An Antic Disposition

by Alan Gordon

  When the woman first appeared, Terence thought that he dreamt her. She was looking behind her as she clambered up to the top of the windbreak, and the wind was sending her hair streaming toward him, almost as if the hair itself had taken her captive and was dragging her away. She turned to look ahead too late to avoid an exposed root directly in her path. It sent her somersaulting through the high grass and weeds anchoring the windbreak on the side by the farm, her arms flailing about in an effort to slow her fall. She met the level ground with a thump.

  By that time Terence was up and running to her aid. She was sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed, breathing rapidly. He felt for her pulse, then looked down at her face that, despite being smudged and slightly scratched, or possibly because of being smudged and slightly scratched, appeared to him to be quite lovely.

  At that moment her eyes opened to behold the whiteface of the fool, his hair sticking out at odd angles from beneath his cap and bells. She looked at him quizzically.

  “Have I stumbled upon some hidden fairyland?” she asked him. “Or is this a dream?”

  “I know it isn’t a fairyland,” he replied. “I’m no longer certain about the dream, but which of us is the dreamer?”

  “I did bump my head, I think,” she said. “That would make me the more likely candidate.”

  “Ah, but I am a fool,” he said. “We never know the difference, anyway.”

  “I have never dreamt of a fool before,” she said. “Do you ever dream of women?”

  “Often,” he replied, laughing.

  “Then perhaps this is your dream,” she said. “Rather ungallant of you to cause me to trip and fall like that.”

  “My apologies,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her head ruefully. “My pride is hurt.”

  “I think that you no longer have any pride,” he said.

  “Why is that?”

  “It is said that pride goeth before a fall,” he replied. “Since you have just fallen, your pride must have gone on ahead.”

  “Alas, I am a fallen woman,” she sighed. “How embarrassing to tumble like that before a professional tumbler like yourself. You must teach me how to do it better.”

  “It wasn’t bad for an amateur,” he said critically. “Remember to tuck your head under next time, and practice, practice, practice.”

  She started to laugh, a deep merriment from within. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Is this your farm?” she asked, looking around.

  “No,” he said. “It belongs to my friend Magnus. But I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind you falling on it.”

  “Could he hide me, do you think?” she asked, suddenly serious. “I could earn my keep. I know farms. I grew up on one.”

  “Why do you need to hide?” he asked.

  “I ran away,” she said. “They’ll find me. They always do.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “My family,” she said. “They are escorting me to Slesvig to marry me to someone I have never met.”

  “Without your consent?” he exclaimed.

  She looked down.

  “I did consent,” she said in a small voice. “I thought I would be out from under my fathers thumb at last. But I didn’t want to come here so soon. I wanted to spend one last Christmas with my sister and her children. They are the only ones I really cared about, and now I may never see them again. And I miss the fields and the forests near my home. I have spent so much time wandering them on my own that I am fearful of being in a city with so many people.”

  “Slesvig isn’t that large,” he said.

  “Do you know it well?” she asked.

  “I am the town fool,” he said.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Obviously, so that I may come to your aid,” he replied.

  She smiled shyly.

  “Maybe Slesvig will not be such a terrible place after all,” she said. “If a man of this quality is only the town fool, what paragons must the others be?”

  “Never judge a town by its fool,” he admonished her. Then he stopped as the sound of hoofbeats came from the distance.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Time to face my fate. It has been a pleasant idyll with you, good sir. What is your name?”

  “It depends on who is talking to me,” he said. “Most of Slesvig calls me Yorick. It’s not my name, but it stuck.”

  “What do you wish me to call you?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “Terence,” he said. “It would sound lovely coming from

  H you.

  “Terence,” she repeated. “My name is Signe. And that is my father galloping toward us.”

  Signe’s sire was clearly a man given to temper, and the sight of his runaway daughter brushing grass and leaves from the back of her gown while in the company of a strange man did nothing to improve his disposition.

