An Antic Disposition (14 page)

“Where’s Yorick?” she asked him.

“He went back to watch the
thing,”
said Amleth. “I wish I could see it.”

“Just as well,” said Gerutha. “They are really long, boring ceremonies from what I have heard. I’m tired. I am going to lie down for a while. Wake me when your father comes back.”

“Yes, mother,” he said.

She kissed him, then went inside.

He stood looking at the drawbridge. Then he looked up at the guard standing over it. The guard saw him, then grinned and nodded.

Ø
rvendil caught
up to the fool at the base of the hill.

“Well, Terence?” he said, dismounting. “What do you say now?”

“Maybe Terence shouldn’t be my name either,” said the fool. “I’ve been thinking of changing it.”

“To what?”

“Cassandra,” said Terence, watching the last rays of the sun disappear. There was a roaring noise, and the two men looked up to see flames shoot into the air as the gathered men cheered.

“Let’s go,” said Ørvendil.

T
he elders
of Slesvig and the surrounding villages stood in front of the fire. The oldest stepped forward.

“As our ancestors did, as our children will do, I call upon the men of Slesvig to ascend the Sacred Hill,” he intoned in a hoarse voice. “Are you here, men of Slesvig?”

“We are!” shouted the men.

“As Danelaw sets forth, and by decree of the King, we are gathered to elect one of us to be our ruler. Is there any man here who would assume that great burden?”

“I will,” said Ørvendil, striding into the center of the circle.

“Give us your name, candidate.”

“I am Ørvendil Gervendilson.”

“What are your qualifications?”

Ørvendil turned and faced the assembly.

“For many years I have been the steward of your fortunes, the watcher of your borders, the builder of your defenses, and the protector of your children. I have been placed here at the behest of the man who is now our king, and have his love and trust. I ask that I may continue to serve you.”

The respectful thumping of staves and swords on the ground met this speech, and Ørvendil bowed to the elders.

“Well spoken, milord,” said the leader. “Is there any man who challenges this candidate?”

“I do!” shouted a voice from the back.

There was a murmuring among the men, and a portion of the crowd parted. To the astonishment of everyone but Terence, Fengi strode into the circle.

“State your name,” said the elder.

“Fengi Gervendilson,” he replied.

“What are your qualifications?”

Fengi smiled, and turned to face the crowd.

“My qualifications are that, unlike my brother, I am not a traitor to the crown of Denmark.”

“What?” shouted Ørvendil. “You call me traitor, brother?”

“I do,” he said. “And I have proof of your treachery. Citizens of Slesvig, this man has conspired against the very life of our King. In doing so, he has brought in mercenaries to form the core of an army so that he could set himself up as a king in Slesvig, one to rival Valdemar himself. He has made overtures to the Wends, our sworn enemies, and threatens to bring us into another ruinous civil war not five years after the last tt one.

“Lies!” shouted Ørvendil. “Hideous and base deceptions. Do not believe this man. It is his own ambition that drives this attempt to unseat me.”

“I cannot unseat you,” said Fengi. “You do not possess the throne yet. Not without the consent of the men here.”

“What proofs have you?” demanded the elder.

“A Wendish spy,” said Fengi. “Captured with letters to Ørvendil acknowledging his complicity in this endeavor.”

“An obvious ruse,” said Ørvendil.

“A Tuscan mercenary, disguised as a common brickmaker,” said Fengi. “He has turned on you, my brother, despite your payment. He has revealed the cache of weapons you had buried, deadly seeds awaiting the spring of your ambitions.”

“Nonsense,” said Ørvendil. “None of these is trustworthy. They are not even Danes.”

“There is one more man,” said Fengi. “A Dane. A trustworthy one. Will you hear him, milord?”

“If such a one exists, let him stand before me,” said Ørvendil. “I fear no one.”

“It is I, milord,” said Gorm, stepping beside Fengi.

Ørvendil stared at his drost in shock.

“Et tu,
Brute?” he said softly.

Gorm winced, but stayed by Fengi.

