An Antic Disposition (7 page)

“And good morning to you,” she said, kissing him back.

“That was from Uncle Fengi,” he said proudly.

She smiled. “Was it now?” she said. “Well, this is from me.”

She kissed him again, and all was well with his world.

Ø
rvendil and Gerutha
escorted Valdemar to the head of the company assembled for him. Gorm and Fengi stood at the front. Valdemar turned to his hosts.

“I thank you, my friends, for your hospitality,” he said. “It shall not be forgotten.”

“We are but servants in your house, sire,” said Gerutha.

“We will keep your kingdom safe,” said Ørvendil. “God be with you.” Valdemar embraced them, then mounted his horse. “We march north to Viborg,” he told the men. “There we will be joined by our brothers. Together, we shall meet the Devil on the field of battle. When victory is ours, Denmark shall be one. Are you with me?”

“Milord, not since Jason set sail on the
Argo
has such a band of heroes assembled,” cried Gorm. “Praised be our Lord and King, Valdemar!”

“Valdemar!” shouted the men.

“Listen to Gorm,” marveled Terence at the rear of the crowd. “He had the makings of a military toady all this time, and I never knew.”

“Denmark shall be one,” said Gerald. “One what, I wonder?”

“Well, good luck, fellow fool,” said Terence. “I’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

“Thank you,” said Gerald. “One bit of advice.”

“What?”

“Be careful about Amleth. It’s good that you’ve taken to each other so well. But don’t forget that he already has parents. For better or for worse, they should be the ones raising him, not you.”

“I know,” said Terence. “I just want…”

“You want them to raise him the way you would if you were his father,” said Gerald. “I understand. But you could end up driving a wedge between them, especially when the boy is this young.”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Terence, “^ibu be the same.”

“I’m marching headlong into war,” grumbled Gerald. “The time to be careful has long passed.”

They clasped hands, and Gerald hurried to catch up with the army. Ørvendil and Gerutha watched from the foot of the drawbridge until the last soldier had disappeared, then walked back into the great hall, now deserted. He took her hand. She pulled it back and walked away from him.

“I will build you a castle,” he said. “I promise.”

“Out of what?” she said. “There’s not enough stone in Slesvig, and you don’t have the money to bring it in.”

She went out the rear door. He watched her, then turned toward the front. Then he stopped and looked down at the hard clay floor. “Maybe not,” he said. “But there are other ways.”

T
wo armies assembled
outside the cathedral in Viborg that October, eyeing each other uneasily. Many had faced each other on the field of battle, and were tensed for another fight now.

Inside, the banns were read, and a young priest stepped forward and presided over the marriage of a couple who had met only minutes before. He took their hands and pressed them together, then blessed the union before a heavily armed congregation.

When it was over, Valdemar stepped into the aisle. He was joined by Esbern, Fengi, Gorm, and several captains from the army that had served the late King Knud.

The young priest joined them.

“Not bad for your first wedding, Axel,” said Valdemar. “Thank you for performing it.”

“Impressive command of Latin, little brother,” said Esbern. “Father will be pleased that your studies were not wasted.”

“The Bishop didn’t look too happy that I was performing his duties in his cathedral,” observed Axel, who was strapping armor over his cassock.

“Don’t worry,” said Valdemar. “If I become king of all Denmark, I will make you bishop here.”

“If you become king of all Denmark, I will be going with you,” replied Axel. “I don’t want to miss the fun.”

“Then I’ll make you bishop of Roskilde,” promised Valdemar. “As soon as the old one goes to Heaven.”

“I hear he is ailing,” said Axel. “I will pray for his recovery.”

A throat was cleared behind them. Valdemar glanced back and managed not to wince.

“I almost forgot,” he said. “Will you excuse us for a while?”

They bowed, and he beckoned to his new bride. She took his hand with a look of wolfish anticipation, and he led her out of the cathedral to the cheers of both armies.

“Did you see her face?” said Esbern. “He must really want to be king.”