  “Get away from her, thrall!” he shouted, uncoiling a whip as he directed his horse toward them.

  “I’m not a thrall, I’m a fool,” protested Terence as he stepped to the side.

  The father turned his attentions to Signe.

  “Is this the sort of man you consort with when you run away?” he snarled. He snapped the whip toward her. She stood without flinching, awaiting contact, but Terence stepped between them and blocked it with a juggling club.

  “Don’t do that,” he implored the man. “’four daughter is innocent of any dalliance, you have my word.”

  “The word of a fool?” laughed the father. He lashed out at Terence. The fool ducked quickly under the whip and jumped up on the horse behind him.

  “Don’t do that again,” he said quietly, pinioning the man’s arms with his own. “It would be a simple thing for me to inflict a great deal of pain upon you right now, but I do not wish to distress this lady any further. Drop the whip.”

  The father hesitated, then yelped suddenly and let the whip fall to the ground. Terence smiled.

  “There,” he said. “Now we can all get along.”

  “I will report your insolence to the Duke,” sputtered the father.

  “If you are referring to Ørvendil, I can assure you that he is quite used to my insolence,” replied Terence. “I am in the garrison every day, solely for the purpose of being insolent. His son Amleth regards me as a personal favorite. If you wish to report to Ørvendil how you were bested by an unarmed fool on the road, be my guest. Is that still your wish?”

  The other remained silent.

  “Good,” said Terence. “I take it that you have more people coming?”

  “I left them about a league back,” muttered the father. “They should be here shortly.”

  “Then I suggest for all of your sakes that you put a good face on this,” suggested Terence, “’fou don’t want a scandal involving your daughter to precede her into Slesvig, do you?”

  “No,” said the father.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Terence. “I am going to release you. Don’t try anything funny. That’s my job, and I dislike competitors.”

  He let the man go and jumped off the horse. He picked up the whip and hefted it. Then he flicked it forward. The end stopped just in front of the man’s nose.

  “I’m a little rusty,” said Terence to Signe. “I meant to be half an inch closer.” He coiled the whip and tucked the end into his belt.

  “Would it be unfilial of me to say that I am sorry that you missed?” whispered Signe.

  The rest of her party arrived before Terence could reply. The female thrall in the carriage looked at her mistress and clucked in distress.

  “Better get in, lady,” she said. “I’ll have you presentable by the time we reach the town.”

  Terence held out his hand. She took it and climbed into the carriage, sighing reluctantly.

  “Will I see you in Slesvig?” she asked as they pulled away.

  “I will be back on the morrow,” he called. “I am in the fort most day
s, and The Viking’s Rest most nights. Tumble in anytime.”

  He heard her laugh, and watched the carriage until it disappeared around a bend. Magnus came up, wiping his bloody hands with a rag. He looked at the retreating carriage.

  “The meal is ready,” he said. “Who was that?”

  “That was trouble,” said Terence admiringly.

  * * *

  Signe and her father reached the island fort later that afternoon. Gerutha hurried to greet them.

  “My dear cousin,” she cried upon seeing Signe. “How you have grown since we last met.”

  “Greetings, Gerutha,” said her father. “Here is my last daughter. Take her off my hands with my thanks.”

  “And mine,” muttered Signe.

  “We were expecting you yesterday,” said Gerutha. “Was there any trouble?”

  Signe’s father started for a moment, then looked at his daughter, who smiled at him.

  “No,” he said. “No trouble. I must be on my way.”

  “Surely you could stay the night,” protested Gerutha.

  “No, cousin,” he said firmly. “I have wasted enough time on this journey. Take your things, daughter, and I will take my leave of you.”

  “A fair exchange,” said Signe as a soldier took two small trunks from the rear of the carriage. “Good-bye, father.”

  He raised his hand in a halfhearted salute, then turned his horse and trotted off, the carriage and escort following.