“Well?” demanded Ørvendil. “What do you have to say?”

“I know you to be false,” said Gorm. “I know that you conspired against the life of Valdemar during the civil wars, and that only through my intervention did he live through the night upon his arrival in Slesvig after his flight from Roskilde. I know that you have brought mercenaries into Denmark, and have attempted to sway the loyalties of the Danish soldiers here. I know that you love not our king, and intend to destroy him. I know that you desire nothing less than a throne to sit upon and a crown for your head, and for that you are willing to sacrifice anyone and anything.”

“You know nothing,” growled Ørvendil. “Men of Slesvig, this man is nothing more than a common Judas, seeking to line his pockets with the thirty pieces of silver promised him by my brother. He has recast history in a new mold. It was he who wanted me to slay Valdemar and curry favor with Sveyn. He has been nursing his disappointment well, so that it has grown and flourished. Men of Slesvig, you know me. You must believe me.”

He looked around at the faces, the features harsh in the firelight. They began to swim in front of him. He drew his sword.

“Soldiers,” he cried. “My comrades in arms. Stand by me.”

The soldiers present took up a position behind the drost.

“Gorm, you inspire loyalty even to a perverted cause,” said Ørvendil.

“Give up your sword, milord,” said Gorm.

“Is there no one here who will stand by me?” Ørvendil shouted.

There was silence, then the sound of a single sword being drawn from its scabbard. A small figure emerged from the crowd and walked into the circle to take up a place by Ørvendil.

“Amleth, no,” breathed Terence.

Amleth held his sword in front of him, his weight on his back foot, a flawless copy of his father.

“I stand by you,” he said.

Swallowing hard, Terence stepped into the circle.

“And you, Fool?” asked Ørvendil. “Do you stand by me?”

“I stand by the boy, milord,” said Terence.

Ørvendil knelt to look at his son, placing his hands on Amleth’s shoulders.

“I have never been prouder of you nor loved you more than I do right now,” he said. “But this is not your battle. Not yet. Fool, I invoke your promise to me.”

“Yes, milord,” said Terence. “Come, Amleth.”

“No,” said Amleth. “I am staying with my father.”

“Go, son,” said Ørvendil, rubbing his eyes. “That’s an order.”

Amleth sheathed his sword, looking up defiantly at the wall of men surrounding him. Then he surrendered himself to Terence, who picked him up and carried him out of the circle.

Ørvendil held his sword aloft.

“I call upon the ancient Danelaw,” he said. “I stand ready to meet my challenger here and now. Trial by combat, brother.”

Fengi drew his sword and walked toward him.

“I accept,” he said.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?” said Ørvendil, softly so that only the two of them could hear.

“For a long time now,” replied Fengi.

“You never could beat me,” said Ørvendil, bringing his sword back and his free hand up in front of him.

“You’ve grown soft and complacent, brother,” said Fengi, his sword waving slowly back and forth. “You are not the swordsman you think you are.”

The faces of the men in the circle were a blur in the distance to Ørvendil. All he saw was his brother, silhouetted against the bonfire. He stepped to his left, his sword coming up to chest level.

From the edge of the circle, Amleth watched, held by Terence. The fool had thought of taking the boy out of there, but knew that no matter what happened, Amleth must see it or forever hate the world for hiding it from him.

“Father will win,” said the boy confidently. “You’ll see.”

Ørvendil did not move with his son’s confidence. He kept blinking, as if something were in his eyes. The noise of the flames was as a roaring of the sea in his head. As he circled around his brother, he stepped awkwardly for a moment in a hole in the ground. Fengi immediately swept his sword across, keeping it low. Ørvendil stepped back hastily, but cursed as the tip of the blade caught his right shin.

“First hit to me,” taunted his brother.

“A scratch,” growled Ørvendil. “Enough playing.”

He attacked, each blow meeting Fengi’s sword with a loud clang. Fengi fought defensively, conservatively, but the onslaught drove him back toward the bonfire. He could not risk glancing behind him to gauge the distance, but the heat and the crackling of the logs were too close for comfort.

