"How is this such a big fight?" Urban prodded. "He got what he wanted."
"Uff da, no! That was big, but the biggest was when the Herse told his boy the jarl would take him in. The boy may be dumb, but he knew his father let him get away with all sorts of foolishness that the jarl would not let slide. Jah, jah. They went at it hammer and tongs. It took a long time for the boy to figure out he was out of chances. He had to do as told or dear papa would turn him over to the lynch mob and let them have their way. No matter what, it was the end of the line for him in the aettir. Besides, he were not the eldest, greithr? He were not going to inherit much, and no father would give his daughter to the likes of him. Even the Kyrkja turned its nose up. You know what a strong whiff that is if the Kyrkja refuses to take someone." Tandri laughed.
Urban tasted bile. He knew the kinds of people that the Kyrkja would take. Sometimes it was the right place for absolute monsters to find salvation, other times… it was best not to think about it.
"So his Pa leaves him behind, and the jarl sees what he can do with the boy. The one thing the boy is more than dumb is stubborn. Jarl Olinaettir could not get through that boy’s skull to save him and decides he needs something more. A few months later, this lady shows up. Wife says she was the scariest woman she ever seen. Lightning blue eyes and pale blond hair. Both clergy and hird. Not an hour after she walks in the door, she takes the boy out like a lamb on a leash. But that was not the last anyone saw of the boy."
"How does this all come back to the ring?" Urban encouraged.
"Two year back or so. I seen him along the canal here, sure as you are standing there."
"How did you know it was him?"
“I knew the kid from the feud years back, then when they tied up here. If you ever feud, you get a good memory for your enemy, quick,” Tandri said.
“I mean-”
“How did I know he came back?” Tandri cut him off.
“Jah,” Urban said, crossing his arms trying to follow. “How did you know?”
"When Jarl Olinaettir is gone, I do other odd jobs here and there for other warehouses and ship owners, but when the jarl is back, I come running. The Soliaettir boy, he came in one night on a packet. I was tying her up and saw him get off, acting all funny. You know how it is with some people? You just feel like they are up to no good. This boy had that feeling around him, but that night, it was extra strong, thu vethur. So I followed him."
"Just in case he might be easily taken care of?" Urban said with a conspiratorial smirk.
"No, no, not like that. Thought crossed my mind, but that feud is lost. This boy was doing more hurt to the Soliaettir alive than I ever could by killing him. I just wanted to stay close and listen.”
"Go on," Urban encouraged. The quay was now empty as the stevedores and servants had retired back to the mansion or their posts.
"I expected him to go to Jarl Vilhoaettir's mansion, but he never did. Nor did he go near the Kyrkja. I thought maybe he was doing something for the woman who took him away the last time my wife saw him. Instead, he went to a meadhall. Met with some rough looking fellows, and a fight broke out. This boy, mind you. He were a big enough man, but nothing you would step aside for, greithr? He killed all three, in front of an entire meadhall full of people, barehanded, and walked out. Not a single person, save for me remembered that was how they died."
Aske's eyes narrowed while Urban's got very wide.
"How is it that you remembered all this when no one else did?" Urban suspected he was being fed a story.
"You need a long memory these days. I think it was my hate for them Soliaettir what did it. Whatever deviltry he did could not wipe my memory. I knew this might be important some day. So I remembered. "
"So I see," Urban said, nodding.
"Then he leaves, like nothing happened, and drifts on back down to the docks and boards the same packet steamknarr that was ready to leave and that was it. When I asked the agent where the ship was going, he said Ulfhaugrstrond by special charter. So maybe the boy got himself some work in the Kyrkja after all? What do you think, inquisitor?"
"I think you might want to keep quiet about this, my son," Urban said.
"Is that information good for you?" Tandri asked.
"You said this was two years ago?" Something in Urban’s memory was howling.
"About that. It was early in the shipping season."
"Do you know the name of the ship that he sailed on?"
"Thu vethur, I do," Tandri said with a broad smile. "She was the Giptumathr."
