As each man considered his choices, the lamentations of the psalmists and choristers drifted to them on the wind.
“If it is hopeless, why are we standing here?” Rohkia demanded.
"Because I have a plan that will assure our victory and take the Crown from the Sveinnaettir forever," Jakob clenched his fist. Saying those words aloud to a like minded crowd was a catharsis unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Ofbradh gave a sinister grin.
Manasse let a guffaw of happy surprise.
Vieno gasped and crossed himself.
Rokhia stood dumbfounded.
"Ahhh…” Vraeidhur breathed, appreciating Jakob’s revelation. “That is why.”
"Stop," Kollin interrupted, holding up a finger which he slowly shook in turn at everyone present. "Before you say another word, Jakob, I want to know that everyone here is committed to silence. If anyone does not wish to be part of this, leave now and hold your peace. If anything is said, all of us will know who spoke and revenge will be swift." His dark eyes swept the rest. Rohkia unconsciously took a step back from that gaze when it rested on him too long. No one moved toward the stairs.
"Then I am with you,” Kollin declared, looking at Jakob.
“As am I, my friend,” Ofbradh pledged.
Manasse nodded and crossed his arms.
"And Mother Mary is with us, too," Vieno reminded.
Rohkia groaned and looked up in exasperation but stayed put.
"Greithr,” Kollin concluded. “Till now, this has just been angry talk. A venting of spleens. By staying, you are swearing yourselves, your lands and your aettirs to this treason against the Halmarpakt. You are also swearing to undertake all actions needed to succeed in our plot. From here forward, there is no turning back.”
No one spoke or moved.
“Succeed or die,” Manasse declared. “I like things clear cut.”
“Jakob, tell us your plan," Vraeidhur coaxed.
"I was blessed with a report from a well placed and reputable spy who gives us the chance to remove the Crown from the Sveinnaettir and give it to someone more deserving," Jakob said, his eyes a-twinkle.
“Oh!” Vieno was beside himself. “To have the curse broken? Dear Mary, Mother of God, dare it be true? Will your true chosen finally have his Crown?” His eyes pinched shut, hands clasped touching his lips in prayer.
“What is this word of knowledge you prize so highly?” Vraeidhur asked warming to the conspiracy.
“I know where the Tronerving is," a wolfish smile crawled over Jakob's lips, "and I know that his little misadventure is about to make our dreams possible."
The jarls were rapt with anticipation.
"If the Tronerving never arrives for his coronation, the Statsraad must choose a jarl to take over the Crown."
“You must be able to prove the Tronerving is dead,” Vraeidhur countered. “Otherwise the Visedronning will delay till some other crazed scheme saves their dynasty once again.”
“Easily proven,” Jakob promised. “And if by some fluke of circumstance his corpse cannot be produced, I will have enough evidence to ring true in court. Gregor was not the only man to know what his son has been up to.”
“So the plan is to kill the Tronerving and force the Statsraad to choose another to become Visekonge?” Manasse questioned with a frown.
"The others will demand blood relatives first," Vraeidhur reminded bitterly. “Remember, the Visekonge Hrolleif was dredged up to save the Sveinnaettir last time, and he was directly connected to the dynastic trunk.”
“And he begat Trygg Nyquist to rejuvenate the bloodline. The new branch? Feh! Still part of the same poisonous tree,” Vieno complained about Visekonge Hrollief’s own Tronerving through whom the bloodline would follow till it reached Leif.
“What about marrying the Visedronning?” Vraeidhur asked, a lascivious gleam in his eye. Jakob felt some genuine pity for the idea of the woman being forced to marry that old pervert.
“The power comes through Gregor, and she cannot bear more children,” Manasse reminded them.
“The Lord can open any womb,” Vieno pointed out and received harsh glares from several jarls.
“The Statsraad will stick with what is natural and not gamble on a fool’s chance that God might bless her with another child,” Jakob snapped. What he did not mention was that as Olivr’s mother, any other child would be suspect for the same curse.
Vieno glared back with added interest.
