An Antic Disposition (4 page)

Ørvendil walked up to the drost and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to send him staggering.

“Gorm, my friend,” he said, “we are going to find you a woman.” He walked away, leaving the drost standing with his mouth hanging open.

G
erutha was tending
her flower garden in the rear of the compound, pruning a pair of rosebushes that cowered by the palisade. She looked up in surprise as her husband, who rarely came to the garden, strode up, grinning like a maniac.

“I like this fool,” he said. “He gives better advice than many a university-educated sage. Tell me, my Queen. Have you any unmarried cousins?”

“Let me think,” said Gerutha, putting down her blade. “Signe still lacks a husband. She is my mother’s cousin Harald’s daughter.”

“From outside of Flensburg,” remembered Ørvendil. “Skinny, with ratty hair.”

“A cruel but accurate description,” said Gerutha. “She must be about seventeen now.”

“Yet unmarried?”

“Yes,” said Gerutha. “She has always been a little odd. She kept to herself as a child. She never liked decent society.”

“Perfect,” said Ørvendil. “Send for her immediately.”

“Very well, husband,” said Gerutha. “I take it that you have found a suitable husband for her.”

“Gorm,” said Ørvendil.

“Gorm,” said Gerutha thoughtfully. “Yes, that just might work. You realize, of course, that this will make him family.”

“The better to bind him to us,” replied Ørvendil. “Good. Now, where’s Amleth?”

“Having a nap,” said Gerutha. “He should be waking about now.” Ørvendil walked to their quarters, a two-story building with one small room on each floor.

“Amleth?” he called softly.

The boy appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He looked up to see his father and flinched.

My son fears me, thought Ørvendil.

He did not want that. He looked down at the quivering shape of his son, and held out his hand.

“I understand that you have a new ball,” he said gently. “May I see it?”

Amleth slowly reached into his pouch and produced the ball his new friend Yorick had given him. Resigned to never seeing it again, he handed it to his father.

Ørvendil inspected it carefully as Amleth watched, the boy’s eyes never leaving the ball.

“Sit down,” commanded his father abruptly.

Amleth looked at him in confusion, wondering what strange behavior was called for.

“Sit,” repeated his father. To illustrate, he plopped down on the path before his son, his legs spread in a vee before him.

Slowly, carefully, Amleth sat on the ground opposite his father.

“Legs like mine,” said Ørvendil.

Amleth, beginning to think his father mad, copied him.

Ørvendil took the ball and rolled it to his son, the ball coming up against the boy’s right thigh. Amleth looked at the ball suspiciously, searching for any sign of betrayal. But the ball just sat there, resting against his leg. He leaned forward and grabbed it.

“Good,” said Ørvendil, applauding. “Now, roll it back to me.”

The boy hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” Ørvendil assured him. “Yau’ll get it back. I promise i
t
you.

Amleth rolled the ball to his father, who plucked it from the ground and sent it rolling back.

Amleth smiled. Ørvendil smiled back.

Gerutha rounded the corner, a basket of flowers in her hand. She stopped and watched in pleased astonishment as her husband and son sat in the dirt as equals, rolling a painted wooden ball back and forth, back and forth.

A
priest walked
behind a hedge on the outskirts of Flensburg. A minute later a jester walked out, an oaken staff in his hand, the priest’s cassock folded neatly and packed inside his bag.

At the wharves, he took passage on a German
cog
that was leaving for Sjælland. The crew negotiated the straits between Langeland and Lolland with ease born of long practice, and put in at Vordingborg. He left them on merry terms and walked briskly to the northern road.

Two days later, walking a little less briskly, he reached the moat and earthenwork wall enclosing Roskilde. The city was about three times the size of Slesvig, surrounding a bustling harbor at the southern end of a wide fjord. Already there had been talk of building a new cathedral to handle the burgeoning population, awaiting only some resolution to the long civil war that had sapped the riches of the island. In the meanwhile, watchtowers lined the coast, ready to ignite the bonfires that would signal the approach of a hostile navy.

