An Antic Disposition (12 page)

“A boy,” said the midwife loudly. “He’s fine.”

Signe smiled, her eyes closed.

“Better hurry,” muttered the midwife.

The priest knelt beside her.

“Milady, do you wish to make confession?” he asked.

“What?” she said, opening her eyes again.

“Confession, milady.”

She focused on her husband for the first time.

“Gorm,” she said, sounding almost puzzled.

He threw himself down by her, clumsily clutching her hand.

“Stay with me, Signe,” he said, sobbing. “You mustn’t go. I need you. I love you.”

She looked at him as though seeing him from the bottom of a deep pool of water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then she was gone.

The priest patted Gorm gently on the shoulder.

“I think that, under the circumstances, the Church would regard that as an acceptable confession,” he said gently. “Her soul is in Heaven. I’ll administer extreme unction and stay with her. My condolences, milord.”

Gorm didn’t move. Then the baby started crying louder, and he stood to look at it more closely.

“Looks more like her than you, that’s for certain,” commented the midwife. “You’ll be needing a wet nurse, and soon. Try Margaret, the potter’s wife. She’s still nursing. Here, take him.”

Gorm received the boy awkwardly, and turned to look at his wife. The midwife stayed there, an expectant look on her face, but the drost continued staring at the body. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“I get paid either way,” she said. “Extra for the middle of the night.” Numbly, he reached into his pouch with his free hand. He had no idea how much he handed her, but she was more than satisfied.

“Well, I’ll stop by Margaret’s for you,” she said. “Sorry about your wife. I thought she might pull through. There was much less blood than with the first one. I guess some women just aren’t strong enough to bear children.”

She left quickly. Gorm slowly descended the stairs, the baby mewling in his arms. Gerutha and Ørvendil were waiting for him.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” said Ørvendil. “But at least you have a son, now. What are you naming him?”

“I thought Lother,” said the drost.

“A good king in his time by all reports,” said Ørvendil. “You should get him christened quickly.”

“Let me take him,” said Gerutha kindly. “\ou’ve done enough.”

“I have,” said Gorm. He handed the boy over to her, and lay down on his blanket, staring at the ceiling. “She’s in Heaven now.”

“Of course,” said Gerutha firmly. “But you still live, and you have two children to raise. Yau must honor her memory in being their father.”

“I shall never have another wife,” said Gorm softly.

“We won’t talk about that,” said Ørvendil. “Get some rest. We’ll get Lother to that wet nurse as soon as possible.”

He left to await her arrival. Gerutha sat on a chair and rocked the baby, watching Gorm and Alfhild sleeping. Suddenly her eyes darted over to the steps where Amleth was creeping down.

“Were you hiding up there?” she whispered. He nodded. “The entire time?” He nodded again, miserably. She beckoned to him, and he came over to her.

“I should punish you for your disobedience,” she said, pulling his head to rest on her bosom. “But there is enough sorrow here tonight. Go to bed, and this will be our secret.”

He left, staggering from the lack of sleep, and went to find the comfort of his pallet. But sleep would not come to him. The image of Signe’s body floated above him, her face over his, her mouth still open, as if she still wanted to take one more breath.

He wasn’t frightened by the image. He had seen dead people before. He just couldn’t understand why Signe chose to be one of them.

T
he cock crowed
, and he sat up, having lain awake the entire time. His mother was still with the baby, and his father was busy making arrangements for the funeral. He walked about the island, but a pall had fallen across it, Even the animals were subdued, sensing the sadness of their keepers. He walked silently by the chickens, not bothering to chase them for once.

He wanted to talk to Yorick, to have the fool explain everything to him. He did not understand everything that he saw. He didn’t know why having a baby killed the mother. He didn’t think that that happened all of the time. His mother was still alive. Most of his friends had living mothers. Why should this baby be so deadly?

