Wolfskin

by Juliet Marillier

  Tonight it was Somerled’s turn to stand before the court and be judged. He wore the plainest of black tunics, and his complexion rivaled the bandage at his throat for pallor. There may not have been visible restraints, such as iron rings and chains, but Holgar and Erlend stood watchful at a discreet distance. All bore the marks of a long time without rest. A Wolfskin, however, can endure such privations and still be relied upon to act instantly and effectively when required. Somerled had forgotten that, last night.

  “Let us begin,” Magnus said, rising to his feet. “There were charges laid against my Wolfskin, Eyvind Hallvardsson, and he has admitted they were true, in terms of fact. I’ve been given several accounts of what happened that morning at the Whaleback, and I have concluded that Eyvind’s actions were entirely justified. The attack was a shocking breach of a ring-sworn treaty. I hope you feel deepest shame, every one of you. What you have done here is unforgivable.”

  Harald Silvertongue cleared his throat. “The men were obeying Somerled’s orders, my lord Jarl. It had been a long winter of inactivity. This cursed place—”

  “There comes a point,” Magnus said, “when blind obedience must give way to some questioning of conscience, however great one’s fear of punishment. Don’t get me wrong. I’m as ready as the next man to take decisive action in the field when it’s called for, and my Wolfskins don’t hesitate to charge forward on my behalf. Thor rewards such courageous deeds. Eyvind here has a reputation as the most daring of all; his axe has tasted its share of blood and will do so again, I dare say. Still, I weigh matters first. I don’t pit myself against ill-armed households of fishermen and shepherds. I don’t offer a man the hand of friendship only to stick a knife in his back. Tell us what happened to Hakon, Somerled. How is it that my loyal warrior, whom I released with much reluctance from my service, is no longer with us?”

  Magnus’s tone had remained level and courteous as he asked the sudden, unexpected question. His eyes were iron-hard.

  “Hakon was not as loyal as you believed,” Somerled said flatly. His face was quite without expression. “He died. There is no more to be said.”

  It was not quite a confession. Still, a ripple of horror ran through the crowd, and Eirik Hallvardsson was seen to lay a white-knuckled hand on his sword hilt.

  “No? Then tell us about your brother. We heard his own voice here, a wondrous thing indeed, which served only to deepen my respect for the lady Nessa and her people. I’ve heard a more earthly witness as well, thanks to Thord and Eirik, who managed to get the man to this hall, despite being set upon by your hired henchmen. There is, therefore, no doubt at all that you were responsible for Ulf’s death, nor that this must be considered against Eyvind’s act of disobedience to you. I was ever proud that your brother was my kinsman; he was a fine man, fierce in his convictions and steadfast of purpose. I feel a great deal less ready to acknowledge my blood bond with you. Still, it should not be discounted when we weigh crime and penalty. You’d best account for yourself now, Somerled. This has been a long, weary time. Under your own new laws, Olaf tells me, the penalty for such a killing would be death, and the sentence would be carried out at sunrise tomorrow. I am uncertain as to which set of rules we should follow here. After all, you are still king of Hrossey.”

  “My lord—”

  “But—”

  Eyvind stepped forward in shocked protest. The other voice that spoke was Margaret’s. Jarl Magnus silenced them both with a curt gesture.

  “The charge is proven, Somerled,” he said, fixing his gray eyes on the slender, upright figure in black. Somerled’s gaze was level, impassive. He appeared entirely relaxed. “Have you anything to offer in mitigation? An explanation for this coldly premeditated act of slaughter, this abomination that went against every code of kinship and loyalty? Speak now. Tell us.”

  Somerled drew a very deep breath and let it out slowly. Perhaps, after all, he was not so relaxed. The little muscle in his cheek was twitching. “There really seems no point,” he said quietly. “If the charge is proven, why would I make the effort to deny it? I find I am rather weary and disinclined to legal arguments, and a simple explanation of such a complex matter is beyond me tonight. I prefer to say nothing.”

  The hall buzzed with the sound of startled voices. They had expected something exceptional from this subtle, cunning wordsmith who had so quickly turned from feared chieftain to despised brother-killer. They had not anticipated silence.

