“Ragna…my heart…how I have missed you,” he said, burying his face in the hollow of her slender neck. “I am here. I am home.”
“My love,” she whispered. “They did not tell me you—”
“They said I was to see my mother, I did not know—”
“She is here—”
“I have come for you. We will leave this place at once. We will go—”
“Shh!” she whispered, placing her fingertips to his lips. “Do not speak. Just hold me.”
They stood still, eyes closed, their bodies pressed tightly to one another, and Murdo felt a warmth descend upon him, and his heart quickened—as if a shard of ice which had pierced his heart had begun to melt away in the heat of Ragna’s loving embrace. Murdo would have been content to stay like this for ever, but he slowly became aware of another presence in the orchard. He opened his eyes and looked over Ragna’s shoulder to the place where she had been kneeling.
There, in the long, green grass, sat a chubby, round-faced infant, staring at him with wide brown eyes. At Murdo’s glance the babe let out a spirited yelp, drawing Ragna’s attention. Taking Murdo’s hand, she led him to the child, then stooped and gathered the babe into her arms.
“Eirik,” she said softly, putting her lips to the child’s round cheek. “Your father has come home. See? This is Murdo. He is your da.”
“Da!” exclaimed the child, reaching out with a plump little hand.
Murdo, awestricken, took the tiny hand in his own and the strength of the tiny grip filled him with wonder. “Mine?” he gasped. “I have a child?”
“Ours,” corrected Ragna. “Yes, my love, you have a son. His name is Eirik.”
Raising a hand to touch the child’s pale yellow curls, he put his face near the babe’s and whispered, “My son…” That was all he could get out before the lump in his throat took away his voice.
He gathered Ragna and the child to him, kissing them both, and the three were yet standing together when he heard a soft footfall in the grass. He turned his face to see his mother approaching swiftly through the grass. “Oh, Murdo…Murdo,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “When abbess told me you were here, I…I knew you would come back.”
He turned to take her hands, and drew her near. “Mother…” he said, as she kissed him on the cheek.
“Welcome home, Murdo, my heart, I knew you would come for us.” Looking to Ragna, she said, “We both prayed every day for your safe return.”
“Mother,” he said gently, “I am the only one to return.” He then told her of Ranulf’s death.
Niamh, clutching her hands, bowed her head and began to cry. Murdo put his arm around her, and let her weep. When the first wave of grief had passed, Murdo told her, “I saw him before he died. We talked long and he told me everything. I will tell you all he said, but now is not the time.”
“I feared he would not be coming home,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I was prepared for the worst, but…” She broke off, drew a deep breath, and said, “Tell me now—I must know, what of Torf-Einar and Skuli? Were they killed, too?”
“No, they are alive and well,” Murdo said, glad to be able to relate some better news. “They have taken service with Count Baldwin—brother to the new King of Jerusalem—and they have both chosen to remain in the Holy Land to gain their fortune.”
“And my father?” asked Ragna, her eyes searching his for an answer other than the one she guessed already. “Was he killed, too?”
Murdo nodded. “I am sorry. He fell at a place called Dorylaeum—and your brothers with him in the same battle.” He paused, allowing Ragna to take this in, then said, “Your mother will be spared this unhappiness at least. The bishop told me.”
“That bishop,” said Niamh angrily, “is well informed of everything that passed in the islands. He was the first to know when Ragnhild died. Not a day passed before he got his claws into Cnoc Carrach.”
“But now that you are here,” Ragna offered hopefully, “we can go home.” She grasped Murdo’s hand tightly. “We will have our marriage vows completed in the chapel, and you can be Lord of Cnoc Carrach now. We can—”
“No, Ragna,” he said, shaking his head. “That is not to be. Neither your father nor his heirs will return; the estate will fall forfeit to the church. But I have my own lands, my own fortune, and we will make a new place for ourselves.”
