An Antic Disposition (24 page)

“About what, milord?”

“About Amleth. Does he really have a man ready to warn Valdemar? And until when must we keep Amleth alive to keep that from happening?

“Amleth knew about the letter,” said Reynaldo. “He knows about the mercenaries. I think that he made sure there would be someone ready before he came back here.”

“My thinking as well,” said Fengi. “And I still need his mother’s family fortunes and blood ties to back me in this little venture. Therefore, I must not harm him. And that irks me.”

“I could kill him,” suggested Reynaldo.

“No,” said Fengi. “His death cannot come from anyone under my command.”

“Is there no one else who would have cause to kill him?” asked Reynaldo. “One who could do it without suggestion of an outside motive?”

Fengi smiled.

“There is one,” he said.

“
C
ome with me
, Lother,” said Fengi. “I need to talk to you.”

They walked across the drawbridge, side by side, and headed toward the fjord. Fengi sat heavily down on a bench, rubbing his side, and motioned to Lother to sit by him.

“There is something you should know about your sister,” said Fengi. “You know how devoted she was to Amleth.”

“Of course,” said Lother.

“Amleth took advantage of her,” said Fengi. “It’s as simple as that. He took advantage of her, as young men will of susceptible maids. That’s why your father put her in the convent.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Lother.

“You are young,” said Fengi gently. “There is much about humanity that is wicked and sordid. It all happens as we leave childhood for the adult world. Some demon takes hold of us, and those of us not strong enough to conquer it succumb to all manner of sin. Yaur sister was a victim of her desires. And his.”

“How do you know this?” asked Lother.

“Your father and I talked of it many times,” said Fengi. “And as Duke of Slesvig, I have sources of intelligence that encompass many different areas. Sometimes I hear things that I would prefer not to know. Your sister was seduced by Amleth, and it was her sin that drove her mad. Do you think that it was chance that brought him back on the very day of her funeral?”

“What do you mean?” said Lother hoarsely.

“How did he know to find us there?” asked Fengi. “How did he know she was dead? She left on the day of her death to meet her lover, and this happened. At least she had the courage to flee him, naked and beaten as she was.”

Lother was shaking, balling his hands into fists.

“I shall kill him,” he said.

“Now, now, hold on for a moment,” said Fengi, taking the boy’s arm. “Your honor does you proud, but you cannot just cut him down in cold blood.”

“I cannot let him live knowing what you told me,” said Lother.

“Agreed, but there are more subtle ways,” said Fengi. “I am having a feast on New Year’s Eve for my captains. I am suggesting for entertainment that you give a demonstration of your prowess with a sword.”

“I’m listening,” said Lother.

“I will suggest to Amleth that he be your opponent in this demonstration,” said Fengi. “Then, an accident will occur.”

“One problem,” said Lother. “I am good, but he is still older and stronger. I cannot guarantee that the accident will suffice.”

“But I can,” said Fengi. “I have a syrup that I obtained on my travels long ago. Apply it to the edge of your blade, and even the smallest scratch on your adversary will be enough to send him to his death.”

“Have you ever tested it?” asked Lother curiously.

“How do you think I managed to defeat my brother?” replied Fengi, smiling at Lother.

Lother smiled back.

“
T
here is
to be a feast on New Years Eve,” Amleth said.

“Oh, good,” said Horace. “I love a good meal to end the year. Am I invited?”

“I doubt that you will be allowed to eat anywhere else,” said Amleth. “I wonder if there is anyone I could hire to taste my food first,” said Horace. “Or would that be bad manners?”

“ Ydu could probably get out of here before then,” said Amleth. “There are some sympathetic guards. And some bribable ones.”

“What, and miss a good meal?” laughed Horace. “That would violate my most sacred code.”

“Have I thanked you enough?” asked Amleth.

“No,” said Horace. “And if we survive, there will not be enough thanks in the world. And if we don’t, then that will still be true.”

The Danish guards overlooking the drawbridge watched with foreboding as the mercenary captains filed through the gate, speaking six different languages.

“Sixty of them,” said one of the guards. “That means there has to be at least three thousand men under them.”

“There were Wends in there, did you see that?” said the other. “Holsteiners, Switzers, God knows what else. He’s been keeping them hidden away for years. Now, he has them out in the open. That can only mean we’re going to war.”

