dirty mind thinking, girl?”

The young man beamed at each of the giggling ladies at his sides in turn, pursing his fleshy lips in satisfaction to hear their delighted chatter.

At last, they stopped at crossroads by a barley field, and waved to catch the eye of the workers, who let their scythes aside and came to help with the baggage.

“You must come inside for dinner,” said Dagny, setting down her carry-ons, “- the road home never seemed merrier than it's been in your company. So refreshing to meet bright young men in this village!”

“I'd be honoured, my ladies,” he tilted his head, “but I've dallied enough for one day – I must see to my own chores back home.”

“Then, please, accept some bread and eggs,” they rummaged for goods through the bags and the basket. “And do come by some time and stay for lunch – entertain us with your riddles! On Laugardagr, say?”

He thanked them gallantly, taking their hands in his to kiss them as they handed him the gifts. He promised he would come, although he knew well that on Laugardagr he would be on his way to another village. Although he knew – and hoped – he would never see them again.

And as he walked down hill with the bag of gifted goods on his shoulder, Kjartan took his right hand out of the folds of his cape, fanning his fingers under his eyes to admire it: a shiny decorated gold ring – the same one that glimmered on the younger woman's hand moments before – was now adorning his forefinger. And from his wrist dangled a bronze leather purse – the one that used to hang from Dagny's belt - swollen at the bottom with the bumpy shapes of coins.

As soon as the road took a bend, he cast a single glance behind to make sure he had not been followed, and he sprinted away.

___________________________

disir - lesser deities (Old Norse)

Laugardagr - the Norse equivalent of Saturday (literally, "washing day")