He then told how he had confronted King Magnus with the injustice perpetrated in his name, and how the king had offered him land as settlement of his grievance. He explained that he had the bishop and abbot with him, and that they would be made to stand before the king and face judgment for their actions. “The king is a fair and honorable man,” Murdo assured them. “He will see justice done.”
“My father and brothers—” Ragna began, “there is no doubt? Perhaps you are mistaken and they are still alive. Perhaps—”
Murdo shook his head gently. “There is no doubt. I am sorry.”
The door in the wall opened just then and the abbess appeared; she walked quickly towards them. “Well,” she said briskly, glancing at Ragna who was still clutching Murdo’s hand, “I might have known you were the father of this child.”
Dismissing the couple with a jerk of her chin, she turned to Murdo’s mother. “Lady Niamh,” she said, “this man has confessed his desire to take you away with him. What is your decision?” Before Niamh could answer the abbess added, “I hasten to remind you that you are free to choose as you will. While you remain within these walls you shall not be made to go anywhere against your own volition or desire. Do you understand?”
“Thank you, abbess,” Niamh answered coolly. “It is good of you to counsel me. Yet, I must confess your charity baffles me—all the more since you well know I was brought here against my will by Bishop Adalbert of Orkneyjar.”
The abbess stiffened. “I had hoped your time among us here would have softened your heart, my lady. I prayed you would come to understand and accept that what was done was only ever for your own good.”
“I understand better than you know, abbess. It was done for the good of the bishop’s purse. And if I had him and his covetous abbot here before me, I would tell them the same.”
“Mind how you speak,” Abbess Angharad protested. “The Bishop of Orkney is God’s own servant, and must be treated with all respect.”
“Rest assured Bishop Adalbert is receiving all the respect he deserves,” Murdo told her.
Taking the child into his arms, he led Ragna and his mother from the orchard. They paused to collect a few small things from their quarters, and then crossed the yard to the gates. “We are away,” Murdo called as they approached.
“Where now?” asked Jon Wing.
“Thorsa,” replied Murdo. “The king wishes to make me a lord, and I would not keep him from his heart’s desire even a moment longer.”
“What about these two?” The Norseman indicated the sullen and angry churchmen with a twitch of his spear. The bishop scowled at them, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest; the abbot stood beside him, more subdued, his hands hanging at his sides. “Shall we take them with us?” asked Jon.
“By all means, let them accompany us,” Murdo answered. “I think King Magnus will be interested to learn just how many of his vassals’ estates and farms have passed into the church’s possession. Who better to explain it than the two men responsible?”
Adalbert made to protest, but Jon Wing spun him around and pushed him towards the gate. Emlyn took the abbot by the arm and began leading him away, saying, “Cheer up, my friend. Lord Magnus is a fair and honest king. You will have ample opportunity to explain yourself to him.”
Abbot Gerardus glared at the monk, but made no reply. Jerking himself free of Emlyn’s grip, he stumped off alone. The kindly monk turned to Murdo’s mother, bowed and offered his arm, saying, “My lady, I would be honored to escort you to the ship.”
Niamh smiled and accepted his arm, and walked away, leaving the abbey
without a backward glance. Ragna, however, paused briefly in the doorway looking her last at the place of her captivity. Murdo stood beside her for a moment. “I will never leave you like that again,” he vowed. Taking her hand, he led her away, saying, “We will make a place for ourselves where we will be together always.”
FIFTY - ONE
King Magnus greeted his newest vassal lord with a ready and genuine welcome. Splendid in a yellow siarc and breecs, new brown boots, and a wide belt of red leather, he met them, cup in hand, at the door of his great hall at Thorsa, saying, “Hail, Lord Murdo! Good greeting and good ale await you in my hall. Come, drink with me.”
Murdo, pleased to find the king in an expansive mood, greeted the lord respectfully, and accepted the proffered cup. The ale was cool and frothy and rich, and tasted like liquid smoke on the tongue—reminding him of the Dark Isles, and his home at Hrafnbú. He passed the cup back to the king, who drained it and promptly called for more; a serving boy appeared to take the cup, and Magnus confided, “We have been drinking a little öl already, but never fear, there is plenty for everyone.”