A chill shot up Urban's spine and to the top of his head. In his mind’s eye, he watched the Giptumathr come into port at Athrvorthfestning again, Brother Finn at his side. It seemed that God was leading him to discover something far greater than just a disappearing member of the Hird.
“Would the Giptumathr have made it to Ulfhaugrstrond by say July?”
“Jah. Weather or other delays notwithstanding,” Tandri said, doing the calculation in his head.
“Do you know what her regular packet was?”
“No, but I seen her before fairly regular.”
Tandri squinted at Urban. “Something special about that boat, Father?”
"Jah. Very special. Herr Tandri, allow me the courtesy of buying you several drinks and a good meal besides. What you have told me is very helpful, but if anyone asks you about this conversation, I would recommend, for your own soul's safety, you pretend it never happened."
36. An Unexpected & Boisterous Encounter
The hot and hazy day was typical for July as Brother Finn, Bergamot and Friar Inge trekked to the next farmhold. Walking the shore was not an easy service by any means, but it was necessary to serve God's children in this remote place. Inge had taken up singing their way down the trails. His voice echoing among the trees save for long uphill slopes that needed all his wind. Singing praise, he insisted, helped keep manitou at bay and improved the scenery. Bergamot seemed to agree with his philosophy more than Brother Finn did. Perhaps it took the canine’s mind off the heavy packs she wore as she seemed to keep to Inge’s cadence. The trio climbed up another set of cliffs that soared high over the lake.
The waters had been almost ice free for a month now but were still frigid. On days like these, all three of them wished to wade in the waves and cool off.
"We must be close," Inge said and pointed to the top of their climb. A trickle of smoke rose up, diffused by distance.
"That is miles away and possibly a steamknarr."
"By God's stinging bunions, I hope so. Mayhap they have news."
"Jah," was all Brother Finn could breathe out as the steep slope of the hill drained him. He wished for the days of his youth where a slope like this was more fun than chore.
News circulating in the last small logging town confirmed that the Visekonge was dead. Worse, the Tronerving and Kronadottirs had gone missing, and the Visedronning had abolished the Statsraad, forbidding the jarls to leave their cities till she summoned them again. So far, her order was being obeyed, but there were many who wondered how long that would last. No one knew who was to rule or if the jarls were at war.
As clergy, many people came to Finn and Inge for answers. What was the Kyrkja’s position? Who did they support? Will there be war? What signs had they seen? Did they have any visions of the future? With no answers to give, the solace they offered was lacking. Gregor was a popular Visekonge. His reign had been of respectable length, and he did not place too many undue burdens on his subjects.
Those unsatisfied with his rule were orthodox zealots. They saw his death as God's judgment for a sinful dynasty, offering praises to God for answering their prayers and ending his rule. When Finn and Inge did not align with their ideas, these orthodox troublemakers held their own mass, of sorts, in the town common, denouncing the Sveinnaettir and both of the itinerant monks. The jarls, the zealots claimed, were free to chart their own course and install a new godly Visekonge if one was needed at all. Brawls soon followed this so
rt of talk. Inge fought for peace with words. Finn, who’s rhetoric was less polished, was forced more often to use his fists. With fiery condemnations of what he called wicked manipulations and opportunistic lies, Inge tore down the separatists’ arguments. Over time, and with Finn’s help, they managed to reclaim the peace. To return to walking the shore was a blessed relief.
"You walked this shore before. Is there a farmhold or camp ahead or not?" Finn asked.
"Umm…" Inge looked around at the landscape.
"I think so. Perhaps you are right, that smoke seems far off after all. These old eyes are not what they used to be."
The men laughed. Bergamot stopped at the top of the rise to snuffle at something interesting. Once satisfied, she sat down to wait. Her tongue, white flecked with foam, lolled from the side of her mouth.
"I think Bergie needs a drink. I know I do," Friar Inge said.
