An Antic Disposition (11 page)

“Just a lost soul, I expect,” said the priest. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be with you when I’m done.”

He motioned the astonished drost back into the nave.

“Who was that?” spluttered Gorm.

“My housekeeper,” said the priest. “Now, what may I do for you, my son?”

“How can you… ?” Gorm began, nearly choking. He took a deep breath. “How can you help me?”

“I don’t know,” said the priest. “What is the problem?”

“The whole world has become corrupt!” screamed Gorm. “Nothing is pure. No one can be trusted.”

“That, I’m afraid, is beyond my simple capabilities,” said the priest. “I can pray for you, my son.”

“Pray for yourself!” snapped Gorm, and he stormed out of the church. “Probably too late for that,” muttered the priest.

“Are you coming back to bed?” called the woman from inside the outer room.

“Yes, my dear,” replied the priest.

He turned, crossed himself briefly out of habit, and went back inside.

F
engi knocked respectfully
on the door to Valdemars room.

“Come,” said the King from inside.

Valdemar was seated, his feet propped up on a cushioned stool.

“Am I disturbing you, milord?” asked Fengi.

“I am in need of disturbance,” said Valdemar. “My fool wandered off after the meeting, just when I was in the mood to be amused.”

“I can offer little in the way of entertainment,” said Fengi. “My thoughts lay in rather a different direction.”

“Share them.”

“I want to apologize on behalf of my brother,” said Fengi. “He should have been here.”

“It is not for you to apologize,” said Valdemar. “These words should be coming from his own mouth.”

“True, milord.”

“In any case, I am surprised to hear you speaking up like this. He is your brother, after all.”

“’Vou are my brother,” said Fengi. “My loyalties are here.”

“Nobly spoken,” said Valdemar. “What do you want?”

“Nothing more than what I have said,” replied Fengi. “My brother does act on Denmark’s behalf in building these fortifications. I saw them the last time I passed through Slesvig. They are very impressive. I daresay they are strong enough to withstand an attack from any army around.”

“Including mine, I suppose?”

“Why would you attack Slesvig?” asked Fengi. “It is already yours.”

“What are your brothers intentions?” asked Valdemar bluntly. “Stop these hints and speak plainly.”

“I do not know his intentions,” said Fengi. “I have no proof that they are anything but what they should be in such a loyal soldier.”

“No proof,” repeated Valdemar. “But you have your suspicions.”

“No more than do you,” said Fengi. “Suspicions are dangerous things, milord. Anything can be suspect. Or anyone. But the truth is often harder to come by.”

“But if you do come by it, you will let me know immediately,” ordered Valdemar.

“Of course, milord.”

“Well, off to Barbarossa with you,” said Valdemar. “Keep me informed.”

“I will, milord,” promised Fengi as he turned to leave. The King stopped him with a gesture.

“Of everything,” said Valdemar.

“Yes, milord,” said Fengi.

He left the King’s chambers, a smile playing on his lips.

G
orm returned
to Slesvig several days later. As he rode through the gates in the eastern earthenworks, his practiced eye saw the defenses anew. He noticed the effort put into them, the thickness and height of the ridges, larger than anything the Wends ever had to contend with in their lives.

All around him he saw soldiers. The same soldiers he had seen for years, had drilled mercilessly at dawn, had led on patrols. The soldiers he had molded into a top fighting unit.

He and Ørvendil.

He rode past the kiln, which was going full blast. Red roof tiles were piled neatly next to it, the cathedral renovations having taken precedence over the building of the new castle.

The new stronghold.

He fancied that people were eyeing him strangely, although when he looked directly at them, they were looking elsewhere, seeming to pay him no mind. He doubted that. He was a danger now, armed with newly opened eyes of his own. He would increase his spies in the town. Not a bird would fly over the city, not an insect crawl through it without his knowing it. He would never be caught by surprise by anything again, and those who attempted to deceive him would be dealt with.

He walked across the drawbridge to the island, grunting at the greetings of the men on the platforms. It was evening, already past the last meal, but he had no appetite. He entered his quarters and went upstairs without even glancing at his sleeping daughter. Signe was still up, combing out her hair. She turned with surprise when she heard him.

“You’re back,” she exclaimed. “We had no word that you were returning.”

“Are you displeased?” he said.

“Why, husband, of course not,” she said. “How was your journey?”

