by Tualla, Kris
Then he held out his palm cradling the lozenges.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"What are you going to do with those?" Brother Mikkel demanded.
Do you have anything to confess?
He leaned forward. "Do you even know what they are?"
Do you have anything to confess?
"They are medicines, you big, dumb fool!" he sneered.
Brander shook the paper in front of him. Do you have anything to confess?
Brother Mikkel's foot was fast, but Brander's hand was faster. He encased the lozenges in his grip and pulled them out of the kick's reach. Then he pulled a piece of paper from the stack he gave to Arn.
He wrote: The young man you killed in Arendal was my youngest brother, Eskil Hansen.
"And how am I supposed to have killed him? And why? I don't even know him!" Mikkel protested.
You believe that a man's body is the temple of God and should be treated as such.
He pulled a face. "Of course! That is written in the Bible! If you were educated, you would know that!"
You also believe that men of higher rank should set a Godly example for the common man.
"Saint Paul commands us: do not cause your brother to stumble! That, too, is Biblical! What sort of game are you playing?" Mikkel's face twisted into confusion laced with fear.
So if a man of higher rank abuses his body for pleasure, he sets a bad example for the common man.
Mikkel shook his head. "And?"
He is guilty of causing his brother to stumble. He must be stopped.
"What does that have to do with me?"
Brander wrote another note and handed it to Brother Arn.
"You want me to administer last rites?" Brother Arn asked, incredulous. "Why? What are you going to do?"
Prove him guilty. He unfolded the hand that held the lozenges.
Brother Mikkel tried to scramble away, but his ropes hindered him. Brander leapt up and stopped him, placing a heavy boot in the man's midsection and pinning him to the ground.
He looked at Brother Arn and jabbed a finger at Mikkel.
Now!
The monk bobbed an uncertain nod, but he began talking and making signs over Mikkel. The pinned priest squirmed and protested, growing increasingly panicked. But Brander was a big man and the weight of him held the smaller man to the ground.
When Brother Arn finished and looked up at him, Brander held out the note that asked about confession. Arn shook his head sadly. Brander shrugged. The priest had his chance.
He leaned over Mikkel. The monk's jaw was clamped tightly closed, but Brander had enough experience with recalcitrant witnesses to know what to do. He pinched the man's nostril's closed and held one lozenge over his mouth.
He had to breathe sometime.
When finally he opened his mouth to gasp for air, Brander dropped the lozenge down his throat. Frantic, Mikkel wiggled and choked and coughed and tried to spit it out, but Brander pressed a gloved hand over his mouth.
He motioned to Arn to hand him the flask of water. Then he dribbled a little between his fingers. And a little more. And yet a little more. Mikkel had to swallow or drown. Either way, he was going to die.
His face was burgundy and Brander thought he might hold out long enough to faint. If that happened, he'd simply push the lozenge down his throat as if he were dosing a sick dog. But Mikkel began to gag. His chest began to heave.
His throat rippled in a thick swallow.
Brander removed his hand and -- if he read the signs correctly -- Mikkel began to scream. His red face was contorted, his mouth open and flapping. Cords in his neck stood out. Brander removed his constraining weight and the priest thrashed about on the ground.
Brother Arn tapped his shoulder. "What happens now?" he asked, clearly undone.
Now, we wait.
*****
Regin paced in her room, unable to sleep. Her book of ballads lay beside her bed, but it held no interest for her.
"Why did I have to speak so boldly?" she asked the otherwise unoccupied room. "Why can't I simply learn to be a quiet and grateful wife?"
This had always been her downfall.
Thorlak threw it up in her face many times. Said her opinions and the constant voicing of them drove him out of the house. Said she was a shameful wife the way she questioned him.
Restless and worried over what Jarl thought of her outburst, she went to visit Niels before retiring this evening. The valet was mightily recovered. He was still weak, but his color was good. He grinned when he saw her in the doorway.
