The iron lance cc-1

by Stephen Lawhead

  Two long black boards on trestles ran side-by-side the length of the hall to end at a third, shorter board before the hearth. Both long tables had benches either side, but the short table had benches only on the side nearest the hearth. Iron sconces lined either wall, and iron candletrees and candleholders of various kinds were scattered around the room in profusion. New straw had been laid on the floor, filling the room with the fresh scent of the field.

  'The hall is being readied for the feast,' said a soft voice behind him.

  Murdo turned quickly. 'Ragna, I -

  It was not Ragna who stood before him, however, but one of the servingmaids: slight and dark, her hair pulled back and bound in a length of white cloth. She was holding a trencher on which lay a small loaf of bread and bowl of salt. 'You are to sup in my lady's chamber tonight,' the maid explained cheerfully.

  'I see,' he replied.

  The two stood for a moment looking at one another, and Murdo, unused to such bold scrutiny from female servants, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  'You are Murdo,' the maid informed him.

  'Yes.'

  'I am called Tailtiu,' she said. 'I serve Mistress Ragna, and my mother served Lady Ragnhild-until she has died two years ago.

  One day, Mistress Ragna will be a lady, and I will serve her just like my mother before me, you see.'

  'Yes,' Murdo answered; then, fearing he was repeating himself, added, 'I see.'

  'You are from Dyrness,' the maid blithely continued, 'and your father is one of Jarl Erlend's noblemen-just like Lord Brusi.'

  'He is that.'

  'Lord Brusi and his sons has gone on the pilgrimage to the Holy Land with your father and brothers,' she said, warming to the discussion. 'You were not allowed to go, for you has not taken arms yet, for all you are too young.'

  'I am sixteen summers now,' Murdo announced haughtily. He stared hard at the impertinent creature, and wondered how she had come by her information and whether he should send her away. But she was not his to command, so he stood firm and hoped his scowl would drive her off.

  'Mistress Ragna is good to me,' Tailtiu continued. 'She is very beautiful, too, and she has given me many gifts, for I am her maid.'

  'So you have said,' replied Murdo.

  'You do not look like a Dane,' the maid observed.

  'My father's line is descended from Sigurd the Stout,' Murdo declared. 'My mother's people are blood kin of King Malcolm of Scotland.'

  'My father was a Dane, too,' the girl countered, as if the illustrious Sigurd were no more to her than an itinerant farmhand. 'My mother was of the Irish. She was brought here as a wee girl no bigger than a cricket – is what she used to say. One day I will go to Ireland, too. They say it is a fine land-an island, it is, and much bigger than all of Orkneyjar.'

  'That is what they say,' agreed Murdo wearily.

  Footsteps in the vestibule alerted them just then, and they turned to see Ragna approaching. 'There you are, Tailtiu,' she chided. 'I am certain Master Murdo has better things to do than listen to your chatter all night.'

  'Yes, Mistress Ragna,' Tailtiu said, not chastened in the least.

  'I will take this,' Ragna said, reaching for the tray, 'and you can return to the kitchen.'

  Ragna took the tray and the maid departed, casting a lingering mischievous glance at Murdo as she went. 'The chamber is ready,'

  Ragna told him, moving towards the door. 'You can come in if you like.'

  'Thank you,' he said, following her.

  Ragna turned and met him at the threshold with the trencher of bread and salt. 'You must take a bit of bread and dip it in the salt,' Ragna explained. 'It is the custom of the king's court.'

  Murdo pinched a chunk of bread from the loaf and pressed it into the salt. He held it for a moment, uncertain what to do next. 'And then?' he asked.

  'You must eat it,' Ragna answered. The laughter in her voice charmed rather than shamed him, and he laughed, too.

  'Why must I eat it?' he asked, to prolong the pleasantry.

  'It is a sign of hospitality by which honoured guests are received in this house,' she told him. 'My father learned of it in King Olaf's court.'

