A Man's Word (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  A mintmaster is a trusted man. The opportunity to weigh out the correct amount of silver and stamp the king’s image on it as a guarantee of the coin’s value is not given to just anyone, particularly men who are not even of noble blood.

  A mintmaster answers to the king, but since the king’s wishes are enforced by his jarls, a mintmaster—and thereby his journeyman—gains firsthand knowledge of how the biggest squires in the land are getting along.

  My good Harold was also able to confirm Winston’s sense that Cnut would not wait long before heading to Denmark to assert his claim to the land should his brother die. In fact, he informed me that his master had been summoned to see the king. Cnut made the mintmaster swear an oath that he would not strike coins in any name other than Cnut’s for the next three years.

  Harold, as a common tradesman, did not realize the significance of this information. I, on the other hand, immediately saw that the king, by requiring this oath, had put up obstacles, should Thorkell consider overthrowing him during his absence.

  If a jarl wanted to seize power, he would of course need to be able to guarantee the tradespeople their profits. Such a guarantee would require issuing coins that bore the jarl’s name, thereby showing that he controlled the land’s monetary system.

  Such power could be used or abused. A jarl who wished to undermine his king could allow impure coins to be made and inundate the market with such poor quality money that he destroyed the confidence merchants, tradespeople, farmers, and noblemen had in the currency. Once the distrust was sowed, the collapse of the country’s economy would not be far off, and that would throw the entire country into disarray. The whole place would then be up for sale to the strongest bidder—almost always the contender who was physically present in the country.

  The jarls and the king all knew this, and now Cnut had secured the mintmaster’s word that Thorkell couldn’t just lie to Erwin Mintmaster, telling him the king was dead. Cnut was wise to realize that people can’t be prevented from lying. Even mintmasters would believe a sufficiently substantiated claim that the king had died abroad in his homeland. That’s why Cnut had required a three-year oath.

  If Jarl Thorkell should get it into his head to engage in treachery—yet again—the king would be back from Denmark before Thorkell had a chance to print his own coins in his own name.

  I agreed with Harold’s explanation, asked a couple of trivial questions, and was just about to see if the journeyman knew where Thorkell was when a man sat down heavily on the bench beside me.

  It was Arnulf, and he had very clearly been drowning his legal defeat in malty ale. His bloodshot eyes were narrowed, his clothes disheveled, and when he opened his mouth to announce his presence, his voice was slurred.

  I saw the men who had sworn in support of his testimony behind him. Sigvald, Herward, and Bjarne all appeared to be sober, although Arnulf’s drunken state did not seem to bother them.

  “Could we leave him with you?” Sigvald asked. “The rest of us would like to do some shopping, but that has not been possible so far.”

  I owed Arnulf this much after the hospitality he’d shown us, so I nodded with an apologetic glance at Harold, who shrugged and got up, commenting that he had to get back to the workshop anyway to see if the apprentice had cleaned up as he’d been ordered to do.

  Arnulf ordered himself a pitcher of ale and tossed a coin onto the table. He rested a heavy hand on my shoulder, and mumbled that the world would see he wouldn’t just put up with whatever. Then he belched loudly and tried unsuccessfully to lift the pitcher. He was forced to set it back down, sloshing. Then he slumped over and fell asleep with his head resting on the table.

  The old crone came over immediately, but I waved her away, promising that I would remove him as soon as I’d emptied the pitcher he’d paid for. Then I spent a good while drinking his ale and making sure his head didn’t roll off the edge of the table.

  When the afternoon was half over, I hoisted him up and with great difficulty managed to lead him through the narrow streets. We had to stop once so that he could piss behind a tree, but I refused to help him arrange his clothes again afterward, so I reached the inn with a somewhat sorry-looking farmer.

  A group of spearmen stood guard outside the inn, and I stopped short when I recognized their leader, who pulled his sword at the sight of me and my burden.

  “Arnulf,” Delwyn said gruffly. “So you took your revenge.”

