by Kris Tualla
And, judging by the expressions on the gathered faces, that curiosity was of a much more friendly nature than last night’s attention. Perhaps it even held a touch of admiration.
Jakob flashed a crooked smile at Avery as he answered a young woman’s enquiry. “Sir Bethington will return soon, I am certain. The death of my father necessitated my leaving Barcelona before the Order adjourned.”
Though Jakob truncated his story, Avery approved. The true explanation of his exit was complicated enough, that to repeat it throughout the evening would quickly grow tiresome.
“Oh! My condolences, sir.” The pretty blonde curtsied before moving away.
Avery rose on her toes to speak in Jakob’s ear. “Percy will return as an unmarried man, will he not?”
Jakob chuckled. “I believe Percy will die in his dotage as an unmarried man.”
“Sir Hansen!”
Avery and Jakob turned toward the voice.
John de Vere, the Earl of Oxford was working his way through the crowd. “Or should I call you your Lordship, now that you have married so well?” he asked when he reached them. He winked and extended his hand. “Congratulations.”
Jakob shook the man’s hand. “Many thanks, my lord.” He turned and addressed Avery. “What do you say to that?”
Avery gave an apologetic shrug. “Both in Spain and in England, titles pass from men to women, but not in the other direction, I am afraid.”
“So I am saved,” Jakob teased. “I am freed from convention and may remain as I am.”
De Vere wagged his head. “I do not know how you won the lady, good sir, but you have the admiration of the entire court, titled or not!”
Two ornately attired men and a heavily bejeweled woman, none of whom Avery recognized, now stood close enough to overhear the conversation. One of the men directed his attention toward Jakob.
“Is it true, Sir Hansen, that you have gone into the shipping business?”
Jakob rested his hand on Avery’s lower back. “You have been misinformed, I am afraid. That would be my wife.”
The trio regarded Avery, brows spiking in either surprise or disapproval. Until someone spoke, it was impossible to discern their collective mood.
“Lady Avery?” the man blurted.
Jakob straightened and glared down his nose at the man. “Yes. The lady has made several wise decisions concerning her dead husband’s estate, assuring herself additional income for life.”
“I do not believe we have been introduced,” Avery interjected.
With a furious blush, the man bowed. “Forgive me, Lady Avery. I am James Winthrop, Baron of Wingate. May I present my brother, Robert and his wife, Margaret.”
Avery gave them each a barely polite smile. “My pleasure. Now if you will excuse us, I believe supper is about to be served.”
Jakob immediately offered his elbow, which Avery accepted. As they moved toward the opening doorway she muttered under her breath, “Pompous ass.”
Jakob coughed a hearty laugh.
April 26, 1519
Zurina curtsied, her eyes pooling with tears. “I shall miss you, my lady,” she said in Spanish. “It has been my honor to serve you these past few months.”
Avery grabbed the maid’s hands and answered in kind. “Your service was invaluable to me, Zurina. I do not know how I might have survived without your loyalty and your compassionate assistance.”
She wiped her eyes. “Thank you for your kind words.”
Avery squeezed her hands before letting go. “Safe journey.”
Zurina turned away and climbed the ramp to the ship.
Emily stepped up beside Avery. “She may be sorry to lose you, my lady, but I am very glad to have you returned to us.”
Avery regarded the English ladies’ maid who had served her for so many years. “And I am glad to be returned, even for this short time.”
Emily regarded her with wide eyes. “What will Norway be like?”
Avery shrugged, a twinge of apprehension snaking through her gut. “I cannot answer that, I am afraid. But we leave on the morrow, and soon we shall discover that for ourselves.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
May 20, 1519
Arendal, Norway
The last time Jakob saw Arendal, he was barely seventeen and escaping his father’s dictum. That was sixteen years ago and Jakob wondered if anything about the small seaside village might have changed.
Their ship sailed past scattered rocky islands, inhabited only by gulls and other seabirds, which crowded Arendal’s outlet to the North Sea. Near to the pier, a cluster of buildings gradually grew visible in the hazy morning. They surrounded a tall stave church made of piled logs, which anchored the town.
When Jakob made his furtive exit at dawn, he did not look back as the ship glided away toward the open waters. Now, watching his childhood home slowly appear through the fog, he felt as if this was one more of the many dreams—nightmares?—which haunted him on nights he took the opium for pain.
This time it felt real and yet not real at the same time.
Avery’s hand slipped into his. “How are you faring, husband?”
Jakob tipped his face down to look into her eyes. “I am not certain.”
She nodded. “I understand. I felt odd when I returned to Barcelona.”
“The question I struggle with, is how should I feel?” Jakob returned his gaze to the rapidly approaching town. “Should I feel joy at returning? Or apprehensive about my reception?”
“Both, I would imagine.” She gave his hand a little squeeze. “At the least, you are assured that your mother will be glad to see you.”
He wagged his head. “But will my older brother Johan be glad? This I cannot know. And will my younger brother Saxby be here—or did he become a priest after all?”
Avery bit her lower lip, her eyes fixed on the town. Of course, she had far fewer answers as a foreigner than he would as a returning resident.