  Murdo put the bread into his mouth, and Ragna indicated that he should go into the room. He stepped across the threshold, and caught the warm scent of her as he passed-slightly sweet, like heather, or a spice of some kind. She followed him into the chamber, which had been transformed into a dining room. A table had been set up before the hearth, where a fire now crackled, making the room warm and welcoming.

  Ragna placed the trencher on the table, and turned to the hearth where a pitcher and cups were waiting. She took up one of the cups, and brought it to Murdo. 'A drink while you wait,' she said.

  Murdo sniffed the warm liquid and caught the same scent of spice which he had smelled on Ragna, though he did not know what it might be. He put the cup to his lips and sipped. It was metheglin, and although Murdo had drunk it but twice in his life before now, he pronounced it very good indeed. His commendation brought a smile to Ragna's lips. 'Did you make this?' he asked.

  'I did,' she answered. 'How did you know?'

  Lady Ragnhild entered the chamber at that moment, and Murdo turned to greet her. She joined them at the hearth and accepted a cup from her daughter. 'I see Ragna has made you properly welcome,' she said. 'As the hall is being prepared for the Easter festivities, I thought we might enjoy ourselves better here.'

  'It is a good room,' Murdo agreed, then remembering his manners, he lifted his cup. 'Here's health to you, my lady.'

  They drank together, and Murdo, the temporary lord, felt pleased with his thoughtfulness. When Lady Niamh joined them a few moments later, he proposed her health as well, and the evening began. Tailtiu and one of the kitchen servants brought a succession of dishes to the table, beginning with braised fish, and then roast fowl and turnips. There was ale to drink, and flat bread, both soft and hard.

  Over meat, the formality of their reception fell away, inspiring in Murdo the hope that he would not be suffocated by the strictures of polite custom. When talk turned to the absent lords, his mother said, 'I am most eager to hear how you have fared since your menfolk left. It cannot be easy for two women alone.'

  'No,' allowed Ragnhild, 'but I am growing used to the extra demands. The vassals undertake the difficult chores, of course, and we have many loyal servants. It is not easy, no, but we are making our way.'

  'It is the same with us,' Niamh said, and went on to explain how they had worked themselves half to death during harvest time. Murdo listened happily to his mother's account, luxuriating in her luminous appraisal of his many labours and successes.

  After that, talk passed to other things and the evening proceeded pleasantly. When they finally rose from the board, the candles had burned down, and the fire was a heap of embers on the hearth. Taking a taper from the nearest sconce, Ragna led them up the spiral steps to their rooms and bade them a pleasant and restful sleep, before disappearing into her own room. Only then did Murdo realize he had said none of the things to Ragna that he had wanted to say.

  He bade his mother a good night and went into his room. The candles in their sconces were lit, and a fire burned brightly on the hearth. The servants had placed a candletree beside his bed, and Murdo sat on the stool before the hearth and pulled off his boots, vowing not to let another day go by before he found a way to get Ragna to himself alone. But the next day the household was upside down in preparation for the impending celebration, and the day after that was Passion Day, a fast day, and the beginning of the Eastertide observances; everyone spent, as it seemed to Murdo, the entire day in the little chapel the monks maintained on the island. If not for the ride to and from the chapel, Murdo would likely not have had a single opportunity to see Ragna at all. The next day was also a fast day, so there were no meals to be taken and, as Murdo himself was now fully occupied with helping prepare for the feast, he had to content himself with the few glimpses he got of her as
they went about their respective chores.

  Thus, it was not until Easter day that he found the opportunity to speak to Ragna at length again-and then the house was awash with the boisterous tide of kinsmen and friends which had swept over Cnoc Carrach, and it was impossible for Murdo to see her alone. Some of Ragna's female cousins had come to partake of the festivities, so he had to content himself with sitting across the board from them and exchanging mild pleasantries of only the most general and insipid kind.

  After the first of several meals had been served, however, many of the younger people, having taken the edge off their hunger, went out in search of diversion. Some had begun a game of skilty in the yard, and Murdo wandered out to see how they fared. He had played skilty from the time he was a child, and now considered himself above its modest pleasures. Still, as the rest of the young people were making such a fuss about it, he decided to join in, and even caught two of the fleeing hares before he saw Ragna watching him from the doorway of the cookhouse behind the kitchen. She motioned him to her before disappearing inside.