"Lady Kildahl. I'm honored."
Marthe stood and gave her the chair by the bed. "You scared us, Niels," Regin scolded as she sat down.
"So I have been told. Repeatedly, I might add." He shot a glance at Marthe.
"Has Marthe kept you apprised of the events that have transpired?" she asked.
"Do you mean, do I know that Brander is gone?"
Regin nodded mutely.
"Do you know where he's headed?" Niels probed.
"I think he's gone after the murderers."
He nodded slowly and he seemed to slump. "Marthe says Eskil is dead."
"Poisoned. Brander believes it was the monk," she said somberly. "He didn't even sleep before he rode off."
Niels' forehead flittered. "Rode off? So he took a horse from the stable?"
Regin cocked an eyebrow. "Stole a horse, according to Jarl."
"He'll get over it."
"I-I don't know." She sighed. "I said some things today."
"What sort of things?"
"We were at dinner. Jarl introduced me to Roald and his wife Norna, Olvir, and their father, Lord Balder."
"Roald's married? I wonder when that happened..." he mused.
"He's Jarl's chamberlain. But I'm not certain he's happy about that," Regin said.
"He was never happy about anything as I recall," Niels chuckled. When his chuckle turned into a cough, Marthe handed him a cup of ale. He motioned with his hand for her to continue.
"They were all talking about what a failure Brander was. How he had stayed away from them for eight years without a word. And then Lord Balder talked about him being deaf and not able to take care of himself."
"Oh." Niels grimaced. "Back to the same argument that made him leave."
Regin pressed her lips together and nodded. It was Marthe who asked, "What did you say, my lady?"
She squirmed on the hard chair. "I admitted that I haven't known Brander for long. But I pointed out that they hired him because he has the best reputation Christiania... Or even in Norway."
"Is that all? That's nothing to worry about," Niels assured her.
Regin sucked a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "No, there wouldn't be. Not if I stopped there."
"Oh, Lady," Marthe moaned.
"What else?" Niels prodded.
She ticked off points on her fingers. "I said he is intelligent, capable, strong and just. And yes, he's deaf. But that's only an inconvenience. I'm able to communicate with him."
Niels tilted his head forward. "Is that all?"
"No." She winced. "Oh, how I wish to God I could keep my opinions to myself!"
Marthe stepped toward her, her head turned a little to the side as if to ward off the coming words. "What opinions?"
"That I'm completely astounded his family has so little faith in him. That they can't see the man he is, even when he stands right in front of them."
Marthe covered her mouth as if she was trying to stuff words back in. Niels was silent, his features twisted in thought.
"Am I ruined?" Regin asked him.
"No..." He pondered a minute more. "This may actually end up being a very good thing."
"Good for me or good for Brander?" she challenged.
"Definitely good for Brander. When he returns with Eskil's murderer they'll hear your words when they look at him. They'll be forced to see him anew." He paused then added, "I hope."
Regin spread
her hands. "And how is that good for me?"
Niels looked at her and his soft brown eyes held unexpected sympathy. "When Jarl heard you speak so lovingly about another man, he should realize he needs to woo you, not only claim you."
"Love - what are you - do you believe that I'm - oh!" Regin stood so quickly that she knocked over the chair. Her cheeks were on fire. "No! No, I cannot be. I'm marrying his brother!"
She spun and ran from the room. She slowed her footsteps in the hallway, but walked as quickly and silently as she was able. When she reached her chamber, she closed and locked the door. And she began to pace.
I must quench this love for Brander. It's ill-advised. And if I chose to be with him, I must give up everything and live in a garret.
That would not do.
"So why did I have to speak so boldly?" she asked herself yet again.
Because she couldn't stand to hear them berate Brander when she knew them to be wrong!
"What business is it of mine, anyway?"
He'll be my brother once Jarl and I are married.
"It's right to stand up for one's family. Isn't it?"
To stand up for one's brother.