He slipped through the gate over the drawbridge and walked into town. He knew where horick had his room, and found the back way into the tavern without difficulty. He heard a sound from within that was unlike anything he had ever heard coming out of the fool’s mouth before. He peeped cautiously around the doorway. hbrick was huddled in a corner of the room, an empty wineskin at his feet. He was moaning, a low, guttural sound, and clutching his head to his knees.

“Yorick?” said Amleth softly.

The fool looked bleakly up at the boy.

“What are you doing here?” he said. “It’s too early for you. And it’s too late for me,”

“I wanted to know something,” said Amleth. “Everyone at the island is too busy to tell me.”

“What, child?” said the fool.

“Why did the baby kill his mother?”

The fool stared at the boy, then beckoned him closer. He wrapped him in an embrace, his wine-drenched breath coursing over the little one’s neck.

“He didn’t kill her,” said the fool, his whiteface streaking anew from his tears. “She died. It is something that happens sometimes with women. That is why we should honor all of them. She was a good woman.”

“I liked her,” said Amleth.

“So did I,” said the fool. “But liking someone never stopped them from dying. How is the boy?”

“They were fetching a wet nurse from town,” said Amleth. “They think he’ll live.”

“Thank Christ for that,” said the fool. “What will they name him?”

“Lother,” said Amleth.

“Lother,” repeated the fool. “I like it.”

He released the boy and pointed to his pallet. There was a bunch of flowers lying there, tied loosely.

“Take those, and put them by her,” he said. “Tell no one. It will be our secret.”

“That’s my second secret today, and the sun is still low,” said Amleth.

“What was the other one?” asked the fool.

Amleth told him how he had sneaked back into Signe’s room to watch her give birth to Lother. The fool listened intently, asking a few questions, then sat back in his corner at the end of the narrative and closed his eyes.

“That’s a good secret to keep,” he said.

“Is it still a secret now that I’ve told you?” asked Amleth.

“You can trust me with anything,” said Terence. “You know that.”

A
mleth returned
to the fortress with the bouquet in his hands. As he came to the drost’s quarters, his mother grabbed him by the wrist.

“Where did you vanish to?” she said angrily. “I have been looking everywhere.”

“I went to get these,” said Amleth, holding the bouquet up. “I wanted to give these to her.”

Gerutha snatched the flowers from him and threw them on the refuse heap.

“To your room,” she commanded him. “I’ll deal with you later.”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“Well?” she snapped.

He turned and fled inside.

Alfhild was there, sitting by the window. She turned when she heard him come in.

“Mama is dead,” she said, sniffling. “And they won’t let me hold the baby.”

She started to cry. Amleth wanted to do the same, but he looked at the little girl, then sat next to her, his arm around her.

“Everything will be fine,” he said. “I’m here.”

T
he midwife woke around noon
, feeling ravenous. She had been overpaid for her services, but felt that the indignities to which she had been subjected merited the additional remuneration. She prepared a meal, then cursed as she realized she was out of wine. She was about to go out when there was a knocking at her door.

She knew of no other imminent births. Puzzled, she opened the door to see that tavern fool standing before her, grinning maniacally.

“What do you want?” she asked abruptly.

“To know everything,” he said. “Is not that the goal of any fool?”

“What do you want to know from me?” she asked.

“About Signe and Lother, a birth and a death in the same hour,” he said.

“Those are personal matters,” she said. “Hardly the subject of common gossip.”

He held up a wineskin and jiggled it so that a pleasant sloshing noise came from within it.

“Well, in that case,” she said, holding the door open.

He smiled and went in.

T
he midwife had
no friends or family in Slesvig. The general suspicion that she may have been a witch kept most of the townsfolk away. It may have been because of this that her absence from view caused no notice. It was a lovesick farmers daughter who found her, stretched out on her pallet with several knife wounds in her chest. The girl had wanted a love potion to win the affections of a neighboring shepherd, but ended up fleeing the house, screaming at the top of her lungs. Strangely enough, the story she told, enhanced by repetition and her fertile imagination, eventually so enthralled the shepherd that he fell for her charms without any occult enhancement.