“It only delays the inevitable,” Kollin interrupted. “Once her consort dies with or without an heir, a different Sveinnaettir will be chosen to wear the Crown. The Visedronning is a dead end for our purposes.”
"Will the other jarls obey a different branch of the Sveinnaettir?" Rohkia asked.
“No others have popular support among the Sveinnaettir or the Statsraad. Devoted retainers will protect the Halmarpakt and their place in the Hird no matter who is chosen from the Sveinnaettir. They can be counted on to fight for the status quo," Ofbradh said. "Only a handful of families would dare go against tradition.”
"Greithr. That brings us back to losing a war," Rohkia griped.
"May I explain the second part of my plan before we go too far afield?” Jakob petitioned with a tart snip of the tongue.
The jarls went silent, and Ofbradh gave him a gesture to continue.
“Since we are the majority of the Statsraad, and with Leif gone we have legal right to stand up and choose who wears the Crown, it can be taken away from the Sveinnaettir if there is no acceptable heir available."
“But what about the others who have legitimate claim?” Rohkia all but whined.
“We either force them to abdicate, or we destroy them politically. We have that ability,” Jakob said.
"And give it to someone not spurned by God!" Vieno sighed blissfully. "Finally! God's true chosen on the throne."
"I suppose you believe we will support you in wearing the Crown, Jakob?" Manasse sniped.
"No. I propose we nominate my son, Birgr,” Jakob proclaimed. He is all but betrothed to the Kronadottir, Solveig. My wife has nearly finished negotiating the dowry and bride price. No one else is so close."
"Then why do you need us if your plans are so far along,” Vraeidhur demanded.
"If Leif lives, or dies after he is crowned, Birgr cannot inherit the Crown as Solveig's consort. It would go to one of the other relatives, and we would face a war later rather than sooner," Jakob explained. “But if Leif dies and Birgr is married to Solveig, his claim to the throne is all but assured as Solveig’s child would be the true line to the Crown. Birgr’s son would then inherit the Crown, changing the dynasty from Sveinnaettir to the Vilhoaettir… forever.”
"Essentially we would be your pawns for putting the Crown on Birgr?" Rohkia growled. There was something deeper in the youth’s satisfaction, but Jakob could not decipher what it might be.
"No, not pawns," Jakob said turning to face the angry youth. "Loyal allies who would be richly rewarded." The grin on his face strong enough to curdle blood.
"With what? We know you have no fortune amassed. We would need money to raise an army if the other jarls decided to refuse your son," Rohkia said.
"I will give you treasure from the Visekonge's own secret hordes."
"Secret hordes?" several shocked jarls burst out and within seconds became an angry nattering mass talking over one another. Jakob tried to calm his peers but to no avail. When they lowered to a low sizzle, he spoke.
"Through clandestine means I learned that past Visekonges kept a series of hordes scattered throughout the Union, kept for such days as these. We all know that the Union is in danger from the Skaerslinger. What had been kept hidden from all, save for Gregor's Privy Council, is that the danger is far worse than we imagined. The Union is nearly bankrupt, our armies demoralized and the navy, smashed.”
“And we have heard the rumors from the Kyrkja that God has turned His back on priests who serve the Visekonge. Ragnarites are dying at
an alarming rate,” Vieno added.
“Jah, the Kyrkja is suffering a crisis of spiritual strength against the manitou, as well,” Jakob agreed.
The shock of the revelation left the jarls dumbfounded. They knew of the financial and military crisis, but not the spiritual. Vieno’s face was sour with the truth.
“So the Visekonge sent his son on a secret errand to withdraw some wealth from these hordes and rebuild the Crown’s power. Our wealth actually. If nothing goes wrong, this fortune will be in Dyrrvatn Kastali by the end of next month, and coincide with Leif's coronation, making him so popular as to be unopposable.” Jakob gritted his teeth.
“But if I can... intercept... the treasure," Jakob paused, letting their imaginations run, "I will split the spoils between us, and we will be able to raise armies large enough to challenge the Sveinnaettir and back the appointment of Birgr as Visekonge who would reward you further."
Jakob's audacious plan astonished his peers.
