An Antic Disposition (22 page)

“I cannot remember the last time I came up here,” he said. “Not since father was killed. Since you defiled his bedchamber.”

She stepped forward quickly and slapped him hard.

“Think what you wish,” she said. “But never dishonor me.”

“Too late for that,” he said.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Doing what?” he replied.

“Maintaining this pretense of madness,” she said. “Don’t you think a mother can see through it?”

“Everyone tells me that I am mad,” he said. “How could I possibly disagree with what is common knowledge?”

“Because you are an uncommon man,” she said. “You are smart enough and subtle enough to play a game of your own.”

“My affliction …” he began.

“You have no affliction,” she snapped. “This is part of some scheme. What do you seek? Are you a spy?”

“A spy from the land of dreams,” he said. “I keep hoping they will call me back, but lately I have been having trouble sleeping.”

“What do you know of Fengi’s plans?” she asked.

“What do you know of them?” he returned. “I care not for his plans, or anyone else’s. All plans lead to the same end.”

“What end is that?” she asked.

“The grave,” he said.

“Is that where your plans lead?” she asked.

He looked at her, an amused smile on his face.

“I have no plans,” he said. “Therefore, I will outlive you all.”

“Do you threaten me?” she asked.

He stepped toward her, and she flinched.

“Do I frighten you, mother?” he asked softly.

“I am frightened for you,” she replied.

“But I have you as my protector,” he said mockingly. “Wherefore should I be fearful when I know that you will always intercede on my behalf? Perhaps I have relied upon you too long. Maybe if I stood on my own, I would be free of all this.”

“What do you know of Fengi’s plans?” she repeated.

Fie placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Which of us is the spy here?” he asked, sliding his fingers toward her throat.

“Stop!” she spluttered.

He stopped, and there was a moment of silence, followed by a rustling noise nearby.

He whirled and seized a sword hanging on the wall, then plunged the point into the center of the quilt covering the bed. As it pierced the layers of bedclothes, there was a muffled grunt from under the piled straw at its base.

Gerutha screamed in horror. Amleth looked at her, a strange gleam in his eye.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said. “Just ridding your bed of some vermin infesting it.”

He stripped back the blankets and brushed away the straw until he saw Gorm’s face staring up at him, the eyes bulging out slightly. He felt for a pulse, but the drost was dead.

“You should have known better, old man,” said Amleth softly. “That was the first thing Yorick taught me: if you’re quiet, then no one can see you.

F
engi looked
at the body of his drost, laid out in the center of the four barracks at the front of the island.

“Where is Amleth?” he asked.

“In chains,” said a captain. “Damn lucky he wasn’t torn apart by the guards when they found him. He was trying to feed Gorm’s body to the pigs.”

“What stopped the guards?” asked Fengi.

“Fear of incurring a madman’s dying curse,” said the captain. “Or fear of his living mother’s wrath. But blood demands a debt.”

“Spoken like a true Dane,” said Fengi. “Have his body prepared and brought to the cathedral.”

He walked back to his quarters where his wife sat looking out the window.

“How are you, lady?” he asked.

“How should I be?” she said, not bothering to look at him. “I saw my son kill my friend. I don’t know how to grieve for them both.”

“Grieve for the one who deserves it,” said Fengi.

“That is myself,” she said.

“We’ll bury Gorm tomorrow,” said Fengi. “I am going to the convent to bring back Alfhild. I thought that I should be the one to tell her.”

“How very good of you,” she said. “And Lother?”

“I will send a letter by messenger,” he said. “If he is half the man his father was, he will seek Amleth’s blood.”

“Is that why you are sending him the letter?” she asked. “To set him on Amleth?”

“Of course not,” said Fengi. “But he will have the voice of the people. We must acknowledge it.”

“The people,” she said bitterly. “I have never heard you mention them as a force before. Will that be what you invoke when you hang my son?” He was silent. She turned toward him for the first time.

“Please don’t hang him,” she begged him tearfully. “Don’t put Amleth to death. He is all that I have.”

“That was by your choice,” said Fengi. He looked at her. She seemed to have aged overnight, but he knew that it had been happening all along. He wondered what he looked like to her. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time.

“The captain of the guard said that blood demanded a debt,” he said. “Old ways. The old ways keep pushing through this modern Christian veneer of ours, passed from father to son. That’s why the Danes are the cripples begging at the Emperor’s table. That’s why I hire mercenaries. The only Danish soldiers worth a damn leave Denmark when they are young. The rest will fall when we rise against them. But I need my strategos by my side. Gorm was a terrible loss.”

“But I am here,” she said. “You still need me. You need my wealth. Yau need my family to support you. You need my blood, whether as debtor or creditor. Without my power, you fail. But I have my price.”

“Yaur son’s life,” said Fengi.

“Yes,” she said.