“The last person who was seen talking to her was Yorick,” said Ørvendil to his wife as they undressed that night.

“’Yorick?” said Gerutha. “What possible interest would he have in a midwife?”

“I asked him that very question,” said Ørvendil. “He protested up and down that he had nothing to do with her death. He only wanted to hear about poor Signe’s last moments.”

“He did? Why?” wondered Gerutha.

“Curiosity, I suppose,” said Ørvendil. “Too morbid for my tastes, but a jester dines out on stories and gossip, so that would have been meat for his stew.”

“And you believe he had no part in her death?” asked Gerutha.

“The midwife? No,” said Ørvendil. “What reason would he have for killing her?”

“I frankly do not know,” admitted Gerutha. “But to be the last to see her alive …”

“He was the last anyone else saw seeing her alive,” her husband corrected her.

“Still, it makes you think, doesn’t it?” asked Gerutha.

“Not of Yorick,” said Ørvendil. “I trust him.”

“He may have murdered a woman, and you trust him to play with our son,” said Gerutha.

“I’ll have one of my men look into it tomorrow,” he said.

“Not Gorm,” she said.

“Hm? No, I take your meaning,” he said sleepily. “He’s having enough troubles as it is right now.”

“You missed my meaning,” she said. “Wouldn’t you consider him a possibility?”

He sat up.

“No,” he said. “Not Gorm.”

“Yet you sound less certain about him than you did about Yorick,” she said. “Gorm has been completely distraught since he lost Signe. He may very well have held the midwife responsible for the death of his wife.”

“I pray that wasn’t what happened,” said Ørvendil. “But I’ll put a different man on it.”

“Good,” said Gerutha. “I want to get to the bottom of all this.”

T
he next morning
Gorm staggered into the great hall, dark patches under his eyes. He saw Ørvendil speaking to a captain of the guards. The Duke glanced over at the drost, whispered something hurriedly to the captain, then clapped him on the back and sent him on his way. Then he turned to Gorm, smiling broadly.

“Ydu look like hell,” he said.

“I was up with the baby all night,” groaned Gorm. “It’s difficult when the wet nurse isn’t here. Thank you for letting Alfhild sleep with Amleth.”

“Thank my wife for that,” said Ørvendil. “She figured you had enough on your mind right now.”

“I heard about the midwife,” said Gorm. “I’ll start looking into it today.”

“No need,” said Ørvendil. “I just sent Lars to do it.”

“You did?” said Gorm. “But that should be my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility right now is to that baby,” said Ørvendil. “Lars will handle it just fine.”

Gorm looked at his master closely.

“You think I had something to do with it, don’t you?” he said. “No,” said Ørvendil. “I honestly don’t. But we have to make sure that the investigation …”

“You think I had something to do with it!” Gorm repeated loudly. Ørvendil’s face darkened. He walked quickly up to the drost and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Now, you listen to me,” he said quietly. “If I put you in charge of an investigation while the town gossip already has you as a possible murderer, then no one will trust whatever conclusions you reach.”

“But if you don’t put me in charge, then everyone will know that you don’t trust me,” said Gorm.

“Everyone knows that you are in mourning and that you are taking care of that baby,” said Ørvendil. “No one will think that I don’t trust

» you.

“I will,” said Gorm. “Do you wish me to resign from your service?”

“Not in the least,” protested Ørvendil.

The drost sat down at the table, resting his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, beginning to weep.

“Look,” said Ørvendil more kindly. “If that wet nurse won’t move in here, why don’t you take a place in town near her?”

“In town?” said Gorm. “But my post is here. My men are here.”

“You would come in here first thing in the morning,” said Ørvendil. “It’s not as if you’re patrolling with the night watch, and this way you could get out of your quarters until the memory fades from them. I’m sure Alfhild would prefer staying somewhere else.”