Gerald kept a room on the second floor of a boardinghouse at the eastern end of the city. He arrived there shortly after sunrise, having walked through the night. As he came to his doorway, he was mildly irritated to hear someone snoring inside.

Noiselessly, he entered to find another fool stretched out on his pallet, the source of the snores. Smiling, Gerald carefully extended his staff until the end was about to poke the sleepers nose. Suddenly the other fool grabbed the staff and wrenched it out of Geralds hands.

“Just because you consider yourself the master of stealth doesn’t mean I don’t know when you are there,” said the fool. Then he opened his eyes and grinned.

“Larfner, would you mind heaving your wretched carcass out of my bed?” said Gerald. “I need it more than you do at the moment.”

“Debatable, considering how much I had to drink last night,” said his colleague, but he complied, rolling across the room. He was a robust, stocky man in his mid-forties, and wore a motley favoring patches of brown and green.

Gerald lay down with a sigh, peeling off his sandals and wiggling his toes. Larfner watched him with disgust.

“Truly, you have the ugliest feet known to mankind,” he said. “It’s a wonder that you can pass for human. Hunters crossing your trail must think they’ve found some forgotten monster of yore.”

“They get me from one place to another, and that’s all that I ask of them,” said Gerald. “What are you doing in Roskilde? You’re supposed to be with King Knud.”

“And so I am,” said Larfner. “He is in Roskilde.”

Gerald sat up in alarm. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Is he allying with Sveyn against Valdemar? Damn you, man, how could you have let that happen?”

“There’s an alliance,” said Larfner. “But of all three of them. They’ve finally agreed to the treaty.”

“Have they at last?” exclaimed Gerald. “Then praise the First Fool, Our Savior. Brilliant work, my friend. When did this miracle come about?”

“Three days ago in Lolland,” replied Larfner. “Very little to do with us, I’m sorry to say. The proposal came out of the blue from Sveyn’s camp. The documents have made the rounds to the others for signatures and seals, and tonight there’s going to be a celebratory dinner. With entertainment, by the way, so you and I can do some two-man work.”

“Only two?” asked Gerald. “Where’s Leif?”

“Laid up in Odense, I heard. I don’t have the details. But he and I have made one small contribution to the peace. There’s going to be a / marriage.”

“Of whom?”

“Valdemar and Sophie, that Russian half sister of Knud’s. Ever seen her?”

“Let me think,” said Gerald, frowning slightly. “Yes, I remember her.

And I remember why I didn’t want to remember her. A remarkably unpleasant woman in every aspect. Does Valdemar really want to marry her?”

“He wants the alliance,” said Larfner.

“I wonder if that’s wise under the circumstances,” mused Gerald. “The treaty would keep things balanced for a while, but if Sveyn sees this marriage as a threat…”

“I think he’ll thank Valdemar for saving him from having to marry her,” chuckled Larfner. “Anyhow, he’s as tired of this war as anyone. He would rather settle things locally than have Barbarossa summon everyone to be told what to do.”

“That didn’t work so well the last time,” remembered Gerald.

Larfner picked up a wineskin, took a swig, then offered it to Gerald.

“A bit early for that,” observed the priest.

“It’s daylight, isn’t it?” replied Larfner. “Suit yourself. What’s the new fool like?”

“Tall,” said Gerald sleepily.

“A little more information, please.”

“Extremely tall,” Gerald elaborated. “And skinny. We could plant beans by him if he was willing to stand still that long. His Danish is good, and he seems to know what he’s about. I’m sorry I didn’t know about Leif. I would have brought the new fool here. We could use three fools for three kings.”

“Ah, the two of us are worth a company of fools,” said Larfner. “Get some sleep, or I’ll have to carry the act. Not for the first time, I might add.”

“Get on with you,” grumbled Gerald. “Come by at noon and wake me, would you?”