Brother. When she thought back to their two passionate nights under the carriage, her belly clenched violently and she vomited on the polished bedchamber floor.
Arendal
October 22, 1720
It took Brother Mikkel six hours to die.
First the opiate dreams claimed him. He mumbled and twitched, eyes rolling. He smiled at the beginning, until his dreams turned gruesome or the poison began to eat his bowels. Brander didn't know or care which. He kept asking Arn if Mikkel confessed.
Arn shook his head and stared at the monk. "I don't believe it. I just don't."
We'll need your testimony.
"Yes. Yes. You shall have it." He stared at the drugged man splayed and convulsing on the freezing ground. Then he turned to Brander. "Might I administer the last rites again? He might be forgiven now that he's unable to confess..."
Yes.
What ever makes Arn feel better. As a reformist, Brander held no hope for the man's escape from a flame-filled destiny. And that was fine with him.
As the poison began its work in earnest, Brander found it harder to watch. As he did so, all he could picture in his mind was Eskil. Gangly and angry and caught between childhood and manhood. To think of that boy dying the way his killer was -- blood seeping from his mouth and arse, twisting with pain, out of his mind and dreaming of death -- was the hardest thing he had ever done.
If Mikkel hadn't died after taking the poisoned opium, Brander would have happily helped him on his way.
The sun had been up an hour when he rode into Arendal leading Mikkel's mule with the dead priest tied across the saddle. Brother Arn was somber as he rode beside Brander. They approached the Regent's office and tied their mounts in front. No one was about the place yet, so the men sat down to wait.
Brander wrote: I am not a monk.
"I guessed as much," Arn answered. "You knew things a monk wouldn't know."
My name is Brander Hansen. I practice my trade under the name of Lord Olaf Olsen.
"You? You are Olaf Olsen?" Arn began to fidget. "I've heard of you!"
Brander raised his brows in surprise. Yes?
"Oh, yes!" The man began to chuckle and his whole body quivered with it. "Wait until I tell the brothers back in Tønsberg! This will be a story, yes indeed. A story!"
Brander grinned, in spite of the gruesome days just passed. I am glad I could be of service.
When the regent appeared he eyed the corpse dressed in monk's garb, then turned his consideration to the pair sitting before his door. He stared hard at Brander.
"Do I know you, Father?"
Brander's mouth slammed open.
He used a signal for the man's name that they concocted as children: Lodur?
"Brand! Thor's thunder, man! Have you taken the cloth since you left?" he asked with disbelief painted over his features. Brander shook his head and waved his hands.
No! Let's go inside and I'll tell you everything, he gestured.
"Is that yours?" Lodur thumbed over his shoulder at the dead monk.
Yes.
Lodur's gaze combed over the unlikely pair. "This will be interesting, I haven't a doubt."
*****
After he heard Brander's recounting of the murders in Christiania and Tønsberg, Regent Lodur Ulfsen wrote three official letters explaining Brander's investigation, his tracking of the monk, and how the monk died ingesting his own poison. He included copies of Brother Arn's sworn statement in support of Brander's narration.
One copy was sealed with wax and sent by messenger to Regent Bråthen in Christiania. Lodur kept one copy, and he gave the third copy to Brander. Brother Arn left to see if Brother Mikkel might be buried in the church graveyard -- the Catholic one, not alongside his most recent victim, Eskil, behind the stave church.
"Will you stay a while in Arendal?' Lodur asked when the monk was gone.
I don't know. My family was not happy to see me.
"I can't imagine why. Disappearing for eight years without a word," Lodur said.
Brander resorted to paper: There is another issue. I brought Jarl a wife.
"Jarl is marrying? Who?"
A baroness whose husband was one of the priest's victims. He had gambled her so far into debt that she offered herself in marriage to anyone who would pay off the debts.
"He'll get her title and her land?" Lodur guessed.
Yes.
"And how ugly is she?"
Brander tossed his head back and smiled.