He looked at her. She was in her nightgown, her feet bare, her unplaited hair reaching down to the small of her back.

“Lie down,” he said.

“Don’t you want to tell me about Roskilde?” she asked him.

He stepped forward and shoved her down to the pallet. She landed hard, tears coming to her eyes.

“I told you to lie down,” he said.

“What is the matter?” she said. “Why are you behaving like this?”

He unbuckled his sword belt and let the weapon clatter to the floor. Then he knelt by her feet.

“The world is corrupt,” he said. “Everything is rotten.”

“But…”

He heaved himself onto her, knocking the breath out of her. His hands scrabbled for the hem of her nightgown, then he grew impatient and simply ripped the fabric apart. She was struggling, writhing beneath him, which only added to his rage. He slapped her hard, then did it again. She was crying now, which infuriated him.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “I’m not..

She cried out with pain as he entered her. He was in a frenzy, coarse grunts erupting from him with every thrust.

It was over in a minute, and he lay on top of her, panting, his heart pounding. Then he saw her face, the tears streaking her cheeks as she looked away from him.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. “This is what you wanted. This is what husbands and wives do, isn’t it?”

She would not look at him. He stood, walked to the doorway, then turned to look at her again.

“Isn’t it?” he screamed. Then he fled down the steps.

T
wo months later
, she realized that she was with child.

“
W
hen will the baby come
?” asked Amleth as he pulled weeds out of the herb garden.

“I don’t know,” said Signe, sitting with her back against the wall, her hands resting on her swollen belly. “Soon, I think.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked Amleth.

“I think perhaps a boy,” said Signe. “But I don’t know for certain.” Amleth looked at her in puzzlement.

“’You had a baby before, didn’t you?” he asked.

“You know that I did,” said Signe. “You may have noticed her chasing after you for the last few years.”

“So, if you have done this before, how come you know so little about it now?” asked the boy, a sly grin on his face.

Signe looked at him openmouthed, then burst into laughter.

“Come here, you scamp,” she said, holding her arms out.

He came to her shyly, and she hugged him, ruffling his hair, then kissed his forehead.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked.

“For making me laugh,” she told him. “It’s been a while since anyone has done that.”

“I could fetch Yorick,” he offered.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s so busy of late. I don’t wish to take him away from those who are in need of cheer.”

“But..

“Besides,” she said, hugging him again. “I have his most talented student to entertain me. Now, run along, little cousin. It’s time for your lesson with your father.”

“Bye, Signe,” he called, snatching his sword belt from the ground and running.

“Good-bye, cousin,” she said softly. “I wish I had better answers for you. I wish I had some for myself.”

T
erence reached
out and swept the boy into the air as he came dashing through the great hall. Amleth shrieked as he sailed up near the crossbeams, but kept his body in the right position for the fool to catch him.

“You shouldn’t scream like that,” said Terence sternly. “It gives people the impression that I could actually let you fall.”

“There’s always a first time,” said Amleth as the fool put him back on the floor.

“So, how does your cousin?” asked Terence casually.

“Fine,” said the boy. “I made her laugh.”

“Did you?” exclaimed Terence. “Well done, my student. Nothing coarse, I hope.”

“I don’t know anything coarse,” declared the boy with the most innocent look he could muster.

“Of course not,” said Terence. “Does she need any further entertainment?”

“She said that she didn’t,” said Amleth. “She said she didn’t want to take you away.”

Terence looked out toward the rear doorway, but could not see Signe’s garden. He sighed.

“Very well,” he said, “’four father is waiting at the usual place. Don’t let him cut you in half.”

“I won’t, Yorick,” promised the boy. “Bye!”

He ran off.

G
erutha looked
at her garden in disgust.

“Rip everything out,” she commanded the thrall standing by her. “Everything, milady?” he asked warily. “Even the roses?”

“The roses have given me nothing but trouble for all of my hard work,” she said. “It’s time to begin anew. Rip them all out and toss them into the woods somewhere. Maybe Nature will take pity on them and let them grow.”

The thrall shrugged and commenced digging up the garden.

“I never thought that I would live to see this day,” said Ørvendil as he and Amleth came up behind her.

“When we build the new castle, we will have a proper courtyard with a proper garden,” she said. “Somewhere with good light and healthy soil.’ “When we build the new castle, we will,” he said. “Would you like to see Amleth in combat?”

