The Scribe(50)
Althar nodded as if he understood. Then he asked Theresa to put her things under Hoos’s bed and accompany him. Helga would look after the patient.
“We’re going to the market,” he announced with a smile. “I almost forgot we have some bears to sell.”
When they arrived at the market, they had to set up shop on its periphery, for the best spots had already been claimed. The crowds thronged around stands selling food, ceramics, tools, implements, seeds, fabrics, and basketwork. It was market day and everyone was there to shop, gossip, and chatter about the mercantile, even though the same things were sold every week.
Althar parked the cart against a wall so he would only have to guard one side from the street urchins who took every opportunity to steal from him behind his back. In the cart, he lifted the bear up into a standing position, propping the other head beside it with some sticks.
He asked Theresa if she knew how to dance. She said she didn’t, but the old man didn’t seem to care. He ordered her to climb onto the cart and shake her behind anyway she pleased. Then he took out a hunting horn and blew on it.
First a few young lads appeared to imitate Theresa’s wiggling, but soon more onlookers arrived, drawn to the unusual spectacle before them, and before long a ring of people had formed around the cart.
“I’ll swap my wife for that bear,” a toothless peasant proffered. “Her claws are just as long and sharp.”
“Sorry, but I already have a wild beast for a wife,” said Althar with a laugh.
“That creature’s a bear you say?” said another man from the back. “You can’t even see its balls.”
The crowd guffawed.
“Come closer to its jaws and yours will shrivel up, too.”
The people laughed again.
“How much for the girl?” someone else asked.
“It was the girl who killed the bear, so imagine what she could do to you.”
There was another roar of laughter.
A boy threw a cabbage at them, but Althar swiftly grabbed him by the hair and gave him a shove that sent him scuttling back to the other youngsters. An ale merchant decided to take advantage of the situation and pulled his barrel up near the cart. Some drunks followed him, hoping for a handout
“This bear devoured two Saxons before we made the kill,” Althar announced. “Their skeletons were in his cave. He killed my dog and wounded me,” he said, showing them an old scar on his leg from some unrelated accident. “And now he can be yours for just a pound of silver.”
Hearing the price, several onlookers turned away and walked off. Anyone in their right mind in possession of a pound of silver would buy six cows, three mares, or even a couple of slaves before the patched-up skin of a dead bear. The ones who stayed seemed more transfixed by Theresa, who was still dancing.
But there was one woman, wearing a coat of fine furs, who seemed to be admiring the animal quite a bit. She was accompanied by a little man of an elegant appearance who, upon seeing her interest, sent a servant to inquire about the price.
“Tell your master what he already knows,” said Althar. “One pound for the animal,” and he blew the horn again.
The servant went pale, but his owner appeared unperturbed when he learned the cost. He sent the servant back to offer half.
“Tell him I wouldn’t sell him a vixen for that price,” Althar responded. “If he wants to impress his lady, he can get his coin pouch out or risk his own backside and kill one himself.”
This time, when the couple heard his response, they turned away and disappeared into the crowds. However, when they had walked a few steps, Althar saw the woman look back at them. The old man smiled and starting packing up. “Time for a drink,” he announced to Theresa.
Before leaving, he managed to make a few deals: He sold a beaver pelt to a silk merchant for a gold solidus, and exchanged another with a baker for three pecks of wheat. Then he paid two boys to guard the bear, though not without warning them that he would skin them alive himself if he returned to find anything missing.
Althar and Theresa walked into a nearby inn, and sat near the window to keep an eye on the cart. Althar ordered two cups of wine and some bread and sausages, which were served to them immediately. While they drank, Theresa asked him why he had refused to negotiate on the price for the bear.
“You need to learn the language of business,” he replied as he scoffed down his food. “And the first lesson is know your customer, which luckily for me I do. The man who showed an interest is one of the richest men in Fulda: He could buy a hundred bears and still have the money for a thousand slaves. And as for her, I don’t know what she must have between her legs, but she always gets what she wants.”
“Well, I might not speak your language of trade, but the bear is still out there and if you had lowered the price then we might be celebrating a sale right now.”
“And that’s what we’ll do,” Althar laughed, winking and pointing at the door just as the little rich man walked in. The woman who was with him earlier accompanied him now, but stayed outside, admiring the stuffed animal.
The newcomer approached them. “May I?” he asked.
Althar consented almost without a glance and the man sat down unhurriedly. The innkeeper soon came over and as he served them wine and cheese, Theresa took the opportunity to examine their guest more closely. He wore rings on all his fingers and under his nose hung a limp, recently oiled moustache. She noticed that his clothes, though ostentatious, seemed to be covered in bits of food. The man grabbed the wine jug, and after filling his own cup, he filled Althar’s until it was brimming over.