“You see?” said Amleth.

Something’s wrong, thought Terence.

Ørvendil had paused, his breath coming heavily. He rubbed his brow with his free hand. Fengi attacked, and Ørvendil’s sword barely parried him in time. The older brother suddenly thrust at the chest of the younger, but Fengi anticipated the move and stepped quickly to the side, with a thrust of his own at Ørvendil’s waist, piercing his stomach just below the breastplate. Ørvendil hacked at the blade with his own, and Fengi’s sword broke at the hilt. The younger man stepped back, drawing his knife from his waist.

“Father!” cried Amleth.

Ørvendil glanced out at the boy and the fool, then pulled the broken blade from his side and threw it into the bonfire. His own sword seemed absurdly heavy in his hand. He raised it and staggered toward his brother, screaming as he came. His legs gave out just before he reached him, and as he fell, Fengi grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and cut his throat.

“No!” screamed Amleth.

Terence picked him up and dashed down the hill.

Fengi looked down at his brother’s body, then picked up his sword and looked out at the
thing.

“Any other candidates?” he asked quietly.

There was silence.

“Then make your election,” he said.

T
erence loped through the darkness
, his long legs putting Slesvig far behind. The boy sobbed as he clung to the fool, riding his shoulders. When they reached a bulge of forest that provided some cover, Terence ducked behind a clump of bushes and sat down for a moment to catch his breath.

“Listen to me,” he said, panting. “Your father charged me with keeping you safe if anything happened to him. I don’t know how far Fengi is taking this, but I have to assume that your life is in danger. I’m getting you to a place where you can be hidden, then I’m going back to Slesvig to find out what’s going on.”

“What about my mother?” sniffled the boy.

Terence hesitated.

“I hope that she’s all right,” he said. “Was she still at the island?”

“Yes,” said Amleth.

“How did you manage to sneak out without her noticing?”

“She went to lie down after father left,” the boy explained. “The guard at the gate knew I wanted to see the
thing.
He let me go.”

“I’m sorry,” said Terence. “It was a terrible thing for you to see, and you may have put yourself in danger by standing up for your father like that.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “But it was brave and wonderful of you, Amleth. You made your father proud. I know that.”

He stood up and beckoned to the boy.

“Remember what I once told you about being silent?” he whispered. Amleth nodded, and the fool placed him back on his shoulders.

He ran into the night.

T
he soldiers
at the island listened with varying degrees of shock, anger, and grudging acceptance as Gorm told them what had transpired at the
thing.
When Fengi rode in, they stood at attention and saluted him. He leapt from his horse and strode to the rear of the island.

He didn’t knock when he entered Ørvendil’s quarters. He walked by Lother’s cradle and the sleeping Alfhild and up the steps to the room of his late brother. He stopped, seeing the nude form of his sister-in-law, the thin blanket covering it rising and falling slighdy. He sat by her head and stroked her hair lightly. She stirred, then settled back to sleep.

He chuckled softly, then took her chin in his hands and shook her, first gendy, then with increasing force until her eyes opened and focused on him in confusion.

“Fengi?” she said.

“The same,” he replied. “I have come to bring you some news.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Your husband is dead,” he said. “At my hands.”

She sat up suddenly, the blanket sliding from her. He gawked for a moment, then recovered. She looked at him steadily.

“You know my conditions,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” he said, taking her in his arms. “And I welcome them.”

T
erence stood
at the edge of the river, trying to gauge its depths in the darkness.

“I wish that old Gustav had built his bridge here,” he muttered.

He looked down at the sleeping child at his feet, then pulled a piece of cord from one of his pouches. He sat by Amleth, crossed the boy’s wrists, and tied them together. Amleth woke as he finished, saw that he was bound, and started to scream. Terence quickly clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth.