“But against whom?” asked the first man.

“I don’t know,” said the other. “But I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

Fengi looked across the mass of warriors who sat on long benches by the tables surrounding the central fires. He thought back to that fateful feast in Roskilde, when he had fought his way to safety along with Valdemar. The trick to a feast, he thought, is to be the man throwing it. He stood, and the room became silent.

“My friends,” he said. “We come to celebrate the end of an old year, and the dawning of a new age. We shall eat and drink until it is 1176!” There was cheering as thralls swarmed in, carrying bowl after bowl of stews and puddings, platters of roasted hogs and chickens, and pitchers of spiced mead.

Lother sat at the end of the table, picking at his food with no appetite. Occasionally, he glanced across the room to where Amleth was sitting quietly, looking at the foreign faces in his fathers hall. Horace sat to his left, chattering merrily with Gerutha.

Fengi stood again.

“Gentlemen, we have some extraordinary entertainment for you tonight,” he said. “Although you have come from many lands, tonight you have become my brothers.” Cheers at this. “Which means that you are now all Danes.” Laughter and hooting followed this pronouncement, and Fengi changed his expression to one of mock sternness. “Are you saying that this isn’t the culmination of your hopes and dreams?”

“You have purchased our loyalty and our arms,” said one of the Wend captains. “But why should we choose the nationality of the very people we seek to conquer?”

“I stand by the prowess and might of the Danish soldier,” said Fengi. “As fierce a warrior as you are, I would match even that stripling at the end of my table in skill with a sword with anyone.”

“Him?” scoffed the Wend. “He’s still a boy.”

“But a prodigy with a sword nonetheless,” said Fengi. “Shall I call upon him to demonstrate?”

“Is this our entertainment?” asked the Wend.

“Well, the beginning,” said Fengi. “Lother, step forward.”

Lother strode to the center of the tables, turned smartly, drew his sword, and saluted all sides to the mocking applause of the assembled mercenaries.

“Now, we need to find him a worthy opponent,” said Fengi.

“I will be happy to teach him a lesson,” said the Wend.

“No, my friend, I cannot spare you,” said Fengi. “I will not risk harm to any of my captains. At least, not here. But there is one present who has boasted that he taught Lother everything he knows. Perhaps a match between master and pupil would be a good one.”

“Are you referring to me, milord?” asked Amleth, drumming his fingers on the table.

“A friendly contest,” said Fengi. “Striking only with the flat of the blade. Most hits out of ten bouts. Let’s see you put your brag to the test.”

Amleth stood reluctantly.

“I have no sword,” he said as he walked into the center of the hall.

“Here is one for you,” shouted the Wend, tossing his to him.

Amleth caught it, then swung it a few times experimentally.

“You must have a strong arm to wield such a mighty weapon, good captain,” he said, saluting him. “I will try and do you honor.”

“Well spoken, my son,” said Fengi. “And for my part, I will drink to the first man who lands a blow.”

He snapped his fingers, and an ornate golden goblet was placed before him and filled with wine. He held it aloft so that it gleamed in the firelight.

“This was passed down from my ancestors,” he said. “According to family lore, it was taken from the hoard of a dragon whom the founder of our line slew in single combat. Let us see who earns the first toast.”

Amleth turned to face Lother.

“I must confess that I have not been practicing,” he said.

“I have,” said Lother.

They began circling each other slowly. Amleth feinted toward Lother, but the younger man refused to acknowledge it. He kept his eyes on

Amleth’s sword hand. Amleth’s eyes seemed to be looking into the distance, almost as if he were dreaming.

Strange,” he said. “This almost…” Then he lunged forward in midsentence. Lother knocked the thrust aside, but Amleth’s momentum took him inside his sword arm. He reached around him and swatted him playfully on the rear with the flat of his blade.

One to me,” he said as the mercenaries started laughing.

Fengi raised the goblet toward Amleth.

“May God grant you a long life,” he said, and drank.

“Amen,” said Gerutha.

“Fill the cup again,” Fengi commanded, and a thrall rushed up with a pitcher. “Again, gentlemen.”

Lother and Amleth faced each other.