“I hope your journey has borne fruit,” the king replied; handing his cup to the servingboy, Murdo beckoned to the women waiting a few paces away to join him. “But tell me now, who are these ladies?” asked Magnus. “For, despite their drab habits, I cannot think they are nuns. Although, if such beauty were more common in the cloisters, I might be tempted to don monk’s robes myself.”
“Lord and king,” replied Murdo proudly, “your eye is keen as ever. Allow me to present my mother, Lady Niamh, and my wife, Lady Ragna.” Taking up the infant, he said, “And this is my son, Eirik.”
While the king greeted each of his guests in turn, the rest of the landing party arrived in the yard. The king called to the sea lord and said, “Jon Wing! Welcome! Who is this with you? Can it be the Bishop of Orkneyjar and his esteemed abbot?” The king spread his hands, “I am honored indeed. Never has such an illustrious company gathered in Thorsa court. My friends, I give you good greeting, and bid you to take your ease beneath my roof. You will want for nothing while you are my guests. Come, let us share the welcome bowl.”
Bishop Adalbert and Abbot Gerardus, however, decided to take the opportunity to declare their outrage at having been dragged from the cathedral like criminals. “You are mistaken, O king, if you believe we have come here of our own volition,” declared the bishop.
“These men,” the abbot said scornfully, “have taken grave and unlawful liberties for which we expect them to be soundly punished.”
“Are you telling me you did not come here to pay homage to your king, and offer thanksgiving for his safe return?” wondered Magnus.
“Your safe return was ever upmost in our minds, of course,” confirmed the abbot. “Even so, we were carried away by force and have been brought here very much against our will.”
“I demand you take these men at once and make them answer for their crimes.” The bishop waved his arm to include Murdo, Jon Wing, and his men, in the accusation.
The king frowned. “As it happens, I have made it my concern to discover what has been happening in my realm while I have been away on crusade.” He drew himself up. “I was willing to allow you a respite from the journey before bringing the matter to judgment, but you have forced my hand. Therefore, we will deal with it here and now.”
He turned and called to his counsellors to attend him. Hearing the summons, the house carles and warriors in the hall came to see what commotion was taking place outside; they crowded the doorway, spilling out around those standing judgment before the king. In a moment, Ronan and Fionn pushed through the throng and took their places either side of Magnus. “Tell out,” he ordered. “Tell us all what you have discovered.”
“At your command, and on your behalf, O king,” said Ronan, speaking gravely, “we have made inquiries of your subject lords and vassals. From these we have discovered that no fewer than eighteen holdings, estates, and properties have been taken by the bishop and placed under the control of the church.”
“How so?” asked the king. “Word of the crusade’s victorious conclusion has yet to reach these shores. As we ourselves are the first to return, I cannot see how the bishop can know which of the many landholders will return to resume the possession of their lands.” Addressing the churchmen, he said, “Enlighten us, if you can.”
The bishop grew indignant. “Am I to be made to answer this rumor-monger’s gossip?”
“Come now, Bishop Adalbert, it would be a mistake to dismiss these accusations so lightly,” said Ronan. “I myself have spoken with more than one whose lands have been seized.”
“No one’s lands have been seized,” the abbot said. “At most, we have simply extended the protection of the church to those who, through unfortunate circumstance, required our aid.”
“Aid and protection,” sneered Murdo. “A curious kind of protection, when you cast a mother and her newborn child out of a warm house and force them to take ship in the dead of winter. Or, perhaps it was the house and lands you were wishing to protect.”
“We acted only in accord with the provisions of the decree of remission and conveyance which Lord Brusi signed before his departure,” the bishop replied haughtily. “You will find the documents all properly attested.”
“It was my home,” declared Ragna. “And you took it from me.”
