by Alan Gordon
“I was so hoping Paris would bring order to his mind,” said Gerutha. “But you are right. We cannot risk it. Things are in such a delicate phase right now.”
Gorm stood.
“By your leave, milord,” he said. “It has been a wearying day. I wish to retire.”
“By all means, my friend,” said Fengi. “’’tour daughter is safely restored to her cloister.”
“You have my thanks for that,” said Gorm as he left. “Let her remain there until the Holy Mother takes her.”
“A waste,” muttered Fengi.
“What is?” asked Gerutha. v
“Sending that girl in for her vows,” said Fengi. “’’lou should have seen her.”
“I wish that I had,” said Gerutha.
* * *
The combination of watching his daughters near fall from grace and the pursuit of Amleth had left Gorm in a state of exhaustion. He was unprepared, therefore, for the small form that hurled itself across the room the moment he crossed the threshold of his quarters.
“Monster!” screamed Lother as he slammed his father against the wall. “Prostituting your own daughter. How could you!”
He struck his father with all his might, the blow catching the older man in the jaw and sending him reeling.
“Stop this,” Gorm said weakly, but the onslaught continued. His training finally asserted itself. He blocked the next blow, then caught the boy’s wrist and twisted it. Lother cried out in pain, but was forced to his knees by the older man.
“You can’t take me yet,” muttered Gorm, raising his free hand to strike the boy to the floor, but to his surprise, Lother swept his leg around to catch Gorm behind his left knee. The drost fell back, striking his head against the bench, and the boy pounced on him immediately, straddling the old man.
Lother held his fist, ready to bring it down.
“I’m faster than you, old man,” he said. “I may not be stronger than you yet, but I will be soon. If you won’t protect my sister, then I will, do you hear me?”
Before he could strike, he was seized from behind by two guards who had heard the commotion. He resisted for a moment, then subsided.
Gorm got to his feet and dusted himself off.
“If one of my men had behaved in this manner, I would have no compunction about having him beheaded on the spot,” he said. “Don’t think that I would treat you any differently merely because of familial obligation.”
Lother looked at him defiantly.
“However,” continued Gorm. “I believe that you acted this way out of genuine concern for your sister. There is honor in that, Lother, and that is a quality that I would not discourage.”
“If only you could lead by example,” said Lother.
Gorm reached forward and placed his hand around the boy’s throat. “Respect is another quality I would encourage in you,” he said, then he squeezed slightly and Lother’s eyes bulged. “And silence, when respect is not forthcoming, is another worthy attribute. Remember that.”
He released his hold on the boy, and Lother gasped for air.
“Lock him up for now,” Gorm instructed the guards. “I’ll decide what to do with him in the morning. I’m not thinking clearly at the moment, and do not want to make a decision I might later regret.”
The guards dragged the boy away, and Gorm fell into a fitful sleep.
* * *
“Lother attacked you?” laughed Fengi. “Never thought he had the balls.”
“This is the age where they make their presence known,” said Gorm. “I took that into account in my decision.”
“Amazing,” said Fengi. “You’ve beaten him on the slightest provocation for years, and when he finally does something significantly punishable, you let him off with a lecture.”
“For the first time, I thought he had a just cause,” said Gorm. “We acted shamefully yesterday.”
“Perhaps,” said Fengi. “Our goals were worthy, but we should have found another method. What do you intend to do with the boy now?”
“I was sending him to Paris this fall anyway,” said Gorm. “I think I will send him earlier. He’ll get a proper start on his education.”
“A good thought, and a compassionate plan,” said Fengi. “I have a suggestion.”
* * *
Horace walked into the great hall with some trepidation. He had not spoken with Fengi or Gorm since he had spoiled their trap, and he did not know if they suspected him. The two were at the end of the main table, reviewing some documents. Fengi looked up when he entered and waved him over.
“Good morning, Horace,” he said, offering him some wine. Horace shook his head politely. “Well, to the point. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything within my power, milord,” said Horace.
“A most courteous reply,” said Fengi. “You are aware of the malady from which my son suffers.”
“I am, milord.”
“Unfortunately, it appears to have worsened since he has come home this summer,” said Fengi. “We cannot send him back to school anymore. We must tend to his needs here.”
“I am sorry, milord,” said Horace. “What can I do to help my friend?”
“Nothing,” said Fengi. “We know you have your own studies to attend to. As it happens, Gorm’s son Lother will be beginning his education this term.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Horace.
“Since Rolf and Gudmund will be entering our service, there will be no one else from Slesvig traveling to Paris,” said Fengi.
“I would consider it a great personal favor if you would take my son there,” explained Gorm. “He could benefit from your advice and instruction on the way.”
Horace bowed.
“Of course, milords,” he replied. “We have a few weeks until the term begins, so …”
“Actually, I am sending him early,” said Gorm.
“Early, milord?”
“Tomorrow,” said Gorm.
Horace looked at them for a moment.
“Very well,” he said. “I will pack my bags.”