“Very well,” he said. “I spare his life. But he must be exiled, for the appeasement of the people, and for his own safety.”

“Banishment?” she screamed. “He might as well be dead. “Then mourn him,” he said, leaving her.

A
mleth stood in chains
, Rolf and Gudmund at his sides.

“Here is your commission,” said Fengi, handing Rolf a sealed scroll. “Once he is on board, remove his shackles. I would not have England receive him in that disgraceful manner.”

“Yes, milord,” said Rolf.

Fengi walked up to Amleth and put his mouth next to the prisoners ear.

“It is because of my love for your mother that I am sparing your life,” he muttered. “Remember that.”

“It is because of your love for my mother that I will not spare yours,” Amleth whispered back. “Remember that.”

Fengi stepped back.

“Take him,” he commanded. “Return as soon as you deliver him. God speed you on your journey.”

Rolf and Gudmund bowed, then took Amleth to the waiting carriage. “England,” grumbled Gudmund as they climbed in. “I know why he’s being punished. But why are we?”

“Sooner started, sooner returned,” said Rolf. “Let’s go.”

F
engi rode
to the convent unescorted, a second horse tethered to his saddle. The abbess herself came to meet him. He explained to her briefly about Gorm. She expressed some suitable sentiments, then went to fetch Alfhild.

He was surprised at how nervous he felt waiting for her. He removed his helm and held it awkwardly against his side, fumbling with his hair, wondering if she would find his armored appearance reassuring or merely off-putting. He mentally rehearsed how he would break the news to her, how he would console her, how, if necessary, he should hold her,a comforting, fatherly embrace, not one that would inspire any suspicion, any thought that he might have designs upon her. He was so caught up in his fantasy that he was completely unaware that she had come into the room and was staring at him in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He turned toward her and caught his breath. She was wearing a white linen gown, unadorned, and her pale skin was set off by the tangle of auburn tresses that resisted staying tied back despite the combined efforts of three nuns. Like her mothers hair, he remembered, only Alfhild’s was at war with itself, not the natural living force that permeated every aspect of Signe’s being. The daughter was beautiful but untamable, even in captivity.

“I’ve come to take you out of here,” he said.

She shook her head violently.

“No, you can’t take me away,” she protested. “Only he can. He said I wasn’t to leave with anyone but him.”

“There is no easy way for me to tell you this,” said Fengi. “He is dead.”

She was still for a moment, then very slowly sank to her knees, plunging her fists into her stomach and howling.

Fengi cursed himself inwardly for his maladroit method and knelt by her, clumsily taking her in his arms.

“1 cannot tell you how sorry I am,” he said. “He was as dear to me as he was to you. All I can offer in solace is that I will be to you what he was. Ydu shall be as my own…”

But she writhed out of his grasp, scuttling backward on the floor until she bumped up against the corner of the room.

“You filth!” she cried. “Telling of his death with one breath, trying to seduce me with the next. How dare you!”

“Seducing?” he said, horrified that she had divined the thoughts that he was certain he had suppressed. “Nay, I only mean the natural role of a father to you.”

“A father?” she repeated.

“What else could I have meant?” he asked.

“A father,” she said slowly. “Father is dead.”

“I am sorry for it, more than you can know,” he said.

“How did he die?” she asked.

“Amleth, in a fit of madness, slew him,” said Fengi.

“Father is dead. Amleth killed him,” she said dully. “Father is dead. Amleth killed him. And what is to become of Amleth?”

“He is banished,” he replied.

“Banished?” she cried.

He mistook her tone for outrage at the lenient sentence and seized her hands in this.

“Know this,” he whispered. ‘”four father’s blood will not go unavenged. Amleth was indeed banished to the court of the English king, only an executioners ax awaits him there.”

“When will this happen?” she asked.

“He left this morning with Rolf and Gudmund,” he said. “They will sail from Ribe.”

“Very well,” she said. “I will get my belongings and come with you. Tarry here for a while. I will not be long.”

In her cell, she quickly scratched a note on a small piece of paper, then folded it and placed it inside her purse.

There was a kitchen garden beyond the door at the end of the living quarters. She ran quickly outside and looked around. There was a young man, the son of a local miller who brought in outside supplies, she had often seen eyeing her when she was working in the garden. He was just leaving the kitchen, having delivered a sack of flour to the cook, when he caught sight of her and tipped his cap respectfully.

She put a finger to her lips and beckoned to him. He looked around, then smiled lewdly and came toward her.

“Can I help you, lady?” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

“Would you do something for me?” she asked, smiling at him.

“I think I might be able to accommodate your needs,” he said.

She produced the paper from her purse. “There is a friend of mine, a prisoner named Amleth,” she said. He looked surprised, but she rushed on ahead. “He is being transported to England, and I have had no chance to bid him farewell. I want you to take him this letter. He only left for Ribe this morning. Find some way of getting it to him unobserved. Here.” She slipped a ring from her finger and gave it to him. “That should be payment enough.”