“Show me,” she said, turning to watch.

Amleth and his father faced off against each other, the wooden practice swords in their hands. Ørvendil took a step forward, menacing the boy. Amleth stepped backward, keeping his weight on his back foot, his sword held low and behind him. His father lunged suddenly, and the boy sidestepped the thrust and brought his weapon around to clang off his father’s left shoulder.

“Good, Amleth!” shouted one of the soldiers on the wall.

“Watch your post,” called Ørvendil. “If you want entertainment, go see Yorick at the tavern.”

“Yes, milord,” said the soldier, winking at the boy.

“Well done, boy,” said Ørvendil, clapping him on the back. Amleth beamed with pride.

“That was wonderful, Amleth,” said his mother, smiling. “Run and find your friends until dinner.”

Amleth needed no second invitation. He took the practice sword from his father and ran off.

“I hope he and his friends don’t use those practice swords on each other,” said Gerutha.

“I hope they do,” said Ørvendil. “He’ll pass on the learning to them, and have a good time doing it.”

“When will you begin work on the new castle?” asked Gerutha. “When the roof on the cathedral is done,” said Ørvendil. “Be patient, love. What’s another year when the end is in sight?”

“Could I get some bricks for a Mary’s garden, then?” she asked, a wheedling tone entering her voice.

“Church first, wives after,” said Ørvendil. “Not yet.”

“I have lived my entire life with ‘not yet,’ “ she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“And with ‘I’m sorry.’ “

He looked over at Signe’s herb garden, searching for a new subject. “I swear, the woman has a golden touch,” he said. “She must be descended from some fertility goddess of yore.”

“Unlike me,” snapped Gerutha.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said hastily, coming over to embrace her. She stiffened in his arms. After an awkward hug, he released her.

“It’s not always the richness of the soil that makes the garden grow,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the quality of the seed.”

She turned back to the thrall, who was desperately trying to look unconcerned.

“I am going out for a walk,” she said. “When I return, I want to find nothing but freshly turned dirt here. I want it to look like a new grave, do you understand?”

“Yes, milady,” said the thrall, shoveling frantically.

Would you like me to … ?” began Ørvendil. No,” she said, walking away.

A
lfhild skipped through a meadow
, chasing the butterflies that flitted among the flowers. Signe watched her from a low rise, resting against a large cushion that a thrall had carried for her. She plucked a blade of grass from the ground and brushed it across her face, smiling as her daughter stopped to peer at her reflection in a small pond.

A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Terence standing behind her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

“I was just passing through,” he replied. “May I join you?”

“How does one just pass through the middle of a meadow?” she asked.

“I’m a fool,” he replied. “If I started giving reasons for everything that I did, I would be out of a job.”

“True enough,” she said.

They sat in silence for a while, watching Alfhild.

“She grows more like you every day,” said Terence. “A good thing, in my opinion.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I wonder what the new one will be like?”

“So do I,” he said. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy, I think,” she said. “He feels much different than Alfhild did. He’s very active.”

“Still, I hope that he also resembles his mother,” said Terence.

“What do you have against his father?” she asked.

He looked at her for the first time since he joined her, studying her face in every detail.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “I like his father.”

“So do I,” she said. “So do I.”

S
he went
into labor three weeks later, the contractions jolting her into consciousness in the middle of the night. She turned instinctively to her husband, but Gorm had taken to sleeping on a thin blanket in the lower room.

She thought that she would have more time, but the pains were of a greater intensity than anything she had experienced with Alfhild. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, and the sweat was already running in rivulets. She felt dizzy, and suddenly terrified that the baby would come without anyone there, or that she would die before that, trapping him inside her.

There was a moment of calm between the assaults. She remembered that she had been given a cowbell for just such an emergency. Her hands scrabbled along the base of the wall until they met up with it, and she shook it hard, finally getting enough air into her lungs to cry out.

For the first time since she had come to Slesvig, she was grateful for living in an armed camp. The patrols were out and alert, and from their vantages high above her had watched the progress of her pregnancy through the months with interest. She had become a favorite of the men posted at the island, and they had quietly promised each other to keep an eye out on their leaders quarters in case anything like this happened. They quickly sounded the alarum.