“Quiet!” he commanded. “We are on the wrong side of the river from where we need to be, and there is no safe crossing for us. There’s nothing to do but to swim for it. I tied your hands so that you could hang on to me better. I am going to uncover your mouth. Will you remain silent?” The boy nodded. Terence let him go, then hauled him to his feet and picked him up. Amleth swung onto the fool’s back and placed his hands over Terence’s head.

“Don’t strangle me, boy,” warned Terence. “Or it will be a watery grave for both of us.”

He waded into the river until the water was up to his waist, then lunged forward, kicking hard. He was a good swimmer from childhood on, and had kept it up most days in the fjord, to the amusement of the town children and the irritation of the fishermen. He had taken Amleth on his back more than once, but this was different, laden as they were with clothes, bundles, and weapons. The currents were tricky. Terence was dragged and turned around more than once, but there was enough of a moon out for him to keep his bearings. After about fifteen minutes, he was able to drag himself and the boy onto the opposite bank.

“I’m glad I left my lute at the tavern,” he said as he untied the boy. “I’d never get it in tune after this.”

Amleth’s teeth were chattering. Terence, who was no drier or warmer, hugged him hard and rubbed his limbs. He took a wineskin from his waist and pulled out the stopper.

“Here,” he said, offering it to the boy. “Pray that it is wine rather than river, or we will have to send to Cana for a miracle.”

The boy swigged it, then lurched forward and spewed everything left in his stomach onto the ground.

“Well done,” said Terence cheerfully. “I was wondering when you would get around to that.”

The boy looked up at him mournfully.

‘Come on,” said Terence. “Wash your mouth out, and we’ll move on. It isn’t far, but we need to get you to a warm fire.”

“No more fires,” said Amleth, taking the fool’s hand.

They reached Magnus’s farm long after midnight. As Terence neared the farmhouse, a pair of hounds started barking, charging him as they did so. They scented the fool before they reached him, and knew him as a friend. The boy clung to Terence’s leg as the two dogs nosed him curiously.

“Who’s there?” called Magnus, standing in the door with a lantern in one hand and an old spear in the other.

“It’s me,” said Terence. “I need help.”

“Who’s that with you?” asked the farmer, peering at Amleth.

“A boy,” said Terence. “He needs help, too.”

“’’iou had better come in, then,” said Magnus. He went inside.

“Who is he?” asked Amleth.

“A friend,” said Terence. “Now, I want you to listen to me carefully. I am going to leave you with him and return to Slesvig. If I am not back by sunset, assume that your safety cannot be guaranteed there. Make for Ribe. There’s a fool there named Kanard. When you see him, tell him…” He hesitated. “Tell him
‘stultorum numerus.’
He will say
‘injxnitus est
.’ These are the passwords from one fool to another. He’ll take care of you.” He fumbled at his waist for his purse and handed it to him. “That should be enough to get you there.”

“But then what?” asked Amleth.

“Make for England,” said Terence.

The boy slept, and the two men sat nearby and watched him. Terence related the evening’s events to the farmer.

“If what you say is true, then your own life may be forfeit the moment you step foot in town,” said Magnus.

“Seems likely,” agreed Terence. “Nevertheless, I have to find out what’s going on, especially with his mother. He must know that.”

“How did the town turn on Ørvendil so readily?” asked Magnus. “Especially his own soldiers.”

“He had Gorm arrange the assembly,” replied Terence. “Gorm must have handpicked every man there. Ørvendil never had a chance.”

“Yet it was his brother who killed him, not the
thing,”
said Magnus. “That puzzles me. Fengi is a capable soldier, no question, but I have never heard that he was his brother’s equal with a sword.”

“Neither have I,” agreed Terence. “But Ørvendil wasn’t himself tonight. He fought like a sleepwalker. I wonder what affected him like that.”

Amleth’s eyes opened for a moment, then closed again.

“It makes no difference anymore,” said Magnus. “He wasn’t himself. Now, he isn’t anything. God have mercy on his soul. You look done in. Grab yourself some sleep. I’ll keep watch with the dogs.”

“Thank you,” said Terence. “Thank you for everything.”

“No one should be killing children,” said Magnus. He picked up his spear and went outside.