  9

  A gurgling sound warned me just as Arnulf retched, and I managed to jump aside from the vomit, which splashed onto the ground right where I had stood. Delwyn took a step forward, his cheekbones white and his lips pursed. The tip of his sword pointed right at the farmer, and his eyes were as wan as the steel of the blade.

  Arnulf burped hollowly, emitted another jet of vomit, and swayed, moaning faintly before he straightened himself up. With watering eyes he stared in terror at the thane.

  I saw Delwyn’s look of determination and his sword, which he had raised up in preparation. In a moment he would swing the blade at the farmer’s neck. Arnulf moaned in fear, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward him. Then we both teetered together in a grotesque dance, our eyes on Delwyn’s sword, me trying to get free, Arnulf in horrified anticipation of the blow that would strike him as soon as I managed to do so.

  I finally tore myself loose with a jerk, and Arnulf collapsed, whimpering. Delwyn stepped forward again, brought the sword back behind his shoulder, and tensed his muscles to swing it when a voice stopped him.

  “Are you the judge and the executioner, thane?” asked Winston.

  I looked over the spearmen’s shoulders and saw Winston and Alfilda standing on the inn’s stairs. Delwyn hadn’t moved a muscle but replied without taking his eyes off the whimpering Arnulf that a man was judged by his deeds and that a nobleman took his own revenge without inconveniencing an executioner.

  “True enough,” agreed Winston. He calmly descended the steps, broke through the line of spearmen, and positioned himself between Delwyn and Arnulf. “And you have reason to take revenge against Arnulf?”

  Only now did Delwyn look up, his gaze falling on Winston.

  “Step aside,” Delwyn ordered.

  “If you have reason to take revenge, of course I will step aside,” said Winston, not even deigning to glance at me. “But perhaps an explanation would be in order.”

  Delwyn snarled, then lowered his sword. He was obviously no less angry, but his muscles were quivering from strain and needed a rest.

  “My son was murdered.”

  Of course we had both guessed that much.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Winston said, bowing his head respectfully. “How?”

  Delwyn took a deep breath, which hissed out from his pressed-together lips.

  “He was found stabbed”—Delwyn paused, inhaling in puffs, before he continued in a growl—“under a piece of canvas at the market.”

  “And witnesses saw Arnulf kill him?” Winston asked calmly.

  “You’re not hearing what I’m saying. His body was found under a piece of canvas.”

  “So there are no witnesses,” Winston surmised.

  “I don’t need witnesses. Only one man has reason to kill my son.”

  Winston nodded, then turned to address me. “You were with Arnulf.”

  I saw what he was getting at. Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to swear to Arnulf’s innocence, so I turned to Delwyn and asked, “When was your son found?”

  “Shortly after the midday bell, a shopkeeper walked into his storeroom at the market and found his body.” Delwyn stared angrily at me.

  I glanced at Winston, who responded by raising his eyebrow at me and grunting. “Well?”

  “I was not with Arnulf then.” I briefly recounted how Arnulf’s companions had deposited him with me. “So I have been with him for the time it takes to empty a pitcher of ale.”

  Arnulf’s whimpering had subsided. Now he was trying to stand up, but one look from Delwyn m
ade him sink back down again.

  “Before that he was with his companions?” Winston asked.

  “Presumably,” I said with a shrug.

  “A presumption we ought to investigate,” Winston said and turned to Delwyn. “If there are witnesses to Arnulf’s innocence, you will have to seek your revenge elsewhere.”

  Delwyn’s response was a disdainful snort.

  “No one else had any unfinished business with my son,” he snarled.

  “Not that you know of.” Winston thought for a moment. “Shortly after the midday bell, you said. Evening is approaching now. You’ve taken your time.”

  The thane flung out his left hand in anger and grumbled, “It took a while for them to identify my son and then I had to be found.”

  “You were at the market, you said?” Winston asked me, tugging on his nose.

  I knew what he wanted to find out.

  “I didn’t hear about a murder, but it’s a big marketplace and I was engrossed in conversation at an ale stand.”

  “Where is this storeroom?” Winston asked Delwyn, who turned to look at one of his spearmen.