“She’ll stay where I tell her to stay,” said Gorm. “She’s my daughter.”

“It’s just a suggestion,” said Ørvendil. “If you’d rather stay, then stay.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Gorm wearily.

A
mleth was juggling with Terence
, tossing four clubs back and forth. Alfhild sat on the ground nearby, watching the boy in admiration. When Gerutha came out of the great hall, Amleth was the first to espy her. “Mother, look!” he cried. “Look what I can do.”

“Very good, Amleth,” she said, coming up to Terence’s side. “Go play with Alfhild for a minute. I want to speak with Yorick.”

“All right,” he said to Alfhild’s delight. He started rolling a ball to her.

“So many ‘Mother, looks’ to get through,” said Gerutha, watching them play. “What with you teaching him juggling and his father teaching him swordplay.”

“Both useful skills,” said Terence. “With swordplay, you can survive in wars. With juggling, you can survive in taverns.”

“It’s almost as if he has two fathers,” said Gerutha. “He dotes so much upon you.”

“I am merely a friend,” said Terence. “He knows who his father is. He adores him. And you.”

“I wonder if I have been the best mother to him,” she said. “Perhaps I have indulged him, letting him be with you so much.”

“If you consider that an indulgence, so be it,” said Terence. “Have your husband say the word, and I will stop coming here. The children would be disappointed, though.”

“They would get over it,” said Gerutha.

“You seem anxious to have me go,” said Terence.

“I am trying to protect my son,” said Gerutha.

“From me?” laughed Terence. “I am also his protector. I keep his mind from knotting up too tightly.”

“It’s just that,” she said, hesitating for a moment, “you were seen visiting that poor midwife.”

“Her name was Thora,” said Terence. “She complained about always being called the midwife rather than by her actual name. Funny how your profession can disfigure you for life like that. Midwife. Thrall. Fool. Before you know it, everyone’s forgotten your true name, including yourself. Queen is another one like that.”

“Did you kill her?” asked Gerutha.

“I had no reason to, although a fool always lacks reason, so maybe that is no excuse. No, I am no more likely a candidate for the gallows than you are, milady.”

“I am glad to know it, Fool,” she said, turning to leave. Then she turned back. “I wouldn’t become too enamored of this protector role,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I take care of my own.”

“I am certain of that, milady,” he said, bowing.

T
he next day
Gorm walked back from inspecting the northern defenses, which seemed more formidable every time he saw them. Lother seemed as if he wanted to live, to the drost’s relief. He had taken to the wet nurse with enthusiasm, and was considered by her to be a good-natured baby, something Gorm himself felt unqualified to say.

He noticed, as he neared the brickyard, that Reynaldo was walking on a path that would soon intersect his own. The Tuscan nodded curtly at the drost.

“Good morning,” said Gorm in Tuscan.

Reynaldo looked at him in surprise.

“I did not know that you spoke our language,” he said.

“I spent some time there when I was younger,” said Gorm. “I don’t have much of an opportunity to speak it around here.”

“You speak it well,” said Reynaldo.

“Thank you,” said Gorm. “You speak ours well, too.”

“I do all right,” said Reynaldo, then he stopped, his face turning crimson.

“I thought as much,” said Gorm, switching back to Danish.

“You think you are so smart,” said Reynaldo. “You follow us around, and listen to our conversations, and act like you know everything. Well, I tell you right now that you know nothing.”

“I may know more than you think,” said Gorm. “But if there is any matter on which you would enlighten me, feel free.”

Reynaldo looked around quickly. There was no one else within earshot.

“There is something you might be interested in,” he said. “For a price, I might tell it to you.”

“Or I could torture it out of you for nothing,” said Gorm. “In my present mood, I may do that anyway. I suggest that you start talking before I change my mind.”

“It is information that could put me in grave danger,” said Reynaldo. “And you.”

“Don’t worry about my life,” said Gorm. “I place little value on it. What do you have to say?”