Ørvendil and Gorm dashed out of their respective quarters, swords in hand, searching for information. The soldiers on the walls were shouting and pointing at Gorm’s home. The drost ran back inside, past a startled Alfhild who had been in the middle of a bad dream, and dashed up the stairs. He was back out in a trice.

“It’s her time,” he told Ørvendil. “I must fetch the midwife.”

“Go,” said Ørvendil. “I’ll send Gerutha up to stay with her until she arrives. Godspeed.”

With a speed that belied his girth, the drost made for the drawbridge, calling for it to be lowered. He stood impatiendy for nearly ten minutes as the guards struggled with the windlass. Finally, he ran up the incline of the partially lowered planks and vaulted the remaining gap over the river.

Amleth was awake with the first sounding of the alarum, and as his father ran upstairs to get his mother, he sneaked into Gorm’s quarters. Alfhild was hiding under her sheets, sobbing with terror. He went over to her and whispered, “It’s all right. Everything is all right. Go back to sleep. When you wake up, you will be a sister.”

He rubbed her back, and the sobbing subsided. Exhausted, she fell back asleep. He heard Signe shriek from upstairs, and ran to be with her.

“Who is it?” gasped Signe as he came in.

“It’s Amleth,” he said. “Gorm went to get the midwife. Mother is coming.”

“Thank you,” she said, tears streaking her face. He took her hand, then winced as she crushed his with the coming of the next contraction.

“I’m here, Signe,” called Gerutha as she came up the steps, a lit torch in one hand and a small basket in the other. She stopped for a moment in surprise.

“Amleth,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s comforting me,” said Signe, managing to smile at the boy.

“You’re a good child,” said Gerutha briskly as she came over. “But you shouldn’t be in here now. This is woman’s work.”

“But can’t I watch?” pleaded Amleth.

“Go,” commanded his mother, jamming the torch into a sconce.

Amleth went down the stairs, and his mother turned her attention to Signe.

“So,” she said, smiling and patting her cousin’s belly. “How does your garden grow?”

The midwife was in a drunken sleep and not easily roused. It took the repeated pounding on her door by the drost, followed by his threats to kick it in when her head finally appeared at the window, to put her into some semblance of haste. She stumbled along slowly while Gorm gritted his teeth and tried not to shove her ahead of him.

“I can’t help it if they come in the middle of the night,” she complained. “Can’t she wait until morning?”

“No!” shouted Gorm.

“Well, you might at least have sent a cart for me,” she grumbled.

“There wasn’t time,” he said. “Please, for the love of God, can’t you move any faster?”

“This is how fast I walk,” she said. “No point in yelling at me about it. I’m old.”

They finally arrived, and the midwife went slowly up the steps while the drost remained below, pacing. When she reached Signe’s bedside, Gerutha was kneeling by her, wiping her brow with a wet cloth.

“Ah, yes, I remember this one,” said the midwife, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “A world of trouble with her first baby.”

She felt Signe’s brow, then reached for her wrist and checked her pulse. She looked over at Gerutha in alarm.

“What is it?” asked Gerutha.

“You’d better send for a priest,” said the midwife.

Gerutha turned pale, then ran down the steps. The midwife turned back to Signe.

“All right, dear,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s get this baby out.”

Ø
rvendil himself went
to the cathedral, not wanting Gorm to leave the island again while his wife was in extremis. Gerutha stayed with the drost, heating up some wine with spices to keep him from storming everything in sight. Unlike with Alfhild’s birth, there was no regular series of shrieks from the upper room.

“I should never have done this to her,” said Gorm dejectedly. “She warned me that another birth could kill her.”

“Who, the midwife? Don’t be ridiculous,” protested Gerutha. “She’s gotten by on luck and volubility for years. There’s no woman in town who takes her seriously. I’m sure Signe will be fine.”

“But listen to her suffer,” said Gorm. “It’s all because of me.”

“That is her wifely duty,” said Gerutha. “The suffering that we all bear as Eve’s daughters. Please, stop blaming yourself. Whatever happens is God’s will.”

Ørvendil returned, priest in tow.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

Before anyone could respond, the midwife’s voice sounded from upstairs.

“Is that priest here yet?” she called.

Gorm thundered up the steps, followed more slowly by the priest.

The midwife held a baby in her arms. It was a boy, crying weakly, still bloody. Signe lay nearly still on the bed, only a slight heaving of her breast indicating that she was alive.

“The baby?” she asked, her voice hoarse.