“Sacrifices must be made when you take the throne,” said Axel. “Let us await the consummation.”

They stood outside with the men, watching a small house near the cathedral. About half an hour went by, then Valdemar emerged, fully armored, and waved a bloody sheet. The men cheered.

“Men of Denmark,” cried Valdemar. “I have taken the Princess Sophie to wife.”

There were more cheers at this statement of the obvious.

“The making of this match was the last action of the late King Knud,” he said. “His sister is now my wife, under my protection. His family is now mine.” He stopped and looked at the army of the late king. Then he took a deep breath and shouted, “And the debt owed to his blood is now mine!”

There was a deep-throated roar of approval.

“South of here lies the moor known as Grathe,” continued Valdemar. “Our scouts report that Sveyn Peder, the murderer, is hoping to lead his army through there in the hope of catching us unawares. We shall meet him on Grathe Moor. Our armies combined cannot be anything but victorious. And when we are, peace will be celebrated across all of Denmark. Go bravely into battle, not for revenge, but for peace, my friends, and we shall begin a new golden age together.”

He strode through the armies, banging his sword on his shield. Behind him, his new bride watched from a window, a slight smile upon her lips.

A
day later
, King Sveyn Peder staggered through a bog, his shield gone, his sword notched, an arrow wound in his thigh. His men had been routed, and he himself had turned and run in full view of the opposing armies. He had somehow managed to evade capture, but was lost on ground that was both hostile and unpleasantly soggy.

He cried out with relief when he reached solid ground, and nearly collapsed in exhaustion. There was a road ahead. Roads were good things. It meant he could escape back to the harbor where his navy awaited him, and once he had reached them, he could reassemble his men. He wasn’t defeated, not yet.

He knew that there would be patrols searching for him. He thought of waiting until darkness to continue, but then he saw salvation in the guise of an old monk, plodding along the road, leaning heavily on an oaken staff.

Sveyn burst out of the woods, his sword out.

“Hold, Father,” he commanded.

The monk stopped.

“How can I help you, my son?” he asked solicitously. “You are wounded. I have some small skill in healing, if you will permit me.”

“You have something I value even more highly,” said Sveyn.

“What could that be?” asked the monk.

“Your cassock and cowl,” said the King. “Give them to me.”

“That I cannot do, my son,” said the monk. “They are the uniform of my order. I cannot let another take them.”

“I was not asking,” snarled Sveyn, bringing up his sword. Then he howled in pain as the monk, with speed belying his years, stepped inside

Kis swing, seized his sword hand with one hand and his elbow with the other, then twisted the arm back. There was a crack, then Sveyn dropped the sword, clutching his now useless right arm.

“Broken, I should think,” said the monk. “How about some of that healing I mentioned?”

Sveyn growled and reached for the sword with his left hand. The monk sighed, then picked up his staff and swung. There was another crack, and Sveyn fell to his knees.

“Instead of the healing, sire, perhaps you should consider confession,” said the monk.

Sveyn looked up at him, comprehension dawning on his face.

“You
know me,” he said.

“Yes, milord,” said Gerald, pushing back his cowl. “And you know me as well.”

Sveyn stared dumbly.

“Yxi’re the fool,” he exclaimed in bewilderment.

“When I was with you, I was a fool,” said Gerald. “But I am also a priest. I will give you the opportunity that you did not give so many that fatal night in August—to clear your soul and make your peace with God. Will you make confession, milord?”

“Damn you!” shouted the King, trying to pick up the sword once again.

“Your death is required, I’m afraid,” said Gerald gently as he snatched the King’s sword from the ground.

“I thought that priests were not allowed to spill blood,” whined the King in desperation.

“I’m not that kind of priest,” replied Gerald. “Please believe me when I say that revenge for my friend Larfner is not my reason for killing f
t
you.

He swung the sword once, and Sveyn’s head was separated from his neck.

“But, sadly enough, vengeance has been satisfied,” said Gerald. He knelt by the corpse and administered extreme unction. Then he tossed the sword by the body, pulled his cowl back over his head, and walked away.