She's actually quite beautiful.
"Pliant, then."
Not at all.
"Weak-minded?"
Intelligent and educated. Quite clever, in fact.
"Uninteresting in personality."
Fascinating in her opinions.
Lodur crossed his arms over his chest. "So why exactly, my old friend, are you handing her over to your brother?"
Brander sucked a deep breath and prepared to give Lodur a list of his reasons. But they had flown out of his head. A headache was coming.
And it was a monster.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hansen Hall
Arendal
Be polite. Praise your husband-to-be. Praise his father. Don't talk about Brander.
Regin repeated the litany as she descended the stairs and walked in a calm and dignified manner toward the dining hall.
Marthe returned to her service this morning now that Niels was recovering so robustly. Regin felt her soul lift to have a familiar face greet her and help her with her toilette. Marthe brushed out her hair and arranged a portion of it in a plaited crown around her head.
"To remind them that you are a baroness," she whispered.
Marthe insisted that Regin wear the black velvet skirt -- her finest -- and black velvet sleeves. But she paired it with a sapphire blue silk bodice pleated with seed pearls that made Regin's eyes bluer than either the ocean or the sky. She also made Regin wear her pearl drop earrings.
"But those are for my wedding," Regin objected.
"And you will wear them then as well," Marthe stated. "But you must look noble today and they are the only bit of jewelry Lord Skogen didn't sell."
"Because he couldn't find them," Regin muttered.
"Because they were under my mattress!" Marthe pointed out.
Her new life would be an improvement, there was no doubt of that.
Regin swept into the dining hall with her chin high and a beatific smile intentionally sculpted across her cheeks. Norna's narrowed gaze told Regin that Marthe's goal was accomplished. Jarl stood at the head of the table looking rather like he had been struck by lightning.
"My lady, you shame the sky in all its glory," he murmured.
Regin took his outstretched hand and gave him a little curtsy. "Thank you, my lord. I hope to make you a suitable wife. One
that you do not regret."
"And I-I hope to be worthy," he responded, still looking stunned.
Regin sat in the same seat as the day before. Then Jarl sank into his chair, his eyes fixed on her. Olvir entered with Lord Balder leaning heavily on his arm and jabbing the floor with a cane. Once they were seated, the servants began to bring in the meal.
Regin was relieved to see the dishes were less rich than the day before. Still, she ate cautiously, not certain what might appear next. She certainly didn't expect it to be Brander. Conversation halted and Jarl's gaze lifted over her head.
She turned to the door and there he stood, dressed in an embroidered tunic of dark green satin over a lace-cuffed shirt with billowing sleeves, his narrow black trousers tucked into tall polished knee-boots. His gold-copper hair hung clean and curling to his shoulders. His eyes chose green to match the tunic.
Regin forgot to breathe.
He strode into the room and took the empty seat between her and Olvir. Eskil's seat, she realized with a thump in her chest. He nodded a greeting around the table, and ending with her. His stare touched every inch of her and her pulse quickened. A wan smile lifted one side of his mouth.
Regin looked more closely then. His eyelids were heavy and he squinted against the window's gray light. She motioned to a servant and quietly ordered akevitt for Lord Brander.
"Well, well. Look what the forest has cast out," Jarl began. He waved his hand to catch Brander's eye. "What are you doing here?"
Eating dinner, he gestured.
Jarl spoke slowly and directly at Brander. "My brother has a sense of humor, it appears. If nothing else."
Regin literally bit her tongue. This was not her battle and she needed the instigator to be pleased with her. She felt Brander's tension, nonetheless.
The flagon of akevitt appeared. Brander looked first at the servant, then at Regin. She gave him a small nod.
Thank you.
You're welcome. Did you find him?
Yes. He poured a goblet of the pale beverage.
Where is he?
Dead.
Before Regin could properly consider the ramifications of that reply, Jarl blurted, "What is this? What are you saying to him?"