Fengi waved to a corner of the room, where Horaces things rested against a barrel.
“We took the liberty,” he said, smiling broadly. “You will leave at dawn.”
“Very good, milord,” said Horace, bowing again.
* * *
With Lother and Horace gone, Amleth retreated into his shell, reading quietly, occasionally sneaking into his room to juggle when Gerutha and Fengi were elsewhere. Once in a while Rolf and Gudmund would entice him outside the stockade, but these excursions invariably ended with them chasing him through the town, cursing both him and their new-gained armor for causing such excessive exertion.
In the meanwhile, more mercenaries assembled in the camp south of the fjord, while Gorm and his men led increasingly brutal tax collections to pay for the military upkeep. The elders gathered to elect one of their number to protest to Fengi on behalf of all. When he failed to return from his mission, the protests dissipated.
One day in late October, Amleth rose from his enclosure, stretched, and wandered toward the front of the stockade. The drawbridge was down, allowing a procession of wains to bring supplies onto the island. Amleth watched them with interest, then ambled toward the entrance. Suddenly he took off at full speed across the bridge. The alarum was raised, but by the time a patrol had been assembled and horses saddled, the lunatic was past the Viking tower. The patrol rode after him, but he vanished into the woods south of the fjord.
Search parties were sent out. A rider was sent to the convent, but came back with no report of him. Inside the great hall, Gerutha paced and fretted while Fengi conferred with one unsuccessful captain after another.
“If we had a proper castle by now, this wouldn’t be happening,” she wailed. “He’d be in a room in a tower with his books, safely locked up, rather than in this sieve.”
“Quiet,” said Fengi. “You’re not helping.”
There was a call from the a
rchers’ platform, and he ran out.
“Someone’s coming from the south,” cried the archer. “A rider, and he has Amleth.”
Fengi climbed the platforms and looked. Amleth was slumped over the neck of a sorrel horse, held steady by the rider, an older man wearing Norman armor and colors.
“Does anyone know this young man?” called the rider. “I found him lying in the woods. He appears to be ill.”
“Fetch him,” commanded Fengi, and several soldiers ran out.
The Norman followed them in and removed his helmet, revealing a weathered face and steely gray eyes.
“I beg your pardon for this interruption,” he said. “I thought from the quality of his garments that he might be of the nobility here.”
“He is,” said Fengi. “He is my son, and a duke’s hospitality is at your command, kind stranger.”
“Are you the Duke of Slesvig?” asked the Norman. “Then I have found my destination, or at least part thereof. I seek your drost, one Gorm by name.”
“He will be returning shortly,” said Fengi. “I am Fengi, lord of these parts.”
“Lamord of Normandy,” said the rider, dismounting and kneeling before him. “I am honored, milord.”
“Are you the master swordsman?” asked Fengi in astonishment.
“I have that reputation,” said Lamord, rising.
“The honor is mine,” exclaimed Fengi, seizing the man’s hand and shaking it heartily. “I saw you in battle in Flanders years ago, and thought that a warrior centaur out of legend had taken the field, so skillfully did you command both horse and blade. What brings you to Slesvig?”
“A detour from my journey to Roskilde,” said Lamord. “I bring news to Gorm of his son.”
“Is Lother well?” asked Fengi.
“He is well,” said Lamord. “Indeed, he excels. But I would prefer to bring word to his father’s ear first.”
“Of course,” said Fengi. “You shall be our guest tonight. Come, Master Lamord. I will show you to your quarters myself.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
“Lamord wants to see me?” worried Gorm, turning slightly pale when he heard. “I sincerely hope that this does not involve a challenge.”
“What, does my drost fear one of the greatest swordsmen in Christendom?” laughed Fengi. “No, old friend. He merely stopped on the way to Roskilde to bring you word of your son. It was fortunate that he did so, for he was the one who found Amleth.”
“Where did he find him?”
“South,” said Fengi. “Too close to the encampment for my part.”
“How much does Amleth know?”
“I don’t know, and that concerns me,” said Fengi. “We have to have it out of him, and in some way that doesn’t displease his mother.”
“Perhaps your problem is also the solution,” said Gorm. “I have an idea.”
At dinner, Lamord was given the place of honor next to Fengi, and Gerutha herself served him.
“We have roasted a suckling pig to celebrate the safe return of my son,” she said, carving him a choice cut. “It is a small token of my gratitude, but I beg you to accept it.”
“More than ample reward for a plain soldier,” said Lamord. “I have been in the wars enough of my life to appreciate hot food of any nature. I thank you, milady. How does the young man?”
“I am better, thank you,” said Amleth. The assemblage turned and stared as he entered, blinking uncertainly in the torchlight. “Are you my rescuer, sir?”
“I am the one who found you lying on the ground in the middle of nowhere,” replied Lamord. “If that be enough for a rescue, then I am your rescuer.”
Amleth held out his hand.
“I am sorry to put you to that trouble,” he said. “You must know by now of my affliction.”