"That is the price for ending the Sveinnaettir dynasty. By a show of force, and no need to draw a blade. You will all be richer and borders will be redrawn.” A greedy gleam flickered in the eyes of the conspirators as they contemplated their new fortunes and power.
“Then, once we have consolidated our new order, we can turn our attention back to the Skaerslinger and purge the Union of their threat forever and ever. Amen."
"Amen," Vieno agreed.
"I do not appreciate being cut out of a chance at the Crown," Vraeidhur said, "but if we can accommodate some of my desires once the throne is in our hands, I am willing."
"No matter what, the Sveinnaettir fall. That is enough for me," Rohkia answered.
"God wills it," agreed Ofbradh in the old crusader fashion.
"I give my pledge," Manasse said. "It is time my people showed their power."
"I can foresee a peerage of seven after all this is done," Kollin said. "There is no way we will be able to let the others live when we succeed." He scanned the other jarl's faces. "I hope all of us here have the will to do what we must. Otherwise, it will be our heads on pikes.” He let that warning sink in.
“Plan your affairs accordingly, my brothers. Hide what you cannot bear to lose and be ready to sacrifice the rest."
"This is our compact and accord. I suggest we meet again on the Amossonkanal. There we will discuss the details."
"Allow me to honor you with hospitality at Nikanaltollbu ," Kollin offered. The toll-house fortress at the base of the Amossonkanal was the well known gateway to the canal. It would serve as an excellent place to fine tune their rise to power.
"Till then, obey the Visedronning's orders and do not depart together. We do not wish any loyalist to become wise to our efforts," Jakob said.
"I will leave tomorrow morning and make Nikanaltollbu ready for you," Kollin agreed, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
"We have much to prepare, so consider your needs wisely. Now is not the time to be greedy. Now is the time for solidarity and cooperation," Jakob said concluding the caucus.
One at a time, they left, descending the stairs to the vigil-packed Domkykrje below. Jakob Vilhoaettir lingered a little as the rest passed out of earshot. His gaze settled on the pyre as its powerful light eclipsed all others in the deep blue gloaming of oncoming night. A smile of victory on his lips.
33. A Much Needed Consultation
The campus of the Koenraadian University consisted of four large buildings that stood in the shadow of the Domkyrkje’s looming towers. The trio of Jan Bjornsson, Aske and Urban enjoyed the cool mid-morning shade, but a warm breeze hinted the overcrowded streets would soon fill with a tear inducing reek from mounds of garbage that had overwhelmed the muckrakers.
Jan chattered non-stop about his breakthrough for a new technique in illuminating texts and the advancements in woodcut printing as he guided them to their meeting. Jan waved a greeting to a student or faculty almost every other sentence without breaking his stream of thought. Urban was amazed as the entire university seemed to know the novice.
Urban found comfort walking among the stately buildings of the university. It was a little more ornate, but less fortified than the Ragnarite Mission where he studied Kyrkja law. A smile crossed his face at the sight of a study group. Young men in their dark brown robes, square mortarboard caps perched jauntily on their heads. They jabbered loudly in badly conjugated Latin and attempted to state their interpretation on the day's lessons to one another as they practiced the language.
Urban hid a smile as he watched Aske, who did his best to conceal his wonderment of the school. The students’ stares and pointing fingers which grated on Urban's nerves never affected the Skaerslinger. Urban struggled with his feelings toward his partner. He could not stop looking at Aske as his inferior in need of protection from what Urban considered the ignorant masses. His inner conflict created shame, which he prayed would not be used by the manitou as a weapon against them.
They entered through the thick wood inlay doors of the library as the Domkyrkje's carillon struck the bottom of the hour. The attending Kyrkjaguard, polearms in hand, stood watch. Inside, the smells of rich wood, paper, iron chains and leather were a heady incense to Urban, and the dim confines glowed from a multitude of oil lamps and candles. A subtle haze of smoke hung in the rafters above. Urban and Aske drank it all in. From the hushed whispers of boys and men studying for their classes to the scratching quills of factors and courtiers. They passed through the main reading room and walked toward the door to the scriptorium.