  “Come, cousin,” said Gerutha, taking the younger woman’s arm. “I have put you in our lower room for now. Come wash the dust off your face, and we shall talk until dinner.”

  “I should pay my respects to your husband,” said Signe. “And to my own, I suppose.”

  “Ørvendil is supervising repairs on the southern earthenworks,” said Gerutha. “He should be back for dinner. As for your husband-to-be, he is at the coronation of King Valdemar in Roskilde. We expect him to return in a day or two.”

  There was a basin and a clean cloth on the table in the lower room. Signe scrubbed her face clean as Gerutha watched her.

  “Vju’ve turned out prettier than I thought you would,” said Gerutha. “All that walking about in the woods must agree with you.”

  “I shall miss my walks,” said Signe. “Are there any woods nearby?”

  “My dear girl, you are going to be married to the drost,” laughed Gerutha. “Someone in your position can hardly go traipsing about unescorted.”

  “I don’t traipse,” said Signe.

  Gerutha sighed.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “Since we are to be living together inside these walls, I want you to regard me as a sister and a friend, ‘fou are no longer a little girl who may do as she pleases. You are becoming a wife to a man of considerable rank who is respected by all. You must respect him as well and do his bidding. You were lucky I thought of you when my husband decided to arrange his marriage.”

  “Thank you,” said Signe. “What may I do to help you around here until that happy day?”

  “Let me show you my gardens,” said Gerutha cheerfully.

  She led Signe to the rear of the fort and pointed proudly to her roses.

  “These were next to nothing when I first arrived,” she said. “Now, see how they thrive. There’s no flowers right now, of course, but in the spring, they should be glorious.”

  “They are very nice,” said Signe politely. She looked over at the herb garden, which was desiccated and strewn with dead weeds. She knelt and crumbled some soil between her fingers,

  “With you doing so much work on your flowers, perhaps I could help with this garden,” she said.

  “That one is yours,” said Gerutha. “I never bother with herbs. That’s the sort of thing a kitchen wench does. But if it appeals to your farm-bred sensibility, be my guest.”

  “Thank you,” Signe said. “Thank you, sister.”

  Ørvendil returned for dinner and greeted his wife’s cousin cordially. “Looks like we did better for Gorm than I thought,” he said to Gerutha that night. “She’s vastly improved her appearance since I last saw her. Looks positively healthy.”

  “She’s still strange and willful,” said his wife as she undressed for bed. “Then one of them will tame the other,” he said, grinning as he pulled her down to him. “Care to wager which one will win?”

  “A soldier usually tames a maid,” she said, kissing him.

  Usually, she thought. But not always.

  In the room below, Signe heard them moan with pleasure, and shivered slightly.

  * * *

  Gorm returned the following night. His first act was to speak to the man he had detailed to spy on Terence. After learning of his failure, he dressed him down bitterly and dismissed him from service. When Terence returned to The Viking’s Rest later that evening, he bought the fellow a drink to ensure that there were no hard feelings.

  Gorm went straight to bed without meeting his bride. Their first encounter was early the next morning. He emerged from his quarters to see a young woman working on the herb garden, breaking the hard soil with an iron-shod spade. She was sweating heavily despite the cool of the early morning, and her hands were covered with dirt, much of which she had transferred to her cheeks and brow. She looked up at him and nodded pleasantly, then went back to work. He grunted, then went to the kitchen.

  Ørvendil was already up and eating.

  “Well, look who’s back,” he said, holding up his hand. “How was the coronation?”

  “Too soon over,” replied the drost. “I was hoping for more of a feast after everything we went through.”

  “You’ll get one here soon enough,” said Ørvendil. “Let your belly be patient.”

  “Who’s the new kitchen wench?” asked Gorm. “I saw her in the garden just now.”

  Ørvendil stared at him for a moment, then started guffawing.