"And some shade,” Finn agreed. “Let us sit behind that boulder there and cool off." The sparse trees gave little refuge from the sun’s hot hammer.
"Greithr. A rest would be welcome. My knee just popped, and I need to sit down," Inge said with a wince.
"Bah! You are too young for bad knees."
"Are you trying to encourage me, or deny your own age?" Inge griped.
Finn chuckled and shook his head.
The boulder at the summit provided adequate shade, and the two sat down to enjoy the breeze and the view. Out of the oppressive sun, the day was pleasant. Finn poured water from his waterskin into his hand and let Bergamot drink. Her loud sloppy splashes were disgusting and exuberant.
"You are going to wear more than she drinks," Inge warned.
"Then I shall be cooler for it," Brother Finn said with a chuckle. The damp spots on his trousers and sleeves grew with every lap of the mastiff’s tongue.
"How long has it been since we served on the Amossonkanal?” Inge asked.
"I think we were fifteen or so," Finn said with a sigh, remembering his youth.
"That long! I can still smell the oxen and hear sailors cursing a blue streak as we towed their boats through the locks," Friar Inge said. He leaned back against the cool surface of the boulder. The sun, just past noon, gave enough shadow that they could stretch out their legs and be comfortable.
Finn handed over the waterskin to Inge. He took rollicking swallows.
“Remember the songs?” Finn asked, and the two began singing one of the old half remembered shanties getting only the refrain right.
"The one thing I do like about the land up here is that you can get safe water right from the glaciers and streams," Inge said, his thirst sated.
"Not so. You must be careful. Mine tailings can taint them," Finn cautioned.
"God's hairy bottom! Not these little trickles!" Inge blurted out, astonished.
" I have been warned even the little trickles can have big surprises," Finn cautioned.
"I suppose I will be more careful in the future," Inge said with a grimace.
Finn beckoned Bergamot to come near, and he unbuckled one of the packs she carried. He fished out a large hunk of dried salted fish, a couple dried apples and a small round of cheese.
"You hungry?” he mumbled around a chewy piece of apple.
"Absolutely!" Inge exclaimed.
Finn tossed over the round of cheese and held up three fingers.
"Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the bounty of your land. Bless this food and our rest. Amen!" Inge prayed and broke the hard cheese into three rough chunks.
"Amen," Finn agreed and broke the fish into three parts as well, handing one over to his drooling dog.
Bergamot reached out to take the morsel when suddenly she flinched back as if Finn were a snake, food flying out of the open pack. A shadow flickered near Finn’s right. Reacting on pure instinct, Finn drew his legs to his chest and rolled at the figure hoping to trip it up.
"Haa!" roared the man, dressed in a gore-spattered chain mail shirt over his stinking gambeson jacket.
A bearded axe struck the sandy soil with a gritty thump where Finn had been a split second before.
Inge shouted in surprise, scrambled away from the attacker and tried to get to his feet. He struggled to ready himself for a fight.
Finn’s roll stopped hard and left him flat on his back at the man's feet. He looked up at his attacker, fish in one hand, dried apples in the other, dumbfounded over what was happening.
The bandit’s axe drew back for another blow, and this time, Finn had nowhere to escape.
He threw the apples and fish in his attacker’s face.
Startled, the man used his shield to block the food, giving Finn a chance to knock the bandit over. Finn uncoiled from his curled up position, hooked his right leg behind the attacker's ankles and kicked out at the man’s stomach with his left. Finn felt like he kicked a tree trunk! The man was so solid. The blow managed to stagger the bandit backward, though he did not fall.
Inge lunged for his harpoon that had been laying on the ground next to him. Their assailant drew a knife from his belt and, with terrifying ease, flicked it at him underhanded. Inge jerked his hands back in the nick of time as the knife caromed off the gravel and hit handle first in Inge's chest.
"What!?" Friar Inge yelped, as if insulted that the knife had not wounded him. "Bacraut!" he shouted at the bandit and threw his cheese at their attacker who dismissively swatted it aside.