“It is a strange thing, living so far from home,” said Reynaldo, sighing. “I thought when I left Tuscany that the farther north I went, the colder the people would be. But now that I am in Slesvig, I find that the people here are the same as my own. They are fairer, they eat different foods, much worse food in my opinion, but they are still the same. There are passions here, ambitions, love, hatred. I am a passionate man. I left behind a woman that I loved who was forced to marry another. I buried my heart in Tuscany and thought I would never see it again.”

He sighed again. “I say all this to you because I know that you understand great passion. I have seen what you have gone through with the loss of your good wife, may her soul find Heaven. I know that you will understand what a momentous thing it is for me to say that I have found my heart again.”

“Are you saying that you love a maid?” asked Gorm. “Is that what this is all about? Hardly worth payment or torture.”

“It is that, but much more,” said Reynaldo. “I am a constant man. When I have a passion, it is for the person, and for everything around her. I have fallen in love with a Danish maid, and with this country, with these strangely shaped waters and constant winds. And it is because of this love that I now wish to protect what I had been brought here to destroy.”

“I take it that you are not talking about brickmaking anymore,” said Gorm.

“We are the first recruits for what will become a much larger army,” said Reynaldo. “You don’t need so many Tuscans to supervise a kiln. One skilled brickmaker is enough. I know that you have suspected us for some time. Ydu were correct to do so. I could show you where we buried our cache of weapons.”

“But who do you work for?” asked Gorm.

“Surely you have guessed by now,” said Reynaldo. “Who but the man who brought us here?”

“Ørvendil?” said Gorm.

“The same,” replied Reynaldo. “Already, he has begun transferring the men he cannot trust to posts outside of the island. I am surprised that he has not suggested that you leave there yet.”

“Ørvendil,” said Gorm in despair. “But why?”

“A man with an army may do what he wishes,” said Reynaldo. “I was not trained to ask questions. I could make my guesses, but you know your master better than I do.”

“I thought I did,” muttered Gorm. “And now you have come to me because you have had a change of heart.”

“No,” said Reynaldo. “When I came here, I was a heartless man. My heart has not changed so much as it has been rediscovered. Now, I fear bloody war and the death of all that I want to live. I cannot run away and leave my beloved behind again. I cannot afford to spirit her out of here. So, I must change what will happen before it is too late. The only person I could think of coming to with this information was you.”

“Because I am a passionate man,” said Gorm.

“And a brave one. And one who loves his country. And his children.” They walked along in silence, Gorm thinking, Reynaldo watching him think.

“Tell no one else about this,” said Gorm. “I must find out who among my soldiers I may trust. I will get word to a man I know who has the ear of the King. Do not speak to me again.”

“Thank you, milord,” said Reynaldo fervently. “When our first son is born, he shall have your name.”

“No,” said Gorm sadly. “It would be like naming him Judas.”

He turned toward the island. Reynaldo watched him. Then he walked to the house of his Slesvig maid. She was passionate. After he paid her.

V
aldemar read
the letter that Fengi handed to him. Then he reread it.

“I think that we have moved beyond suspicions,” he said.

“Yes, milord,” said Fengi sadly.

“You trust this man?” asked the King.

“You know him as well as I do,” said Fengi. “He fought well for you on Grathe Moor while my brother sat on his fortified island, waiting to see who would win.”

“He stayed because I told him to,” said Valdemar.

“Yes, and with remarkably little protest,” said Fengi. “All I am saying is for a man like Gorm to approach you like this without his masters knowledge…”

“It must be tearing him apart,” said Valdemar.

“He may rather have himself torn apart than see his country suffer the same fate,” said Fengi.

“All right,” said Valdemar. “We will remove Ørvendil from power. But we will do it properly, by Danelaw. We have long delayed the convening of the Slesvig
thing.
I think that it is time we called it.”

“My brother will think that it’s being called to formally elect him,” said Fengi.