T
here are
times when people become weary of fools. Terence knew this well enough to make sure that he occasionally spent time outside of Slesvig, wandering the villages under its dominion, juggling for meals and singing for a nights lodging in a hayloft. He would return from these sojourns refreshed, and the quiet in the town left by his absence made the noise of his presence all the more welcome.

And there are times when fools become weary of themselves. When he wanted peace and quiet, he would make the two-hour trek west to Magnus’s farm. There he would walk with the farmer and discuss whatever topics came to mind without feeling the need to perform. Or he would share the chore at hand, basking in the simplicity of accomplishing a necessary task. Gorm had arranged for him to be followed on these occasional visits, but the spy observed nothing illicit, and casual questioning of the farmer revealed only information about growing barley and rye. A great deal of information about growing barley and rye, as Magnus was a garrulous man on that subject. The spy eventually gave up.

Terence knew about the spy, of course, but worried neither about him nor any other attempt by Gorm to learn more about him. A handful of people now knew of his connection to the Roskilde fool, but few knew more than that, and those who did found it useful to keep that knowledge quiet.

On an unusually moderate day in early December, Terence lay his cloak down on the meadow near the watering hole where he first met Magnus, then stretched out on his back. Magnus was in his barn, slaughtering pigs for the smokehouse, a task Terence begged off from joining. He lay there, half asleep, listening to the breeze whistle through the brush on the windbreak.

When the woman first appeared, Terence thought that he dreamt her. She was looking behind her as she clambered up to the top of the windbreak, and the wind was sending her hair streaming toward him, almost as if the hair itself had taken her captive and was dragging her away. She turned to look ahead too late to avoid an exposed root directly in her path. It sent her somersaulting through the high grass and weeds anchoring the windbreak on the side by the farm, her arms flailing about in an effort to slow her fall. She met the level ground with a thump.

By that time Terence was up and running to her aid. She was sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed, breathing rapidly. He felt for her pulse, then looked down at her face that, despite being smudged and slightly scratched, or possibly because of being smudged and slightly scratched, appeared to him to be quite lovely.

At that moment her eyes opened to behold the whiteface of the fool, his hair sticking out at odd angles from beneath his cap and bells. She looked at him quizzically.

“Have I stumbled upon some hidden fairyland?” she asked him. “Or is this a dream?”

“I know it isn’t a fairyland,” he replied. “I’m no longer certain about the dream, but which of us is the dreamer?”

“I did bump my head, I think,” she said. “That would make me the more likely candidate.”

“Ah, but I am a fool,” he said. “We never know the difference, anyway.”

“I have never dreamt of a fool before,” she said. “Do you ever dream of women?”

“Often,” he replied, laughing.

“Then perhaps this is your dream,” she said. “Rather ungallant of you to cause me to trip and fall like that.”

“My apologies,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her head ruefully. “My pride is hurt.”

“I think that you no longer have any pride,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“It is said that pride goeth before a fall,” he replied. “Since you have just fallen, your pride must have gone on ahead.”

“Alas, I am a fallen woman,” she sighed. “How embarrassing to tumble like that before a professional tumbler like yourself. You must teach me how to do it better.”

“It wasn’t bad for an amateur,” he said critically. “Remember to tuck your head under next time, and practice, practice, practice.”

She started to laugh, a deep merriment from within. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Is this your farm?” she asked, looking around.

“No,” he said. “It belongs to my friend Magnus. But I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind you falling on it.”

“Could he hide me, do you think?” she asked, suddenly serious. “I could earn my keep. I know farms. I grew up on one.”

“Why do you need to hide?” he asked.

“I ran away,” she said. “They’ll find me. They always do.”

“Who?” he asked.

“My family,” she said. “They are escorting me to Slesvig to marry me to someone I have never met.”

“Without your consent?” he exclaimed.

She looked down.

