Otkel was the son of Skarf*, son of Ketilbjorn the Old’s brother Hallkel (best known for killing Grim of Grimsnes in single combat). His wife was Thorgerd, descended from Faroese settlers, and their son was Thorgeir, a hearty and well-liked young lad.
The family’s next-door neighbour and Otkel’s best friend was Skammkel, who hung out at Hof with Mord Valgardsson and was widely known for skamming people. Otkel’s brothers Hallkel and Hallbjorn the White privately worried about Skammkel’s influence, but Otkel wouldn’t hear a word they had to say – Skammkel’s grip on his ears was firm.
One day, Hallbjorn the White came back from a trip to Ireland with a freshly captured slave, Melkof. Shockingly, Melkof was surly and avoided work whenever possible. Otkel’s heart was in some ways as soft as his head, and he treated Melkof well, even giving him a gift – some new clothes, and an enormous butcher knife.
“Thank you,” said Melkof, very nearly smiling.** “I wish you were my master, and not Hallbjorn.”
“I can make that happen,” offered Otkel, and went to talk to his brother.
“You’ll pay me?” gasped Hallbjorn. “Hel, I’ll pay you to take him. He’s literally the worst.”
“Why did you capture him, then?” asked Otkel. “Everyone would be happier if you’d left him at home.”
“I’m a viking,” said Hallbjorn grandly.
Even with Otkel, Melkof still played hooky at every opportunity, to Otkel’s frustration. Running a farm in medieval Iceland was hard, and someone who ate but didn’t work could be a serious liability.
“I don’t know what to do,” he begged Hallbjorn, who smirked and said “Told you so.”
“I must be missing something,” said Otkel thoughtfully. “You tried being mean, I tried being nice, and the slave still won’t do as he’s told!”
“He’s probably just a bad person,” shrugged Hallbjorn.
That winter was a hard one, and both people and animals began to starve. Gunnar’s big operation had plenty of stores, which he shared among everyone who came to him in need.
This generosity hit the brick wall of reality when Gunnar realized that he had absolutely nothing left himself – except for silver, which makes a poor meal. There was only one option here.
Collecting the ever-present Kolskegg, Thrain Sigfusson, and Lambi (son of Sigurd Sigfusson), he rode over to Otkel’s farm in Kirkjubaer and knocked at the door.
“Yeah?” called Otkel.
“Do you have hay and food for sale?”
“I do have them,” said Otkel, “But you can’t have any. Neener, neener.”
Gunnar blinked. “What?”
Inside, Otkel glanced at Skammkel, who gave him a thumbs-up.
“I said, neener neener,” confirmed Otkel.
“Okay,” said Gunnar, and thought a moment. “If you don’t want money, how about a favour?”
Otkel looked again at Skammkel, who shook his head.
“No.”
“You’re an absolute dickhead,” said Thrain Sigfusson, disgusted. “Gunnar, let’s just take what we need.”
At that, Skammkel stuck his head out the window. “This house is full of warriors!” he called out. “Are you ready to kill all of us, and everyone Gizur the White can bring to the table?”
“No. Of course not,” said Gunnar, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thrain, shut up. Feuds get started over stupid shit like this, and none of us have time for that.”
“Want to buy a slave?” said Otkel, attempting to lighten the mood. Everyone turned to stare at him.
“Melkof here, he’s cheap,” added the farmer. Melkof made puppy eyes at Gunnar.
“Sure,” said Gunnar, always a sucker for puppy eyes.
“Wow,” said Njal, putting down his newspaper. “Even Gunnar can’t buy food these days.”
“I get it, I get it,” said Bergthora. “We have lots of food and hay. Just call him.”
“You’re not mad at him any more?”
“I was never mad at him.”
Gunnar rubbed his eyes and double checked. That did look like fifteen horses coming towards him, every one of them loaded down with food and hay. Njal waved from the front of the caravan.
“Before you ask, this is free,” called out his friend. “And from now on, I’m your food dealer. You won’t get food from anyone except me.”
“Ever?” asked Gunnar, a little taken aback.
“Well, just when you’re starving,” amended Njal.
“Wonderful!” beamed Gunnar. “The food’s great, but friendship is the best of all.”
* His given name, nickname, and iconic piece of clothing.
** Not so much a slight twitch of the lips, as a flashy display of teeth that resembled, but was not, a smile.
Saxo Dramaticus 