Jakob sighed and turned his regard in the same direction. “The question which looms largest, of course, is whether my father still lives.”
Avery squeezed his hand again, remaining motionless by his side as the ship eased against the pier. A small crew of deckhands grabbed ropes from the ship and tied them to the iron moorings. Soon after, the planked walkway was pushed over the edge of the ship, hooked onto the ship’s deck railing and resting on the dock below.
Jakob remained rooted in his spot, ignoring the flurry of pier activity, and examined the town for changes. He saw none which were immediately apparent. Arendal appeared as it always had: a neat, secure fishing village tucked onto Norway’s southern coast. A mere ninety miles over the sea to Denmark.
The thought of Denmark brought another flood of considerations to Jakob’s mind. He pushed them into a mental cupboard for now and locked the door.
First his family. Then the king.
“I am going to see to Warrior,” he said of a sudden. “I shall meet you on the dock.”
Avery nodded, her brow pinched in concern as he walked away from her.
A portion of the deck was being opened like horizontal shutters, allowing the larger items—and animals—to be raised in slings from the hold below. Jakob and Askel made certain that Warrior was made as safe and comfortable as possible during their voyages. Askel was with the stallion even now, helping to harness and blindfold the horse for his airborne transport to solid ground.
His destrier turned out to be an easier sailor than Jakob, thankfully, and was unperturbed by the rocking of the ship. The horse did grow anxious as he was lifted by the sling, however, but that ordeal was a humanely brief one.
Jakob hurried down the planks to comfort the destrier when his hooves hit the wooden dock.
“There you are, my strong boy,” Jakob cooed as he removed the blindfold. “You are on solid ground once more, my friend.”
Warrior tossed his head and shook his mane, snorting his irritation with the indignity of his recent treatment. Jakob offered a
little apple he had stored in his pocket and Warrior snatched it from his palm. The horse examined his new surroundings with interest as he chewed.
Jakob patted the animal’s neck. “We shall ride into an unknown battle today, my friend. I hope you are prepared.”
Warrior head-butted him in response.
*****
Avery and Emily stood on the pier and watched as their trunks were loaded onto a rented wagon. Askel scurried around the dock, assuring that not one of their last worldly possessions went missing.
Jakob waited with Warrior, who only wore a bridle. He planned to ride the stallion bare-backed, and lead the way to Hansen Hall.
Avery looked toward the bluff which lay just west of the village center. Jakob had pointed out the barely visible stone structure on its apex as they sailed inward, but Avery could not see any of it clearly. She trusted his explanation that the path to the ancient homestead was about a mile in length, and uphill most of the way.
After three-quarters of an hour, Avery and Emily were handed into a small carriage. Askel gave Jakob a leg up to mount his huge destrier, before settling himself onto the seat of the wagon beside the driver. When Jakob gave the nod to start moving, Avery saw the grim set of his jaw and his eyes narrowed in the pale gray day.
The little parade—knight, carriage, and wagon—made its unheralded way to Jakob’s family estate. All the way, Avery prayed silently for her husband, pleading with God to protect him and his secretly tender heart from unkind actions on the part of his family members.
And please let Jakob be kind as well.
Avery knew her husband’s guard was up and internally fortified. Accustomed to being prepared for the worst, she hoped he would not be so overly wary as to misunderstand any attempts at reconciliation, no matter how awkward those attempts might prove to be.
She wondered what sort of woman his mother would be. Bergdis was strong enough to defy her husband in secret; but if Fafnir still lived, how would she react once she presented the defiant son at his father’s bedside?
Hansen Hall was suddenly in front of them. Dominated by a round tower built of rough stones, its turreted top stood three stories over the road, and five over the empty moat that dipped around it. There were no windows in the tower, only the vertical slits which allowed archers to defend the inhabitants.
Extending off one side of the tower was a two-story structure, built a bit more recently of quarried stone. This addition had glass windows, leaded in a multitude of small diamond-shaped panes. Peeking over the flat roof of the medieval façade were several tall chimneys.
Through the carriage’s open windows, Avery breathed in the damp tang of the North Sea. Over the cries of single-minded gulls, she could hear waves splashing softly below, and wondered how far down the water was.
“Shall we go on, my lord?” Askel prompted after the group had halted for several minutes.
Jakob startled, turning dark eyes toward the valet. “Yes. Of course,”
Their horses’ hooves crunched up the drive made of crushed white stone and shells. The main entrance was centered in the medieval section, in an arched alcove at the end of the moat bridge. A heavy wooden door stood under a carved “H” which had, on either side, sculpted friezes. With Thor on one side, and Christ on the other, they proved that Christianity had reached Norway several centuries earlier.
Jakob swung his leg over the stallion and dismounted. Askel hopped down from the wagon and hurried to take the animal by the reins. The carriage door opened, and Avery was handed down by the driver.
Jakob stepped to her side and she looped her arm through his. Together, they climbed the steps to the massive portal. Avery noticed that the stones were starting to wear down in the middle, the strongest proof that this was indeed an ancient homestead. Jakob grabbed the round iron knocker and thrust it against the plank, the deep sound echoing beyond.