“Payment enough?” he laughed. “For sneaking a note to a prisoner? If I am caught, this won’t even be enough to bribe my way out.”

“Bring me his reply, and I will double it,” she said. Then she gave him a sidelong glance and fluttered her lashes slightly. “Or bestow upon you such favor as a maid may bestow upon a man.”

He grinned.

“For a taste of that, lady, I would deliver this letter into Hell itself,” he said.

“You are very brave,” she said, kissing him quickly on the cheek. She handed him the note, then went back inside to her cell, where she gathered her possessions into a small bag. Then she rejoined Fengi.

“I will be allowed out of the stockade now that you are my father,” she said.

“Of course,” he said.

She nodded and handed him her bag, then wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and walked out of the convent. On the ride home, whenever Fengi turned to look at her, she had her eyes closed and was inhaling deeply.

G
erutha was waiting
for their return. As soon as Alfhild dismounted, the older woman pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Welcome home, my dear,” said Gerutha, kissing her on the forehead. “Would that it had been under happier circumstances.”

“When do they bury my father?” asked Alfhild.

“Tomorrow,” said Gerutha. “He will rejoin your sweet mother at last.” They walked together back to the drosts quarters.

“I have prepared your room for you,” said Gerutha as they entered. Alfhild looked around.

“I have never slept alone here,” she said.

She climbed the steps, then stopped when she saw the bar across the outside of her door.

“May I have that removed?” she asked. “I am no longer my father’s prisoner.”

“I’ll have it done in the morning,” said Gerutha. “We’ll cast it into the fjord together if you like.”

“Actually, I just want them to remount it on the inside of the door,” said Alfhild. “If I am to be by myself, I would prefer the extra protection.”

“Very wise,” said Gerutha. “I know too well the dangers of being an attractive woman surrounded by soldiers.”

“I am certain you do,” said Alfhild politely.

“
S
he seems
to be taking it well enough,” said Fengi. “I thought that she would be in tears for the entire journey, but there was nothing once we left the convent.”

“The shock may be too much for her,” said Gerutha. “The tears may still come. Don’t worry. I will be with her. You’ve done all that you can. Did you send Lother that letter?”

“Yes. Before I left to fetch his sister.”

“Did you tell him that Amleth was banished?” she asked.

“I did,” he said. “I told him that there was no need for him to avenge his father’s murder.”

“Will he return home? There will be nothing left for him to do by the time he arrives.”

“I believe so. He and Alfhild are so close, I would expect him to come back and see her.”

A
t the funeral
, Alfhild had one outburst of sobbing when she first approached her father’s corpse, but it subsided quickly. Gorm was buried next to Signe. After the last shovelful of dirt was thrown on and patted down by the gravedigger, Alfhild asked for a moment alone. Fengi and

Gerutha stood a respectful distance away and watched her kneel down by the grave, holding a bouquet of wildflowers, picked from the late autumn blooms of the meadow on which she had played as a child.

“She takes it well,” observed Fengi admiringly. “She is a soldier’s daughter.”

“There may still be some change in her,” said Gerutha. “I will spend as much time with her as I can.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” asked Fengi. “She’s a grown woman now.”

“Even grown women need comforting,” said Gerutha.

Out of their earshot, Alfhild carefully placed the wildflowers on Signe’s grave.

“Hello, mother,” she said softly. “I hope that you are in Heaven and he is in Hell. At least Lother and I managed to survive him. Everything will be all right now.”

Then she stood and walked to where Fengi and Gerutha awaited her.

G
erutha’s fears proved prophetic
. Within a week of the funeral, Alfhild became moody and sullen. Despite the older woman’s attempts to draw her out, she kept to her old room, using the inside bar to keep away visitors. She began missing meals. Gerutha prepared baskets of food and left them outside her door. Sometimes they were eaten; sometimes they were not.

“I am starting to worry about the girl,” said Gerutha one night. “She gets thinner and paler by the day. I wonder if there is some illness beyond the natural grief she would feel for her loss.”

“She needs to be out in the fresh air more,” said Fengi. “After saying how much she looked forward to her freedom, she has become her own jailer. It’s odd. Perhaps I should take her for her daily exercise.”

“She is not a horse, and you are no stablehand,” scolded his wife. “Ybu have your army to drill. This is no time to waste your energy on household matters. Leave that to me. I will take her for her walks. It will do us both good.”

“Very well,” he said, hiding his disappointment.

Lother returned from Paris a month after Gorm’s death, spurring his exhausted horse straight to the graveyard north of the town. He stood by his parents’ graves for a long while, his expression difficult to read. Then he took his horses reins and walked it slowly to the island.