“I did consent,” she said in a small voice. “I thought I would be out from under my fathers thumb at last. But I didn’t want to come here so soon. I wanted to spend one last Christmas with my sister and her children. They are the only ones I really cared about, and now I may never see them again. And I miss the fields and the forests near my home. I have spent so much time wandering them on my own that I am fearful of being in a city with so many people.”

“Slesvig isn’t that large,” he said.

“Do you know it well?” she asked.

“I am the town fool,” he said.

“Then why are you here?”

“Obviously, so that I may come to your aid,” he replied.

She smiled shyly.

“Maybe Slesvig will not be such a terrible place after all,” she said. “If a man of this quality is only the town fool, what paragons must the others be?”

“Never judge a town by its fool,” he admonished her. Then he stopped as the sound of hoofbeats came from the distance.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Time to face my fate. It has been a pleasant idyll with you, good sir. What is your name?”

“It depends on who is talking to me,” he said. “Most of Slesvig calls me Yorick. It’s not my name, but it stuck.”

“What do you wish me to call you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Terence,” he said. “It would sound lovely coming from

H
you.

“Terence,” she repeated. “My name is Signe. And that is my father galloping toward us.”

Signe’s sire was clearly a man given to temper, and the sight of his runaway daughter brushing grass and leaves from the back of her gown while in the company of a strange man did nothing to improve his disposition.

“Get away from her, thrall!” he shouted, uncoiling a whip as he directed his horse toward them.

“I’m not a thrall, I’m a fool,” protested Terence as he stepped to the side.

The father turned his attentions to Signe.

“Is this the sort of man you consort with when you run away?” he snarled. He snapped the whip toward her. She stood without flinching, awaiting contact, but Terence stepped between them and blocked it with a juggling club.

“Don’t do that,” he implored the man. “’four daughter is innocent of any dalliance, you have my word.”

“The word of a fool?” laughed the father. He lashed out at Terence. The fool ducked quickly under the whip and jumped up on the horse behind him.

“Don’t do that again,” he said quietly, pinioning the man’s arms with his own. “It would be a simple thing for me to inflict a great deal of pain upon you right now, but I do not wish to distress this lady any further. Drop the whip.”

The father hesitated, then yelped suddenly and let the whip fall to the ground. Terence smiled.

“There,” he said. “Now we can all get along.”

“I will report your insolence to the Duke,” sputtered the father.

“If you are referring to Ørvendil, I can assure you that he is quite used to my insolence,” replied Terence. “I am in the garrison every day, solely for the purpose of being insolent. His son Amleth regards me as a personal favorite. If you wish to report to Ørvendil how you were bested by an unarmed fool on the road, be my guest. Is that still your wish?”

The other remained silent.

“Good,” said Terence. “I take it that you have more people coming?”

“I left them about a league back,” muttered the father. “They should be here shortly.”

“Then I suggest for all of your sakes that you put a good face on this,” suggested Terence, “’fou don’t want a scandal involving your daughter to precede her into Slesvig, do you?”

“No,” said the father.

“I didn’t think so,” said Terence. “I am going to release you. Don’t try anything funny. That’s my job, and I dislike competitors.”

He let the man go and jumped off the horse. He picked up the whip and hefted it. Then he flicked it forward. The end stopped just in front of the man’s nose.

“I’m a little rusty,” said Terence to Signe. “I meant to be half an inch closer.” He coiled the whip and tucked the end into his belt.

“Would it be unfilial of me to say that I am sorry that you missed?” whispered Signe.

The rest of her party arrived before Terence could reply. The female thrall in the carriage looked at her mistress and clucked in distress.

“Better get in, lady,” she said. “I’ll have you presentable by the time we reach the town.”

Terence held out his hand. She took it and climbed into the carriage, sighing reluctantly.

“Will I see you in Slesvig?” she asked as they pulled away.

“I will be back on the morrow,” he called. “I am in the fort most days, and The Viking’s Rest most nights. Tumble in anytime.”

He heard her laugh, and watched the carriage until it disappeared around a bend. Magnus came up, wiping his bloody hands with a rag. He looked at the retreating carriage.