  “You simpleton,” he bellowed. “That’s the new wife we picked out for you. Go introduce yourself, and for God’s sake don’t let her know that’s what you thought she was.”

  Gorm nearly fled in embarrassment back to the garden. Signe was still there, covering it with dried leaves. She stood as he approached, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “You’re..he began, then he stopped. “Damn me, I was never told your name.”

  “I am Signe, sir,” she replied. “I am Gerutha’s cousin. I’ve come here to marry Ørvendil’s drost, Gorm.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, stammering. “I mean, that is to say, I know. And I am. Gorm, that is.”

  “Oh,” she said, momentarily taken aback.

  He was not at his best, having traveled for several days on little sleep. His eyes were bleary and his skin already wrinkled despite his being just a few years older than Ørvendil.

  Still, those were just appearances, she thought. She held out her hand. “I am glad to meet you at last,” she said. “And glad that we met before we married. It might have been awkward otherwise.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s awkward enough now without anyone watching, isn’t it?”

  “There’s that boy who keeps peeping around the corner,” she said, pointing.

  He turned around to see Amleth ducking back behind Ørvendil’s quarters.

  “Milord’s son, Amleth,” he said. “Has all the makings of a fine irritant when he grows up.”

  “He’s quite curious for such a little one,” she said. “He seems a little frightened of me for some reason.”

  “He’s frightened of most people at first,” he said. “The only one he ever took to right off was that fool.”

  “Oh, I’ve met him,” she said. “He was quite nice.”

  Gorm snorted.

  “A fool’s a fool, no matter how nice,” he said. “Come, let me carry your spade for you. We should get to know each other, I suppose.”

  “Thank you,” she said, handing it to him. “That would be most welcome.”

  * * *

  When Terence arrived at the island m
idmorning, Gorm was standing at the foot of the drawbridge. Terence nodded to him, intending to walk by, but to his surprise the drost put a finger to his lips and beckoned to him.

  “Good morning, milord,” said the fool. “Welcome home. How was your journey?”

  “Wearisome,” said Gorm. “Walk with me for a while, Fool.”

  “Very well, milord,” said Terence, wondering what was up.

  They walked upstream for a hundred paces before Gorm spoke.

  “What do women want, Fool?” he asked.

  Terence chuckled.

  “My Lord Drost, if I knew, I would be a married man by now,” he said.

  “Have you never wooed a lady, Fool?” asked Gorm.

  “No lady wants a fool for a husband,” said Terence. “Although many get them in spite of their desires. But my life has been one of constant movement. That does not leave much room for romance, at least not one lasting more than a drunken nights worth.”

  The drost looked glum, and Terence decided to take pity on him.

  “On the other hand, milord,” he said, “I have been called upon to woo on behalf of others.”

  “How does that work?” asked Gorm.

  “Through the power of music,” said Terence. “A woman will be won by song, and not necessarily by the singer. If there is some lady whose favors you seek, send me to her on your behalf, and stand by me in fervent suppliance so that she knows that I am but the vessel pouring forth your love.”

  “And there will be a fee for this service, I suppose,” said Gorm.

  Terence shrugged.

  “I cannot work for love when I work for love,” he said. “But you will find me to be quite reasonable for a fool.”

  “Done,” said the drost. “She will be at the evening meal tonight. Please stay for that before you go to your tavern duties.”

  They returned together. Amleth was standing at the entrance, jumping up and down with glee.

  “ Yorick!” he cried. “You’re back!”

  “Hello, my little fool,” said Terence, scooping the boy up and swinging him by his arms around and around. Gorm shook his head at the familiarity and walked away.

  * * *

  The evening meal was convened at sunset, and Terence duly made his entrance with Amleth. He had spent the day teaching the boy some new songs, and handed him a small tambourine for the occasion. They strolled around the room together, Amleth singing one verse, Terence the next. It wasn’t long before they ran through Amleth’s repertoire, so the boy contented himself by keeping the beat with his new instrument.