*****
Jakob did not recognize the man that opened the door. His gaze slid past Jakob to the assemblage in the courtyard, widened under a furrowed brow, then returned to his.
“May I help you?”
Jakob had settled into his imposing knight’s stance before he knocked on the door. Now he looked down his nose at the shorter man and said the only thing which made sense.
“I am Jakob Petter Hansen. Is my mother at home?”
The man blanched. “A moment please.”
And he shut the door.
Jakob snorted a chuckle. What else might he do?
“There is no sign of a house in mourning,” Avery offered. “Perhaps we have arrived in time.”
“Either that—” Jakob coughed and cleared his throat, trying to dislodge his heart from its unfortunate new location. “—or my father has already been dead these six months.”
The door flew open once more, and Jakob stared down into his mother’s eyes. Their fading blue was ringed in white, and her once-red hair heavily streaked with white, but her astonished smile was still the same.
“Jakob!” she sobbed.
Jakob enveloped her in his arms, surprised at how much smaller she was than he remembered. “I came home, Mother,” he murmured. “Just as you asked.”
For several minutes Jakob was only aware of his mother’s relief, so strong that it suffused his core with momentary peace. If only this was the end of their visit and not the beginning, he could be wholly happy to have made the journey.
As her sobs and her grasp eased, Jakob took a small step back. His heart pounded with renewed concern as he asked, “And Father?”
Bergdis wiped her nose on a small square of linen. “He lives. Barely. He has not spoken for three days, so the end is very near.”
Jakob nodded, glad that he arrived before his father passed, even if he could not converse with the man. “I came as soon as I was able. But I was in Barcelona, in Spain, on the king’s business when your letter found me.”
Bergdis gaped up at him. “What were you doing there?”
Jakob smiled a little and extended his hand to Avery, who stood behind him. “Getting married, for one.”
As his Spanish wife stepped forward, his mother gasped. “You are married at last? Your wife is so beautiful!”
Avery blushed. “Thank you, Lady Hansen. And now I see how Jakob is so beautiful, also,” she managed in Norsk.
Silenced for a moment by Avery’s statement, Bergdis blinked. “You speak Norsk?”
She grinned. “A very little.”
Behind them the wagon master cleared his throat. Obviously the man had other things to do with his time besides witness this extended introduction.
“Shall I see to the luggage, my lord?” Askel asked.
Snapped back into her role by the valet’s question, Bergdis Hansen began to bark orders. She herded Jakob and Avery inside and turned them toward the large gathering room. She directed her manservant where to settle the couple and put Emily and Askel into his care.
“And bring refreshments,” she called after him.
Jakob escorted Avery to a cushioned bench he knew well, standing in the same spot, near the massive hearth, where it had rested when he left. He waited until his mother’s attention was returned to them before enquiring about his brothers.
“Johan is meeting with a merchant this morning, but I expect him to return after midday.” Bergdis sat on a wooden chair, which she slid closer to her son.
“Is he married?”
His mother sobered. “He was. He lost her after the birth of their third child, Torgild, who is now eight. But he also has a fourteen-year-old son and heir named Ragnar, and a twelve-year-old daughter named Birgit, who has just joined Saxby in the service of the church.”
Jakob smiled at that. “So Saxby did become a priest, just as he wished to?”
Bergdis nodded. “After you disappeared, your father gave way. After all, he had promised God one of his sons and Saxby was the only son remaining.”
“I am sorry, Mother.” Jakob looked at the clean stone floor beneath
his boots. “I was still a boy and I did not know what else to do.”
“I forgave you, Jakob. And long before I forgave your father, I am afraid.” She sighed. “If he had not been so stubborn, I would not have lost you.”
He looked up at her again. “But one of us needed to go to Denmark. Father’s situation demanded it.”
“And yet, I could have written to you. You might have been allowed to visit. And once the debt was satisfied, you might have come back.”
Jakob knew in his heart that he never would have returned to Arendal to stay—there was no place for him here, other than acting as chamberlain to Johan. Yet the wistful tone in his mother’s voice twisted his core.
“I am here now, Mamma. Let us enjoy this visit. I do not know when I will be able to return after this.”
*****
Avery watched the exchange between Jakob and his mother, understanding enough of their words to follow their tender conversation. She tried to imagine what Bergdis’ life had been like these last sixteen years, unable to communicate with her adored son, and blaming her own husband for causing the rift. The letters Jakob sent her were secreted away somewhere in this house, a treasured connection to a boy who was lost to her.
And now returned.
“Please say again, slowly,” Avery replied to a question she only half heard.
Bergdis smiled softly. “Jakob says he met you in London. But you are from Spain?”
“Yes. I served Queen Catherine. She is my dear friend from we were children.” Avery waved her hand and corrected herself, “From when we were children.”
“Your Norsk is not bad,” Bergdis complimented. “How did you learn?”
Avery grinned. “I teach Jakob Spanish for Barcelona, and he makes me learn Norsk.”
Bergdis addressed Jakob. “Why were you in Barcelona?”
Avery felt Jakob straighten with pride beside her. “I am King Christian’s most trusted knight, and so I was sent as his representative to the gathering there of the Order of the Golden Fleece.”