“I have been informed of it,” said Lamord. “I am glad I found you before the wolves did. I urge you, sir, take some sustenance. It will do you good.”
Amleth staggered to the table and took his seat. His mother immediately served him, and he began to shovel food into his mouth as if he had never seen a meal before.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, broken finally by Gorm’s clearing his throat.
“I understand, good soldier, that you have word of my son,” he said. “Ah, the young prodigy,” said Lamord. “I commend you as his teacher.”
“I tried to educate him as well as I could,” said Gorm. “He never had a living mother.”
“Unnecessary,” said Lamord. “The boy is a natural swordsman and a man of honor. If this be the result of motherless upbringing, then let all boys foreswear the teat.”
“A swordsman you say?” asked Gorm.
“I hear his studies go well,” said Lamord. “But it was in that martial capacity that I came upon him. Some quarrel led to a duel at dawn with a much older student.”
“What caused the quarrel?” inquired Fengi.
“The older student insulted the honor of the Danes,” said Lamord. “This boy Lother, without a hair on his chin, challenged him directly.” There was a cheer from the Danish soldiers at the table.
“Now, this older boy was a student of mine,” continued Lamord. “Naturally, I went to see him put my teachings into practice. He did, but someone had taught this boy how to fight. Not only did he defeat my pupil, but several of his friends who joined in.”
“I hope that no lives were lost,” said Gerutha.
“Just some blood and a great deal of dignity,” laughed Lamord. “I took the liberty of inviting young Lother to a class, and he shone. As I was journeying to Roskilde, I could do no less but to come here and congratulate his father for a job well done.”
“One does what one can,” said Gorm modestly.
“All you ever taught him was how to receive a blow from a fist,” blurted out Amleth.
“Quiet, Amleth!” commanded Fengi furiously.
Amleth rose and pointed at Gorm.
“It was I who taught your son how to survive by the sword!” he shouted. “As my father taught me. My father was the only man in Denmark who could have stood up to this posturing Norman, and I am his son and heir.”
“I defeated your father in fair combat,” said Fengi softly. “Have you forgotten that?”
Amleth looked at him, then lowered his gaze.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t.”
He turned and fled the room.
“I will not apologize for him,” said Fengi. “He has insulted our guest by this behavior.”
“Not at all,” said Lamord genially. “I have seen lesser events make men mad. The source of his affliction is clear and understandable.”
“You are most charitable,” said Gerutha, holding back her tears.
* * *
The next morning Fengi had his horse saddled along with Lamord’s.
“I will ride with you part of the way,” he informed the Norman. “There is much that I would hear of Paris.”
“I would be delighted,” replied Lamord. “Milady, thank you again for your charming hospitality.”
“Our home is ever yours, Master Lamord,” she said. He bowed, then the two men mounted and rode off.
She watched them depart, then walked quickly to the rear of the stockade where Amleth was sitting behind his walls of stakes.
“I would speak with you in private,” she said.
He patted the ground by his side.
“No,” she said. “Not in earshot of the guards. Come with me.”
He stood and quietly followed her. She led him into their quarters and up the stairs to her room. He looked around, curiously.
“I cannot remember the last time I came up here,” he said. “Not since father was killed. Since you defiled his bedchamber.”
She stepped forward quickly and slapped him hard.
“Think what you wish,” she said. “But never dishonor me.”
“Too late for that,” he said.
“Why are
you doing this?” she asked.
“Doing what?” he replied.
“Maintaining this pretense of madness,” she said. “Don’t you think a mother can see through it?”
“Everyone tells me that I am mad,” he said. “How could I possibly disagree with what is common knowledge?”
“Because you are an uncommon man,” she said. “You are smart enough and subtle enough to play a game of your own.”
“My affliction …” he began.
“You have no affliction,” she snapped. “This is part of some scheme. What do you seek? Are you a spy?”
“A spy from the land of dreams,” he said. “I keep hoping they will call me back, but lately I have been having trouble sleeping.”
“What do you know of Fengi’s plans?” she asked.
“What do you know of them?” he returned. “I care not for his plans, or anyone else’s. All plans lead to the same end.”
“What end is that?” she asked.
“The grave,” he said.
“Is that where your plans lead?” she asked.
He looked at her, an amused smile on his face.
“I have no plans,” he said. “Therefore, I will outlive you all.”
“Do you threaten me?” she asked.
He stepped toward her, and she flinched.
“Do I frighten you, mother?” he asked softly.
“I am frightened for you,” she replied.
“But I have you as my protector,” he said mockingly. “Wherefore should I be fearful when I know that you will always intercede on my behalf? Perhaps I have relied upon you too long. Maybe if I stood on my own, I would be free of all this.”
“What do you know of Fengi’s plans?” she repeated.
Fie placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Which of us is the spy here?” he asked, sliding his fingers toward her throat.
“Stop!” she spluttered.
He stopped, and there was a moment of silence, followed by a rustling noise nearby.