  “We want your explanation!” Eirik called out from amidst the hubbub. “We deserve that at least! Justify yourself!”

  “This is a coward’s way!” Thord put in, turning his gap-toothed grimace on Somerled and raising a bandaged fist. “We need satisfaction!”

  Jarl Magnus lifted a hand, and folk hushed.

  “This would be most unwise, Somerled,” the Jarl said. “You cannot sway the guilty verdict, but you have the power to influence the penalty we determine, if you can provide some words in your own defense. And we know you to be able in such arguments; we have seen you defend many a villain in Rogaland with wit and fluency, and reduce a fine from fifty ells to five, or a year’s banishment to a mere purse of scrap silver. There is more in the balance here than that: far more. Do you set such a low value on yourself, that you offer no defense whatever? Don’t you understand what the penalty could be?”

  Somerled smiled. It was an expression quite without mirth, save for that bitter self-mockery from which Eyvind had earlier turned his gaze. Eyvind’s heart thumped. He found he was willing his old friend to speak. Now would be the time, now would be Somerled’s chance to turn things around, here where he had the ears of all the court, here where he could show Eirik and Nessa and the Jarl himself that they had been mistaken about him. He could show that another man existed, the one behind the mask, a man who was clever and able, who could learn and grow and be a real king. He could set this right and walk forward on a new path. A fine, a time in exile, these could be easily sustained. All Somerled had to say was, I was wrong, and I am sorry.

  Somerled shrugged. His eyes passed over Magnus and Nessa and Margaret. His gaze met Eyvind’s, and changed. His words fell into the silence like drops of chill water.

  “I have nothing to say.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes, as if what he had seen in the Wolfskin’s face was, at last, too hard to bear.

  “Very well,” Magnus said heavily. “A man has the right to remain silent, even when to do so is the height of folly. And you know your own laws, I suppose. Under those, a man who kills his kinsman faces summary execution, by what means the arbiters deem appropriate. Such a penalty could only be reversed or mitigated if the circumstances were quite exceptional, and only at the king’s request. As the king himself stands guilty here, I suppose that decision would fall to me. I do not like these new rules of yours, King Somerled. I find them somewhat barbaric. Still, it seems entirely appropriate that we adhere to them for a little. Until dawn tomorrow, I think.”

  There was a mutter of approval, centered on Eirik Hallvardsson and the Wolfskins. Margaret sat with lips pressed tight together; the glow of the lamplight failed to relieve the ghastly pallor of her face. Nessa’s eyes were wide and troubled, but the man she watched was not Somerled.

  “Death at sunrise,” Somerled observed. “It is not so very long to wait. Just don’t give me that Christian priest to keep me company. I find him meddlesome and irritating, and I’ve no wish to spend my last night on earth listening to his pathetic efforts to convert me.”

  It was courageous. Still, he did not look up.

  “My lord—” Margaret’s words burst out as if against her better judgment. “This is—it is—”

  “You wish to speak, my dear?” Magnus queried. “Please do; you most certainly have the right, as the slain man’s widow.”

  Eyvind saw Nessa reach out and take Margaret’s hand in hers; on the other side, Rona had laid her own gnarled hand on the young widow’s shoulder.

  “I—” Margaret faltered; a shive
r seemed to run through her. “It is just that…my lord, my husband’s murder was a terrible blow. As you said, it was an abomination. There seemed no reason for it, no way it could be justified. It is this, I imagine, that holds his brother silent now.”

  Somerled’s lips curved in the shadow of a smile. Margaret, too, had always been clever at playing games.

  “All the same,” she went on, her voice now almost under control, “what you propose seems somewhat…uncivilized. In Rogaland, a guilty man pays a price, and learns from his error. If the penalty is death, a man has no chance to learn.”

  Magnus turned to stare at her. His surprise was clear. “You speak on Somerled’s behalf?” he asked. “Somerled, who killed your husband?”