“
D
id
you find that fool and the boy yet?” asked Fengi.

“Not yet,” said Gorm miserably. “So many people ran in so many directions last night that it was impossible to trace his tracks. I’ve sent patrols in every direction.”

“Good,” said Fengi. “His mother will be frantic if we don’t find him soon.”

“How did she take it?” asked Gorm.

Fengi snorted for a moment.

“She took it well enough,” he said. “Don’t worry about her.”

“But..” Gorm began in confusion.

“Fengi,” cried Gerutha, running out of the great hall. “I can’t find Amleth anywhere.”

“I know,” he said, taking her hands in his. “We’re looking for him. I’ve sent patrols out in every direction.”

“Why isn’t he here?” she demanded. “How could you let him slip out like that?”

“Now, my dear, the boy is understandably upset,” he said, leading her back into the hall.

Gorm watched them in astonishment.

“Doesn’t seem to be mourning much, does she?” said Lars, his captain.

“They are all whores, no matter how fancy the trappings,” spat Gorm. “Each and every one of them.”

He stormed off.

“Amen, and thank God for it,” said Lars, and the soldiers laughed.

A
lfhild sat watching
the wet nurse feed her brother. She was hungry. In all of the morning’s excitement, no one had bothered to feed her. She didn’t know what was going on. When she woke up at dawn, she heard noises from the upper room. That wasn’t unusual. She was used to hearing Ørvendil and Gerutha making those noises. But although she recognized Gerutha’s noises, the man was different. She crept upstairs just as that brother of Ørvendil’s opened the door while throwing his cloak on. They looked at each other in surprise.

“So, you are the one I heard coming up,” he said, kneeling to face her.

She nodded.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” he said, patting her head. “You look like your mother.”

She nodded again, her thumb in her mouth. Behind him, she could see Gerutha asleep.

“Where’s Ørvendil?” she asked.

“He’s not here anymore,” said Fengi. “I am.”

“Oh,” she said, and went back downstairs.

Now, she sat by her brother, who didn’t even know enough to know that things were different. Through the window she could see the soldiers running more than they usually did. She realized that she hadn’t seen Amleth this morning. Or Yorick. They could explain things to her, especially Yorick. It was strange for them to be out this early in the morning, but maybe they had gone fishing. She decided to go out and wait for their return.

She cut through the great hall. Gerutha and Fengi were in there. Gerutha was yelling something about an agreement, something about Amleth being missing. Fengi kept nodding. She wondered why Ørvendil wasn’t there. Maybe he was out looking for Amleth. That’s what fathers were supposed to do when children got lost.

There was a commotion by the gate as she came out of the great hall. She went over to a corner by one of the barracks and watched. Soldiers on horses were dragging in somebody in a net. When the horses halted, the person in the net rolled a few feet, then tried to stand up. A soldier went over to the man in the net and kicked him hard. The man fell down.

Her father walked up to the man, his sword in his hand, looking very angry. He was angry a lot, ever since her mother died. She had often tried to comfort him, but every time she hugged him or sat in his lap, he would push her away and say mean, horrible things. She wondered what the man in the net had done to make her father so angry. He was kicking the man in the net, too. She had never seen him do that to anyone. She inched closer, then with a small shriek saw that the man in the net was Yorick.

“Where is he?” shouted Gorm. “Talk.”

“My dear Appollonius,” gasped Terence, struggling to his feet. “For so many years, you have begged me to shut up. Now that I finally have, you want me to speak. Make up your mind for once.”

“Tell me where Amleth is, or I will rip out your tongue,” said Gorm.

“A counterproductive measure, don’t you think?” replied Terence, then he spat blood as the drosts fist crashed into his jaw. “I had no idea how much you enjoyed this sort of thing.”

“I will put myself into the very ecstasy of torture if you don’t tell me where to find the boy.”

“I speak only to Ørvendil’s brother,” said Terence. “Not his brother’s fool.”

Gorm turned nearly purple and raised his sword. Before she even knew what she was doing, Alfhild ran forward.