  “Uh, it’s more like a tent,” the muscular soldier rumbled. “It’s all the way out by the edge of the market down by the meadow.”

  We were interrupted by the sound of running and turned around. The three farmers who had left their drunken companion with me came scurrying toward the inn, spotted us, and stopped abruptly.

  “So you’ve heard the news,” Sigvald said. When he saw Delwyn, he uttered a faint “uh.” He looked at Arnulf, still huddled on the ground. “Why . . . ?”

  No one responded, but after a moment I saw a flicker of understanding dawn in his face.

  “Yes, but . . .” Sigvald began. He stared from Winston to Delwyn in confusion and then at me. “You don’t believe that he . . . ? He couldn’t have . . .”

  Winston gave Sigvald a look of encouragement.

  “Arnulf was with us, of course,” Sigvald explained.

  “And you’re willing to swear to that?” Winston’s eyes were on Delwyn now, who was contemplating Sigvald with a look of puzzlement on his face.

  Sigvald looked at his companions, who both nodded. “We’ll swear to that. Arnulf was with us from the time we left the inn here until we left him with Halfdan.”

  “I demand that you swear to that,” Delwyn said, biting his lip.

  Again the farmers nodded and without hesitation all three raised their right hands and swore that Arnulf could not have committed the crime, because he was with them the entire day until they met me at the ale stand.

  Thane Delwyn listened to their oaths in silence, then resheathed his sword without a word, and gestured with his head to his spearmen, who obeyed and followed his heavy steps away.

  We watched them disappear down a street, and then Winston turned to the still-kneeling Arnulf.

  “You can get up now.”

  Arnulf got to his knees, sniffling, wiped the snot and spit from his lips, and then stood and walked up the stairs with his head bent, side by side with his companions. He left a wet spot in the dust where he’d been sitting.

  Winston looked at me and said, “So you would step aside to allow a farmer to be cut down.”

  I saw no reason to respond to that.

  10

  Later that evening we gathered at the long table in the tavern. “We” being the group that had ridden to Thetford together, aside from Arnulf, who remained up in the room he was sharing with Sigvald and Alwyn of the Heath. According to Alwyn, Arnulf was snoring in his bed.

  “And you’re sure he wasn’t drinking to forget that he’d killed a man?” I couldn’t shake the thought that Arnulf was the only person I knew who had any reason to want Darwyn dead.

  “He was drinking to forget the court had ruled against him,” Sigvald said harshly.

  There was a glint in Alfilda’s eye as she leaned forward and asked, “Was it the ruling he took so hard or not receiving the silver?”

  “They’re one and the same to Arnulf,” Sigvald said with a wry look in his eyes, but then his expression hardened. “You could just as well ask whether Darwyn perjured himself to save his reputation or to save his father from paying the fine.”

  Alfilda was going to respond, but Winston’s hand on her arm held her back.

  “Let it go,” he said.

  “But . . .” Alfilda began, but then she sighed and tucked into the food that had been placed in front of us.

  We hadn’t finished dinner yet when heavy footsteps on the stairs made us look up.

  Arnulf didn’t look much better than when he’d gotten up off the dusty ground outside. His hair was matted, and his shirt drooped out over his belt. He had, however, changed into a clean, dry pair of pants, his mouth was free of vomit, and although his eyes were bloodshot, he had the haughty look of a man hiding his shame by pretending not to care what anyone else thought.

  All eyes were on him as he walked across the room, the floor creaking beneath his weight. When he reached us, Sigvald and Herward made space between them, but Arnulf shook his head.

  “I’m going out for a minute.”

  Winston and I exchanged glances. True, it wasn’t any of my business if Arnulf tempted fate by leaving the safety of the inn. Delwyn might believe Arnulf’s companions were telling the truth and that he was innocent of the murder, but the thane didn’t have anyone else to exact his revenge on, and if their paths crossed tonight, I wasn’t sure Arnulf would feel so safe then.

  Sigvald must have agreed with me, because he sounded concerned when he asked if that was wise.