“Very good, milord,” said Larfner, bowing until his head was looking out between his legs. He left the room in that position. A moment later there was a shriek from a maidservant downstairs. Gerald grinned and fell asleep.

L
arfner returned
at noon and kicked him on the hard side of gently several times until Gerald sprang to his feet, ready to wrestle the other fool to the floor. Larfner stepped back into the doorway, poised for flight.

“Think you could take me?” growled the priest.

“I could, but we both would be in wretched shape before it was over,” said Larfner. “Here’s bread and herring for you.”

The priest ate hurriedly and threw his makeup on, then put on his sandals and picked up his staff.

“We should do the Two Brothers tonight,” he said. “That’s always a good one for reconciliation.”

“Nothing combative,” agreed Larfner. “Goes against the grain, but it’s good for me to be good once in a while, just for the practice.”

They walked out into Roskilde, heading toward the center. The town itself being fortified, the King’s hall was not otherwise enclosed. It was a circular building, about twice the size of its counterpart in Slesvig, and had sleeping quarters attached on either side, with the King’s quarters in the rear.

“Knud’s on the left, and Valdemars on the right,” Larfner informed him.

“Got it,” said Gerald. “Attend your master. I’ll pay my respects to the other kings.”

He went through the door at the rear of the hall and ducked behind a tapestry into the King’s quarters. A pair of guards intercepted him, but let him pass upon seeing his face. He had spent many years cultivating relationships on every level of Roskilde, from the highest of magnates to the lowest of thralls, and he was a particular favorite of the Danish garrison in Roskilde. Sveyn Peder was seated at a low table with two of his captains. He was a tall man in his forties, with a sallow complexion broken by a livid scar on his chin. He looked up with irritation when Gerald came in.

“Where the hell have you been hiding yourself?” he demanded. “I haven’t had any entertainment in a week.”

“Visiting a relative, Your Highness,” said Gerald, bowing. “A song, sir? Something to lighten the mood?”

“My mood is fine,” snapped the King. “Go play for our guests until dinner. Keep them out of my hair.”

“Very good, milord,” said Gerald. “I shall be here during dinner as well.”

“No surprise. I never knew you to miss a free meal,” said Sveyn. “Get out of here.”

Having expected this reception, Gerald sought out Valdemar. The Jutland king was twenty-six, powerfully built, with flaxen hair and eyes the color of the sea. He looked at the fool with delight as he entered.

“Look, everyone, it’s what’s his name, Gerald,” he said to the two men with him. “Come to juggle for us?”

“If that’s what you wish, milord,” replied Gerald, bowing. “My heartfelt felicitations on this occasion of peace, if I may be so bold. A great day for Denmark.”

“Let us hope so,” replied Valdemar. “Do you know these fellows, Fool?”

“I recognize the one by your side,” said Gerald, marking a slender, spry-looking man. “Esbern the Quick, is it not?”

“Esbern Hvide to you, Fool,” said Esbern.

“Of course, sir,” said Gerald. “Well met, young Esbern. How is your family?”

“They are well, thank you, Fool,” replied Esbern. “My brother Axel is back from Paris.”

“Is he here?” asked Gerald. “I would enjoy seeing him again. His conversations are always on such a high plane that I end up dizzy after them. Has he finished his studies?”

“Finished, and entered the priesthood,” said Esbern. “Before, he was just an annoying brother, but now he’s become quite the sanctimonious pain in the ass.”

“He already has his sights set on a bishopric,” laughed Valdemar. “I told him he’s not old enough yet. Do you know what he said?”

“That you’re not old enough to be a king?” guessed Gerald. Valdemar roared with laughter, joined by the others.

“But, good sir,” said Gerald, turning to the third man. “I do not believe that I have had the pleasure. I am Gerald the Fool.”

“Fengi of Slesvig,” said the other man. He was short and remarkably hairy. There was something about the glowering eyes that reminded Gerald of someone.

“I know who you are,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “’You’re Ørvendil’s brother. You look like him done in miniature.”

“Bastard of a fool,” muttered Fengi as the other two laughed.