“You are mistaken,” said the abbot. You were not among the heirs listed in the decree. Your father included only your mother and brothers. An unfortunate oversight, no doubt, but that cannot be laid at our feet. As the lord and his heirs are all deceased, those lands belong to the church now.”
“But you took the estate anyway,” Murdo pointed out. “The king himself has said it: you could not have known Lord Brusi would not return.”
“We know it now,” replied the abbot smugly. “At the time, we were but offering the church’s protection to people in need of it.”
Murdo felt his once-solid certainty beginning to crumble. The oily churchmen were squirming from their grasp.
“Yet,” replied King Magnus tightly, “it seems to me you did act with unseemly haste to secure your right to the estate.”
“What about my father’s estate?” he countered. “Lord Ranulf signed no decree, yet Hrafnbú has fallen under the protection of the church.”
“That is a far different matter,” asserted the bishop staunchly.
“The former estate of your father fell forfeit to King Magnus himself and was given to Lord Orin Broad-Foot. It was Lord Orin who placed your lands under the protection of the church while he was on crusade.”
“Ah, now we come to it,” said Ronan. “I have been wondering how it is that the only lands to fall forfeit to the king belonged to landholders who did not sign the pope’s decree. Nor were any of the unfortunate noblemen given opportunity to swear fealty to Prince Sigurd, which would have secured their holdings. Perhaps you could explain that, bishop?”
The bishop’s mouth clamped tight in a frown.
“We do not have to answer to you, heretic!” Abbot Gerardus sneered.
“Yet, I will have an answer,” said the king.
“Then ask Lord Orin,” answered the bishop. “He was the one who took the lands, not me.”
“Very well,” agreed the king, “we will ask him.” He nodded to Fionn, who disappeared inside the hall, returning a moment later with Orin Broad-Foot at his side.
Magnus greeted his nobleman, and said, “We have been discussing how so many estates have been claimed by these zealous men for the church. They are telling me that you are responsible, Lord Orin. Can this be true?”
“My lord and king,” answered Orin, “it is true that I led the seizure of certain holdings in order to gain fealty for the king and Prince Sigurd. The estates we took were those of rebel lords whose loyalty to Jarl Erlend and Jarl Paul prevented them from taking the prince to be Jarl over them.”
Murdo opened his mouth to object, but the kin
g raised his hand to silence him, and asked Orin to continue, saying, “How did you know these estates were those of noblemen who would not own Prince Sigurd for their Jarl?”
“Bishop Adalbert offered us his counsel,” Orin answered matter-of-factly. “He came to us saying he feared the peace which had been long obtained on the islands would be broken if the rebel lords were allowed openly to defy the prince. He said he had learned of a plan to kill the prince and return Jarl Erlend to the throne. He urged us to act swiftly to put down the rebellion and preserve the peace at all costs.”
The bishop glared ahead in rigid defiance. The abbot, however, brow creased in thought, appeared to be composing a different song than the one he had been singing.
Turning next to Lady Niamh, the king said, “Good lady, I would hear you speak of your husband’s loyalties in this matter.”
Before she could speak, the bishop objected. “Ask a woman? The affairs of kings and lords are beyond her understanding, certainly. She can tell us nothing.”
“I disagree,” answered the king, sobering now. “Indeed, who knows the moods and desires of a man better than his wife?” Looking to Niamh, he said, “What say you, my lady? Was Lord Ranulf loyal to Jarl Erlend, or was he willing to support Prince Sigurd?”
“You ask her to denounce her husband, or to condemn me,” the bishop protested. “Which do you imagine she will choose?”
“Yet, I will hear the answer,” insisted Magnus. He nodded to Niamh. “Proceed.”
“My lord and king,” answered Niamh, “you ask whether my husband’s loyalty to the. In truth, I cannot say.”
“There!” the bishop cried. “It is as I said. She knows nothing.”
“I cannot say,” continued Niamh firmly, “for the reason that my husband joined the crusade long before the jarls were dethroned.”
The Iron Lance Page 55