  Murdo played but a moment or two longer, and then allowed himself to be caught and removed himself from the ring of participants. Then, with the stealth of a hunter, he stalked across the yard to the cookhouse and slipped unseen through the door.

  The interior of the hut was warm and smelled of bread. Ragna was standing at a large table, shaping a great mound of butter with a small wooden paddle. She glanced up as he came to the board, and smiled. 'Good Easter to you, Murdo,' she purred lightly, drawing the paddle across the pale yellow mound. He thrilled to the sound of her voice.

  'Good Easter, Ragna,' he said, promptly forgetting all the things he had planned to say to her when they were alone again.

  'Are you enjoying the feast?' she asked, after a moment.

  'Aye,' he replied. 'It is a fine feast-passing fine.' He looked at her for a moment, dressed in a new rose-coloured mantle, her golden hair brushed until it gleamed, plaited with threads of silver into a thick braid which hung over one slender shoulder. She was a very vision, he thought, of beauty and womanly perfection.

  He took a step towards her and she met him. They stood looking at one another for a long moment, neither speaking, and then Ragna placed the butter paddle on the table, and Murdo, his hand nearby, moved his fingers to meet hers. It was only a fleeting brush, but Murdo felt as if his fingertips had been singed in the flame that was kindled in that touch.

  Ragna gave a little gasp of surprise, but her eyes never left his face. Her wide-eyed stare drank in his features and his heart beat fast to see the love and desire glowing there. He knew he should speak, but could think of nothing to say. 'I, ah-I mean, Ragna, I -' he began, badly.

  She raised a slim finger to his lips. 'Shh,' she whispered, 'say nothing… my love…' The last words were spoken with the lightest exhalation of breath, so faint as to be inaudible, yet Murdo heard them as if she had shouted from the hilltop.

  Transfixed by the moment, they stood without moving, the heat from their bodies burning across the small distance between them. Murdo wanted nothing more than to fold her into his arms and carry her away with him-to a place where they could be together always and for ever. She drew her face nearer; her lips readied for a kiss…

  The door to the cookhouse opened just then, and one of the kitchen maids entered, saw them standing together and said, 'Ufda! Oh, it is you, Mistress Ragna, I was -'

  'Here now,' said Ragna, bending quickly to the butter dish, 'it is heavy though. Mind you do not drop it.' So saying, she lifted the small mountain of butter and placed the dish in Murdo's hands. 'Hurry! They are waiting for it in the kitchen.'

  Murdo took the dish and carried it to the door, moving past the maid, who turned and held the door open for him. The last thing he heard as he stepped outside was Ragna telling her maid, 'Run ahead of him and see the kitchen door is opened so he does not put the dish aside. The blame is yours if it gets so much as one fleck of dust on it. Go now!'

  That was the only time Murdo spoke to Ragna alone for the remainder of their stay. A few days later, he and his mother joined Peder and Hin at the wharf where their boat was waiting for the return voyage home. Lady Ragnhild, her daughter, and a few servants accompanied their departing guests down to the cove to bid them fare well and see them away. There were two other boats in the cove, waiting to make sail, and Peder, anxious to cast off, called Murdo into the boat the moment his feet touched the planking.

  The two women embraced one another and made their farewells. Ragnhild, smiling happily, said, 'Truly, it was good to have you here, Nia. I would invite you to join us for midsummer, but our husbands will no doubt have returned by then.'

  'No doubt,' agreed Niamh. 'Even so, we can persuade them to observe the festivities together. And this time, you must come to us and allow us to return the hospitality we have so enjoyed.'

  Murdo, preparing to cast off, heard this and looked up to see what Lady Ragnhild's response would be. Say yes, he thought, his heart quickening at the thought that in just a few months he would see Ragna again.

  'Very well,' agreed Ragnhild, 'it is decided.' She and Niamh embraced one another warmly, whereupon Niamh took her place in the boat and Peder gave the nod to Hin and Murdo to cast off. The boat slid away from the wharf and Peder, working the tiller oar, turned the vessel with practiced ease.