“Don’t hurt him!” she screamed, clinging to her father.

He looked down at her, then back at the fool.

“Have you turned even my daughter against me?” said Gorm.

“She lacks your capacity for betrayal,” replied Terence. “She is trying to save you from yourself, Signor Appollonius. Listen to her.”

Gorm felt his rage draining, replaced by a dull weariness. He sheathed his sword.

“Get the Duke,” he said. One of his men went running.

“Oh, was there an election?” asked Terence innocently. “I missed that part. Must have been right after the murder.”

“Father?” said Alfhild, still hanging on to Gorm’s leg.

He pried her off, then handed her to Lars.

“Take her back to my quarters,” he ordered. “Wait with her there. I don’t want her to see any more of this.”

Lars led Alfhild away.

“Judas had no family, as I recall,” said Terence pleasantly. “That must have made things easier for him.”

“hou’re making things easier for me every time you open your mouth,” said Gorm.

Fengi came out and stood in front of Terence.

“Well?” he said.

“Where’s Gerutha?” asked Terence. “Is she alive?”

“See for yourself,” said Fengi, beckoning for her to come out.

She walked forward, looking at Terence with hatred.

“Where is Amleth, Fool?” she asked.

Terence looked at her, then at Fengi.

“Milady, I am glad to see you well,” he said, managing to bow despite the net. “My condolences on your loss.”

“Where is my son?” she screamed.

“Alive and safe,” replied Terence. “I take care of my own.”

“Tell us where he is, Fool,” said Fengi.

“Not until I know that he will live,” said Terence.

“And if I have the information tortured out of you?” asked Fengi.

“I will die first,” replied Terence. “Amleth will be on his way out of the country before you get anything out of me. The arrangements have already been made. Only I can stop them.”

“He’s bluffing,” said Gorm.

Fengi walked around the fool, examining him. Terence ignored him, even when Fengi put a sword to his neck.

“Speak, Fool,” he said.

“Whose sword is that?” asked Terence, “”four brother broke yours last night. You have taken everything else that belonged to him. Is that his as well?”

Fengi grabbed Terence’s neck.

“What do you want? Money?” he said.

“I want your oath in front of everyone here that you will guarantee Amleth’s life,” shouted Terence. “Nothing else.”

Fengi stepped back and swung the sword with all of his might. Gerutha screamed, and every man present flinched.

Except for Terence, who stood calmly as the net separated around him.

“A good trick,” he said. “Ym missed your calling. You should have been an entertainer.”

Fengi walked back to Gerutha and took her hand.

“To assure an easy transition, I have agreed to take my brother’s widow to wife,” he said.

“Given the family alliances that she brings to the table, a powerful match,” said Terence.

“Do you really think that I would let any harm come to her son?” asked Fengi.

“Did you love your mother?” asked Terence. “For you killed her son last night. I take little stock in blood ties in this part of the world.”

“But you would trust my oath?” asked Fengi.

Terence spread his arms and indicated the soldiers surrounding them. “I trust the soldiers,” said Terence. “Make your oath to them, and they shall be honor bound to enforce it.”

There was a murmur of approval at this.

“Very well,” said Fengi. He stuck the sword in the ground and knelt before it. “I swear on the honor of all the soldiers present that I shall guarantee the life of Amleth, or my own blood be forfeit by their swords. Will that suffice?”

“It will,” said Terence. “Now, get me a fast horse.”

“Where is the boy?” asked Fengi, rising to his feet.

“I will return with him,” said Terence. “But I am weary. I need a horse, and I want no one to follow me. Is that understood?”

“Give him a horse,” commanded Fengi, and a soldier took Terence by the arm and led him away.

“When he returns with the boy, I want the fool’s throat slit,” said Fengi to Gorm.

“No,” said Gerutha. The other two looked at her. “Amleth has lost his father, and will take our alliance ill. If he loses Terence as well right now, it may destroy him. I can’t let that happen. Let him have this fool until he’s older. Then do what you want.”