  Margaret’s lips tightened. Her face was sheet-white. “No, my lord,” she said. “It simply seems to me that if we follow this king’s new laws in determining his penalty, we show ourselves to be exactly what he is: cruel and unjust. We show ourselves to be blind to the value of a human life.”

  “Ulf would not have wanted death for his brother.” It was Tadhg who spoke now, his voice still somewhat breathless. “Your kinsman was keenly interested in the teachings of my own faith, and we spoke long of such matters. He valued the philosophy of forgiveness, and the sanctity of human life. God pardons all sins, even the murder of a brother, if we turn to him. Ulf would have wanted Somerled to have a chance to seek God’s grace, to repent of his wrongdoing. He would have wished that even though he spoke, also, of how much he feared his brother and the havoc that Somerled might wreak if there were no one to check him.”

  “Tell me,” Magnus said, fingering his neatly trimmed beard and frowning, “do you see something in this man that I cannot see? I have known Somerled a long time, since he came to Freyrsfjord as no more than a boy, and proved himself most able in a courtier’s arts: poetry, games, law speaking, and even, to an extent, the wielding of sword and bow. A year or two ago, I would have said he was a young man of great potential, who had yet to rise above certain…flaws of character, shall we say…which held him back. Today, I am not so sure. You speak of learning, Lady Margaret. Perhaps such a man cannot learn. It seems to me entirely just that, having established his own rule of law here, he should himself be subject to it. Would you not wish satisfaction for your husband’s cruel death?”

  “My lord,” said Margaret quietly, “I would wish that the penalty this man pays be appropriate to his wrongdoing. An execution is quick: in its way, merciful. Death is what he wants. It is the easy way out.”

  Magnus was silent for a time, while low-pitched conversation hummed around the hall. Rona was bringing water for Margaret, watching hawk-eyed as she finished every drop. It must end soon, Eyvind thought. One way or another, they must end it. Somerled stood very still, maintaining his poise, his impassive gaze turned in the direction of Magnus and Olaf. His hands were laced together in front of him. The fingers were tight: the only sign that he was less than perfectly comfortable. In times past, he had considered Margaret a worthy opponent, but he had never liked to concede a point.

  “This presents a difficulty,” Magnus said. “Still, no problem is without its solution. We have not yet asked the lady Nessa for an opinion. Yet she, of all those present tonight, can most truly pass judgment on what Somerled has done in these islands. It is her own people who have suffered under his brutal rule, her land that has labored under the yoke of his tyranny. She is not only the royal princess of this place, but also a wise woman, able to touch what lies beyond the shadows. That we saw last night, when she conjured my lost kinsman’s voice for all to hear. Let us seek her wisdom here, and that of the elder priestess, her companion. This decision is, I believe, beyond the reach of our own knowledge. Will you speak, my lady?”

  Nessa had been translating in a whisper for Rona. Eyvind’s breath caught in his throat as she rose to her feet, now clad not in the strange and wondrous gown of last night but in a plain blue tunic and skirt, the everyday garb of the island women. Her hair was severely plaited down her back; she wore no adornment save the narrow cord that bound it, no jewelry, no finery. Yet she seemed to him entirely lovely, completely wondrous, as if each time he looked on her she had grown in beauty and power.

  “My lord, I thank you for your courtesy,” Nessa said gravely. “But I can in no way do as you ask. Were this man on trial for the great wrong he has done my people—the slaughter and maiming, the abduction of the innocent and helpless, the disregard for the ancestors, whose bones are the deep fabric of the islands—I would indeed pass judgment. I would say to him: go free, for your freedom will be short indeed. The ancient powers of the Light Isles will not allow such a creature of evil to walk long unscathed on these fair fields, on these bright shores. But the charge Somerled faces tonight is not within any authority of my own people to judge. He answers here only for the murder of his brother, an offense in which both perpetrator and victim are of your people. It is a matter for your law and your judgment.”

  There was a brief silence. They appeared to have reached an impasse. Somerled folded his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to the other; Nessa’s words, it seemed, had penetrated the façade of calm.