  Murdo took up his oar, and looked one last time to where Ragna stood; as the boat swung about, he saw her raise a hand to her lips, and then toward him in farewell-a brief gesture for him alone. He lifted a hand from the oar and returned her farewell, his heart soaring.

  Until midsummer, he thought, feeling the delicious ache of anticipation begin again. He pulled hard on the oar, watching the slender white figure on the wharf until the black shoulder of the headland took her from view. And then, as Hin raised the sail, Murdo shipped his oar and filled his mind with Ragna's image even as the wind filled the white expanse of cloth.

  NINE

  Murdo stood on the clifftop, gazing down at Hrafnbu in the near distance. The sun was low, and the shadow of the long hill to the west cast most of the yard in darkness. There was no one about. Though all was quiet and, apparently, in order, the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

  His mother, coming up behind him, saw him halt on the path. 'Murdo?' she said. 'What do you see?'

  When he did not reply, she asked again, and this time he turned to her and said, 'Someone is at the house.'

  'How do you know?' gasped Lady Niamh.

  'Jotun is not here to greet us,' he replied. Turning to where Peder and Hin were working with the boat on the beach below, he shouted down to them, 'Peder, keep the boat ready! Hin, come with me!'

  Niamh clutched at his sleeve. 'Murdo, take care!'

  'I will, Mam,' he promised. 'Stay here with Peder until I return.'

  'I will go with you.'

  'Stay here, Mother,' he insisted, removing her hand gently from his arm. 'We will just go and see, and then come back.'

  Niamh relented. 'Very well, but look you be careful, son.'

  Hin joined them then. 'Follow me,' Murdo commanded, and the two of them set off at an easy loping run, skirting the path and coming at the house from across the empty field behind.

  Niamh stood rooted to the clifftop, watching her youngest son as he ran, unarmed, into danger, and wondering when he had grown so tall and strong.

  Peder called up from the beach to know what was happening, and she told him simply to wait, and then whispered to herself, 'Holy Michael, Angel of Might, guard my son with your fiery sword. Shield him, guide him, and lead him safely back.' She then made the sign of the cross, and folded her arms over her breast to wait.

  Upon coming within shouting distance of the house, Murdo and Hin crouched down and proceeded slowly towards the first of the farm's outbuildings, alert to the slightest sign of trouble. They reached the tool hut without incident and, crawling cautiously around the side, entered the yard.

  They ha
lted at the edge of the hut, and waited for a moment, watching and listening. The house was quiet, and there did not seem to be anyone about. 'This way,' whispered Murdo and, flitting from the tool hut to the barn, disappeared inside.

  The barn was dark and quiet, and Murdo had no sooner stepped inside than he caught a familiar, sick-sweet scent. Hin, darting in behind him, took a breath and whispered, 'Blood.'

  Yet, there did not seem to be anything amiss. They moved silently to the great barn door, which was closed. Putting his face to a gap between door and post, Murdo looked out. The yard was empty still. He pushed through the breach and stood watching the house for any movement while Hin squeezed through behind him.

  'They must be inside,' Murdo said softly. 'You stay here. I will go-'

  He saw Hin's face freeze, and turned to see what had drawn his attention. Hanging on the door behind them was the body of a man. The wretch had been stabbed in the belly and chest, and then nailed to the door and left to bleed to death in agony.

  Murdo moved to the corpse, stretched his hand towards a pale limb. The flesh was cold and hard, not like skin at all. He bent down and looked up into the dead man's features.

  'It is Fossi,' said Hin, his voice hollow.

  Murdo looked at the face, frozen in its final anguish, mouth open, eyes staring, and confirmed that it was indeed Fossi. The front of his siarc was black, and stiff with dried blood. There were wounds in both arms and legs and where the nails had gone in.

  'He was still alive when they hung him here,' Murdo concluded sadly.

  'What should we do?' asked Hin, his voice growing small and frail. Turning his eyes from the corpse, he glanced quickly around the yard.