“The meal is ready,” he said. “Who was that?”

“That was trouble,” said Terence admiringly.

S
igne
and her father reached the island fort later that afternoon. Gerutha hurried to greet them.

“My dear cousin,” she cried upon seeing Signe. “How you have grown since we last met.”

“Greetings, Gerutha,” said her father. “Here is my last daughter. Take her off my hands with my thanks.”

“And mine,” muttered Signe.

“We were expecting you yesterday,” said Gerutha. “Was there any trouble?”

Signe’s father started for a moment, then looked at his daughter, who smiled at him.

“No,” he said. “No trouble. I must be on my way.”

“Surely you could stay the night,” protested Gerutha.

“No, cousin,” he said firmly. “I have wasted enough time on this journey. Take your things, daughter, and I will take my leave of you.”

“A fair exchange,” said Signe as a soldier took two small trunks from the rear of the carriage. “Good-bye, father.”

He raised his hand in a halfhearted salute, then turned his horse and trotted off, the carriage and escort following.

“Come, cousin,” said Gerutha, taking the younger woman’s arm. “I have put you in our lower room for now. Come wash the dust off your face, and we shall talk until dinner.”

“I should pay my respects to your husband,” said Signe. “And to my own, I suppose.”

“Ørvendil is supervising repairs on the southern earthenworks,” said Gerutha. “He should be back for dinner. As for your husband-to-be, he is at the coronation of King Valdemar in Roskilde. We expect him to return in a day or two.”

There was a basin and a clean cloth on the table in the lower room. Signe scrubbed her face clean as Gerutha watched her.

“Vju’ve turned out prettier than I thought you would,” said Gerutha. “All that walking about in the woods must agree with you.”

“I shall miss my walks,” said Signe. “Are there any woods nearby?”

“My dear girl, you are going to be married to the drost,” laughed Gerutha. “Someone in your position can hardly go traipsing about unescorted.”

“I don’t traipse,” said Signe.

Gerutha sighed.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Since we are to be living together inside these walls, I want you to regard me as a sister and a friend, ‘fou are no longer a little girl who may do as she pleases. You are becoming a wife to a man of considerable rank who is respected by all. You must respect him as well and do his bidding. You were lucky I thought of you when my husband decided to arrange his marriage.”

“Thank you,” said Signe. “What may I do to help you around here until that happy day?”

“Let me show you my gardens,” said Gerutha cheerfully.

She led Signe to the rear of the fort and pointed proudly to her roses.

“These were next to nothing when I first arrived,” she said. “Now, see how they thrive. There’s no flowers right now, of course, but in the spring, they should be glorious.”

“They are very nice,” said Signe politely. She looked over at the herb garden, which was desiccated and strewn with dead weeds. She knelt and crumbled some soil between her fingers,

“With you doing so much work on your flowers, perhaps I could help with this garden,” she said.

“That one is yours,” said Gerutha. “I never bother with herbs. That’s the sort of thing a kitchen wench does. But if it appeals to your farm-bred sensibility, be my guest.”

“Thank you,” Signe said. “Thank you, sister.”

Ørvendil returned for dinner and greeted his wife’s cousin cordially. “Looks like we did better for Gorm than I thought,” he said to Gerutha that night. “She’s vastly improved her appearance since I last saw her. Looks positively healthy.”

“She’s still strange and willful,” said his wife as she undressed for bed. “Then one of them will tame the other,” he said, grinning as he pulled her down to him. “Care to wager which one will win?”

“A soldier usually tames a maid,” she said, kissing him.

Usually, she thought. But not always.

In the room below, Signe heard them moan with pleasure, and shivered slightly.

G
orm returned the following night
. His first act was to speak to the man he had detailed to spy on Terence. After learning of his failure, he dressed him down bitterly and dismissed him from service. When Terence returned to The Viking’s Rest later that evening, he bought the fellow a drink to ensure that there were no hard feelings.