"Father Tuajaksson is rather curious about your visit," Jan whispered as they approached the door. "Two guests to see Herre Reverend Father," he said to the guard at the door. The man nodded and politely unlocked the bolt.
"With all the violence going on in the streets between the aettirs and questions regarding the rules of succession, we have taken extra measures to protect ourselves," Jan said as the door closed behind them and the bolt clacked shut, sealing them in.
"Understandable," Urban said. "So many seem to believe that because the Tronerving is not at hand, anyone can become Visekonge."
"People are excitable things, are they not?" Jan said, amusement coloring his high tenor voice.
Aske raised his eyebrows and shook his head in mild exasperation.
"Exactly!" chirped Jan at Aske’s reaction.
The three mounted the wooden stairs to the scriptorium which popped and creaked, announcing their arrival more effectively than any herald.
Light flooded the narrow room from extravagant tall windows of plain glass that allowed the illuminators and scribes to see their work without color bias. At night multiple wick lamps would burn under silver reflectors. Money was no object when the needs of the Crown and the Cross were served together. The combined utility made this scriptorium one of the most opulent in the Union.
At the end of the center aisle, between rows of easels and writing tables, sat a single large desk, piled high with books and manuscripts. Loose pages of untrimmed vellum draped over the corners, and a large chandelier of oil lamps was pulled low over the assemblage, adding to the light from the windows. Behind the desk stood a tall bookshelf with several more tomes chained to it. The titles were laid out in haphazard order, Latin mixed with Norroent. Ornate script with plain block letters in shelves that looked like a stack of snaggletoothed grins.
The tonsured head of the man seated there looked up at the sound of approaching feet, fingers holding place in two manuscripts. Thick glasses could not hide the narrow eyes and broad, moon face of the Reverend Father Tuajaksson who looked happy no matter what shape his mouth might take. Aske was taken aback at the man's dark skin and black hair.
"Herre Reverend Father," Jan greeted as he came up to the desk. "Here are the men I told you about."
Jan's superior nodded and then examined his guests.
"Bless those who come in peace," the Reverend Father Tuajaksson said looking at Aske, then Urban.
"Bless all those who labor in
this place," Brother Urban responded in kind. "I am Brother Urban av Hitilopt and this is Herre Aske Rekkersson."
“I would like to thank you both for saving my novice. I almost have him trained to where I can start teaching him about illumination. It is difficult to find those with a zeal to master the craft,” the Reverend Father said, quirking a smile at Jan.
“You are most welcome, Reverend Father,” Urban responded with a light bow.
The Reverend Father Tuajaksson caught Aske staring.
"Inuit," he said answering the unspoken question.
"Pardon?" Urban said.
"My lineage is from Greenland in the Gamleverden. We are distant, distant relations to the Skaerslinger."
Aske smiled and nodded an apology.
"I had no idea there were-" Urban started.
"Not many of us," the Reverend Father admitted. "But a few, here and there among the aettir. Some of us are proud and fight to remain of pure lineage. It has few advantages, but there is a certain pride to be had from standing out in a crowd of blond, pale skinned people."
He paused a moment as Aske, caught off guard by the sentiment, gave an uncontrolled snort of laughter. The Inuit shared a sly grin with him.
"I have been told you have a question of heraldry for me, unrelated to the farce occurring at the Kronapalasset?" the Reverend Father continued.
Urban cleared his throat, glad that Jan had made that particular detail clear.
"Jah. We are hoping you could help us identify a Vapenaettir crest."
"Might I ask to what purpose?" the Reverend Father said giving little brushing flicks of his fingers, dismissing Jan who sat down at a nearby desk and started rummaging through the work there.
"A signet ring was found on an arm. We are hoping to identify the corpse and inform the family of the demise of one of their kin."
"I see," Father Tuajaksson replied. "Why did you not go to the nearest town or kyrkje where the poor soul perished?"
"The man’s body was found on an isolated island with no access to a kyrkje or a copy of the Bok av Familiar. When we did gain access, the copies we were able to use did not have that particular crest listed among them. We thought that perhaps this might be a new, or extinct, aettir that simply was not listed, or that maybe their copy was outdated."
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 22