  “Wise?” growled Arnulf. “Good men swore that I couldn’t have committed the crime. Surely even for a thane, one perjury a day is enough.”

  At this point I thought it was about time to get to the truth, and although Winston warned me against it with a shake of his head, I pointed out that Delwyn had not been guilty of any improper conduct.

  Arnulf shot me a scornful look and said, “So you’re saying that a man who stands by and allows his son to perjure himself is behaving as a thane should?”

  I realized it was pointless to respond, so I simply shrugged before turning my attention back to the food.

  But Arnulf didn’t feel like letting it go.

  “You carry a sword and act like a nobleman,” he said, “so who cares what you think about this case?”

  A flush of rage spread up my neck, and I put my hands on the edge of the table to stand up and give him a piece of my mind, but Winston beat me to it.

  “Just go, Arnulf, if that’s what you want to do,” Winston said.

  Arnulf hesitated a couple of seconds, his breathing labored. Then he slowly walked toward the door and disappeared out into the spring night.

  As I sat with my hands hovering above the table, my body was tense with anger. Everyone at the table remained silent until Sigvald sighed.

  “You have to excuse him, Halfdan,” he said.

  “I do?” I cleared my throat to get the tension out of my voice. “For what? For thinking that all thanes are like the one who perjured himself, or for accusing me of letting a man’s lineage determine whether he’s trustworthy?”

  “The law already made that decision,” Sigvald said bitterly.

  I was silent and tried to quell my rage. Then I took a deep breath and nodded.

  Sigvald pushed the bench back. The farmers were leaving the table. Sigvald and his son walked toward the door. Alwyn glanced up the stairs, and then he followed Herward, who also disappeared out the door after a brief exchange of words with Bjarne. Bjarne stood for a bit, but after an indifferent glance at us, he walked past us to a table with three men who willingly made room for him and drew him into their conversation.

  I noticed Winston looking at me. He seemed cheerful.

  “You should stop acting like a thane if you want to hang out with farmers,” he teased.

  I glared at him.

  “Just let it go.” Winston flung up his hands
, which he then let settle down into Alfilda’s lap. “Let’s head upstairs,” he suggested to her.

  That suited me just fine. I needed to be alone, but before I had a chance to get up, a shadow fell over the table.

  “Halfdan! I thought I’d probably find you here,” Harold said.

  I looked up at him. A stout man wearing a blue tunic under a beautifully stitched leather vest and bright crimson wool breeches stood behind him. He eyed Winston. The man looked calm and approachable and yet a bit guarded.

  “This is my master, Erwin Mintmaster,” Harold said. He had taken off his apron as a sign that the workday was over.

  I bowed slightly to them and then realized what had brought them to the tavern.

  “And this is my master, Winston the Illuminator, and his lady friend, Alfilda.”

  Erwin bowed and asked me in a surprisingly cheerful voice if they could join us. Winston nodded his consent and when a girl came bustling over, the mintmaster ordered four tankards of ale and then looked questioningly at Alfilda, who with a quick smile requested a goblet of mead.

  I didn’t really want to stick around and listen to the two coin makers heaping praise on my master for his work. So I put a hand on the girl’s arm and said, “Three tankards will do.”

  I got up, nodded to the others and said, “You’ll have to excuse me.”

  Harold looked at me in astonishment, while Winston shook his head sharply and confided in the others that I usually liked to go skirt chasing once my stomach was full.

  My first instinct was to make some biting retort, but then I realized that his accusation spared me from having to come up with an excuse. So I nodded yet again and walked toward the door, letting it swing closed behind me.

  The evening was a little chilly, now that the sun was no longer strong and there was a dark-blue, cloudless sky above us. The moon was full, so the town was lit by golden moonlight, which made the shadows stand out.

  The selling was done for the day, but that didn’t mean that the marketplace was quiet. Laughter, shouting, and raised voices came from the ale stands. The reeve’s guards made their rounds through the market aisles, and squeals and amorous voices came from a few tents where whores were helping extract silver from lustful men’s pockets.