Finn rolled away from the armored man and stood up. With the top of his toes, he flipped his harpoon up into his hands adding a spinning flourish he hoped would give the enraged bandit pause.
Bergamot, startled at first and encumbered by her now unbalanced packs, rushed forward, snapping and snarling, staying just out of reach of the spinning axe. The bandit kept his shield between himself and Finn, while evaluating his opponents.
"You cannot beat all three of us! Surrender now and I promise we will not take your life!" Finn shouted.
"Surrender to vikings? Are you mad?" the man bellowed and spit into the dirt. "I do not fear you or death! Give her back and I will not split you where you stand!" The bandit’s lips curled in a bloody-lipped snarl.
Both Havarians, now armed, waited for their attacker's next move. In that brief pause, Finn looked at the man for the first time. He recognized the bearskin cloak and hood and Sveinnaettir broach on the man's baldric. Hints of burgundy, gold and white were visible under the blood and ash covered clothes of the bandit. Finn’s heart dropped into his stomach.
"By God's thundering flatulence!" Friar Inge exploded. "What are you talking about? We are alone! No woman is with us, unless you count Bergamot there, who would be happy to swallow you whole, you jumped up tjovekjakji!"
"What offense have we given to the Sveinnaettir?" Brother Finn demanded acknowledging the man's heraldry.
"You are in league with vikings! Release Solveig now!" The warrior was crazed.
Bergamot lunged and paid for the mistake. The edge of the shield struck her on the head. With a yelp, she backed away.
Enraged at the blow struck to his beloved companion, Finn charged.
"Yahh!" he roared, but their enemy spun expertly with the shield bash dealt to Bergamot and parried Finn’s attack with his axe, hooking the harpoon and yanking it out of the monk’s hands. The parry was so powerful Finn was jerked sideways.
Out of the corner of his eye, Finn saw the shield coming around. He tried to duck but failed. Sparks burst in Finn’s vision as the edge of the shield crashed into the back of his head sending him to the ground in a heap.
Inge followed right behind Finn's charge and brained the man with the blunt iron shaft of the harpoon. The iron shaft sent a stinging jitter down to Inge’s toes as if he had struck an anvil. But the charge stopped the bandit from landing a fatal blow to Finn’s helpless back. Inge twisted his harpoon and used the barb to employ the same disarmament technique on the warrior. A leather thong tied to the bandit’s wrist stopped the axe from being thrown away. Seeing he could not disarm him so easily, I
nge yanked back, like a fisherman who hooked a trout, immobilized and stretched out the bandit’s right arm.
Bergamot, now recovered, lunged for the bandit’s throat. Her teeth slammed into his leather gorget which saved the bandit from her bite. The two were nose to nose, her teeth caught on the edge of the thick leather throat guard. Two hundred plus pounds of angry canine bent the attacker over at the waist. She shook him viciously, snapping his head back and forth with brutal force.
With a terrifying roar, the man flexed his arm pulled taught by Inge. Even braced, Inge was no match for this bandit’s power. Jerked off balance, he took large fumbling steps past the warrior, regaining his footing at the last second before nearly going over the cliff’s edge. The attacker's arm was now free, axe dangling from the thong. He threw a fist into Bergamot's side, knocking the wind out of her. She let go and flopped to the ground, stunned.
The bandit flipped the axe into his hand by the thong, stood up, sneered viciously at Inge and advanced.
"Benedicat tibi Dominus somnum!" Finn's words rose from a growl to a shout. With inhuman speed, the bandit lifted his shield up to his face in an effort to protect it from Finn's hand. That shield might as well have been made of smoke. Finn's blow punched through it and into the man’s jaw.
The bandit crumpled to the ground like a bag of cornmeal.
Bergamot went to Finn with a trembling gait. He began inspecting her wounds. All three panted hard.
"Who is this whopping tjovekjakji? Inge wondered aloud as he walked over to his pack, snatched the harpoon's lanyard from it and returned to bind their attacker.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 24