“He makes up for his stature with his greatness of heart,” said Valdemar, throwing his arm around him. “I would rather have him at my side on a battlefield than any man I have met. He has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“Then welcome, milord,” said Gerald. “I do not apologize for my jibes, for they are how a fool shows respect, as well as how he makes his living. But let me perform nonverbally for you.”

“What can you do with that?” asked Valdemar, pointing to the staff. “This?” replied Gerald, spinning it rapidly with his right hand. “Anything I like. Observe.”

He kept it spinning as he passed it from hand to hand, then behind his back. He then placed it upright on the hard clay floor. He put his right hand on top and grabbed it firmly in the middle with his left, then jumped lightly, ending upside down in midair, supporting himself with the pole. He breathed in, exhaled, then pushed up with his right hand so that he was now balanced in a one-hand stand, his feet pressed against the ceiling.

Valdemar and Esbern clapped, while Fengi nodded approvingly.

“Can you fight with that?” he asked as Gerald dropped back to the floor.

“If I had to,” said Gerald. “Generally, it comes in handy deflecting thrown vegetables, which means I have used it far too often.”

Fengi took a knife out of his belt. “Could you block a thrown knife?”

“If I saw it coming, yes,” replied Gerald calmly. “It’s just like a thrown carrot, only sharper. Care to essay a throw?”

“Put up your weapon,” commanded Valdemar. “We don’t want to damage our host’s property.”

“Oh, I am no man’s property but my own,” said Gerald. “I am a free fool. If I choose to have a warrior’s knife thrown at me, then it is a fool’s choice.”

He stood facing Fengi, holding the staff vertically with both hands near the middle, separated slightly.

Fengi weighed his knife for a moment, looking at Gerald, then put it back in his belt.

“I don’t know whether you’re a brave man or a foolish one,” he said. “There’s a fine line between the two,” said Gerald. “In the heat of battle, it can be crossed many times in either direction. Let us hope that no man will have to put it to the test again in our lifetimes.”

“Amen,” said Valdemar. “I believe that was adequate entertainment for now. Give us leave, good Fool, and we will see you again at dinner.”

“Thank you, milords,” replied Gerald, catching the penny tossed to him by Esbern.

He wandered around the great hall, where the tables and benches were being set up by the serving thralls around a central fireplace. He paced the distance between the central fireplace and the tables, rehearsing routines in his mind for the space available. Each king would be at his own table, with Sveyn Peder at the rear and the two visitors by their respective guest quarters. He took three clubs from his pack and ran through some juggling maneuvers, marking where he needed to stand to gain the higher parts of the slanted roof while avoiding the crossbeams. The thralls stopped their labors for a moment to watch him until a soldier came in and barked at them.

Gerald, not wishing to cause the thralls any more trouble, nodded at the soldier and wandered outside, noting with approval that Valdemars men were chatting amiably with the ones who had come with Knud.

He decided to walk about the town until it was time for him to perform again. At the wharves, he marked the boats of the two kings, guarded warily by their crews who spent half their time watching each other and the other half watching the skies.

Gerald looked up at the clouds gathering in the distance. There’s going to be a storm later, he thought. He turned back toward the King’s hall, wondering if he should try to wangle a bed for the night there rather than trudge through the rain back to his room. A pair of soldiers passed him, wearing Sveyn’s colors, but speaking Slavic.

“Wends,” muttered Gerald in disdain. “What are they doing here?” Then he pondered that question more seriously. “Why would Sveyn Peder have Wends in Roskilde when he’s trying to make peace?” he said to himself.

He followed the pair, reaching into his bag for his lute. They turned before reaching the King’s hall and entered a nearby building. Gerald took a deep breath, and leapt through the doorway, announcing his presence with a mighty strum.

Startled soldiers leapt to their feet, reaching for weapons. Gerald stilled them with another chord, and proclaimed in Danish, “Greetings, friends. Your King has sent me to entertain you for the afternoon. What shall I sing for you?”