  “Odin’s bones,” he snapped, “are we to be here all night? It is plain, is it not, why I instituted new rules to expedite the conduct of legal hearings. It would be simpler by far—”

  “I’m not finished,” Nessa said softly, turning her wide gray eyes directly on Somerled’s face. There was something there that rendered him instantly silent, something Eyvind thought was ancient, and wise, and extremely dangerous. A chill went up his spine. “I understand the difficulty you face,” Nessa went on, “and I will offer you a solution. Sometimes a problem arises that is indeed beyond the scope of man’s laws and codes, one that requires a wisdom beyond that of the sagest among us. I do not expect you to understand our own beliefs and observances. No doubt you would find them as hard to comprehend as I do Thor and his war hammer. Were I myself faced with such a dilemma as you have before you, I would seek guidance from the powers of earth and ocean. I would seek answers in the patterns of sun, moon, and stars. I would seek the wisdom that lies in the hidden places, the truth that cries in the voice of the wind. Were I to seek out such guidance tonight, I have no doubt as to what I should be told. There is only one man among you who is qualified to make this decision. He is the one man who saw the truth, and had the courage to lay it before Somerled at risk of his own life. He knows Somerled better than any of you. Ask Eyvind, therefore, to determine the penalty for his friend. The ancestors have made it plain to us from the first that your Wolfskin must play a vital part in the unfolding of this tale. Let him choose.”

  As Eyvind stood stunned, pride and horror warring within him, and the assembled folk broke into excited talk once more, the sound of Somerled’s laughter rang out through the hall, at once bitter, shocked, and genuinely amused.

  “By all the gods!” Somerled exclaimed. “The Wolfskin, who never did learn to put more than five runes together and struggled to comprehend the simplest point of law, making the final decision on the life of a king? It’s clear the tale you refer to is no heroic saga set out in cunning skaldic verse, but a trifling thing best suited to the drinking halls frequented by such mindless servants of Thor as this fellow you call courageous.” He turned to Magnus, his face now blazing with outrage. “He bedded her, of course. That’s what this is all about, a simple matter of the lusts of the flesh. An impressionable young woman, a yellow-haired warrior they used to call Little Ox—what do you expect? The girl wants him back between her legs, that’s all. She just can’t get enough.”

  Red rage welled in Eyvind’s head, blinding and terrible; the voice called in his ear, urging him to action. It would be three long paces to Somerled’s side, and a matter of moments to lay hands around his neck, give a strategic squeeze, and make an end to his filthy accusations. Everything in him was screaming, Forward! Nessa’s eyes were on him, and Rona’s, and the Jarl’s.
He drew a long breath. He held himself very still: as still as a standing stone. The red mist cleared; the voice faded. There was, after all, a choice. If he had once been the mindless servant of Thor whom Somerled described, he was no longer.

  It was Rona’s voice that rang out now, an old woman’s voice, but strong and thrilling. Brother Tadhg provided a prompt translation.

  “The wise woman asks Somerled if he has forgotten how much can change from spring to spring? He would be wise to recall it, for in a few seasons’ space, the Wolfskin will be the father of kings, while he himself will be no more than a shadow on the edge of memory.”

  “You astonish me,” Magnus said, staring at Rona, who returned his gaze with fierce eyes. “The father of kings? I do not think this can be. I must make it clear to you,” he looked at Nessa now, “that Eyvind was given leave to come here only for a short time. I was most reluctant to release him from my service; indeed, it was only through the offices of Somerled himself that I gave his friend permission to accompany him. Eyvind is foremost among my strike force, and an indispensable member of my personal guard. He’s the best warrior we have, and a great favorite on the sporting field. He simply cannot stay on here. Indeed, I believed it was the lady Nessa’s desire that all of us quit these shores without delay. The events of the past year have given her no cause to trust our kind. For now, I plan to respect her wishes and withdraw my forces, both those of Ulf’s ill-fated expedition and my own exploratory voyage. Though I have to say, I believe it is inevitable that others will make their way here wanting to settle, whether by force of arms or peaceably. You will not keep these islands to yourselves much longer, my dear. Nor will you keep my favorite Wolfskin, I think.”