Well,” said Amleth. “Maybe I’m not as rusty…”

Shut up,” said Lother. “There are no conversations on a battlefield.”

“Nor are there children,” said Amleth, and the mercenaries roared as Lother chased him around the fires.

“Nor are there madmen!” shouted Lother.

“As for that,” began Amleth, then he tripped over a table leg. Lother dashed in, sword raised, and Amleth rolled at the last second, his sword snaking through the air to swat Lother on the calf as the latter’s sword banged off the floor.

“Second hit to the madman,” grinned Amleth as he got to his feet.

“Here, son,” said Fengi, holding up the goblet. “Now, you must drink to your ancestors.”

“I will when I have won this match,” said Amleth. “Until then, I must keep my wits about me.”

“Then I shall drink to my son,” said Gerutha, taking the goblet from her husband and downing it in one motion as the mercenaries sounded their approval.

“I am surprised at you, Lother,” said Amleth. “I thought you knew that trick. I guess it is one thing to fight in the classroom, and another when something is actually at stake.”

“There is nothing at stake here,” growled Lother, and he swept his sword up and across.

Amleth lurched back, grabbing his wrist.

“What is wrong with you?” he protested. “We hadn’t begun again, and this was to be the flat of the blade only. This was to be a friendly bout.”

Lother said nothing, but held his sword up, crouching slightly.

“You killed my father and drove my sister to her death,” he said. “There is nothing friendly about it.”

He attacked, and Amleth sidestepped and seized Lother’s wrist and twisted it. The younger man grimaced and dropped his sword. Amleth planted his foot in the other’s side and sent him spinning away.

“I see,” said Amleth softly. He looked at Lother, who was braced against the edge of a table. “You need a sword.”

He threw the Wends sword to Lother and ducked down to grab the fallen blade. Lother caught the tossed weapon by the hilt and charged just in time to take the point of his own sword in his stomach. Blood poured through his tunic and dripped onto the floor as he collapsed.

“Get him a surgeon!” shouted Amleth.

“Too late,” gasped Lother.

“Come on, boy, it isn’t that deep,” said Amleth.

“Gerutha!” shouted Horace.

She was clutching her throat, her eyes turning with terror toward Fengi.

“What ails her?” said Fengi as she fell into his arms.

“Poison!” Lother managed to shout. “The poison you intended for Amleth.”

“What?” cried Amleth.

“It was a trap,” Lother choked out. “You die by the poison from my blade, as do I.” He began to cough, then looked up at Amleth with a weak smile. “As did your father by the same treachery.” He sagged back to the floor.

Amleth grabbed Lother’s sword with his free hand and took a step toward Fengi, staggering as he did. Fengi stood and backed away, drawing his own sword.

“I don’t fear you,” he said. “You have less than a minute to live. You will die just as your father did.”

Amleth smiled at him.

“I had two fathers,” he said, and began juggling the two swords with his right hand. “They both taught me well.”

Fengi watched the blades flip through the air, bouncing the firelight around the room. Suddenly, Amleth threw the Wends blade at the roof above Fengi’s head. It stuck in a rafter, quivering, and as Fengi’s eyes momentarily followed it, Amleth hurled Lother’s sword into his chest. The Duke of Slesvig fell through the doorway into the kitchen.

For a second the only sound heard in the great hall was the crackling of the logs on the fires. Then Amleth fell to his knees.

“My mother?” he gasped.

Horace felt for a pulse.

“Dead,” he said. -

Amleth looked down for a moment, then around the room at the stunned expressions on the faces of the mercenaries.

“Gendemen,” he said. “I apologize for my bad manners. The entertainment has ended for the evening.”

Then he pitched forward onto the floor.

Horace leapt over the table and ran to him. An old priest came into the center of the room and knelt by Lother.

“He’s dead,” said Horace, looking up at the mercenaries with tears streaking his face. “My friend is dead.”

The priest crossed himself.

“This one as well,” he said. “God have mercy on their souls.”

The captains looked around at each other.

“What are we supposed to do?” said one. “Who is going to pay us?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Horace. “There is food, there is drink. Let some soldiers from the barracks carry them to the cathedral. I will maintain the vigil myself. Ym captains decide what you want to do in the morning.”