I spent ten years being educated at the university at Lancaster after which I decided to stay, my parents having died in a plague outbreak shortly before my graduation. Feeling sorry for me, Godric invited me to serve as his advisor. To this day I do not know whether his offer was borne of mere sympathy or whether he actually believed me capable enough to serve as royal advisor. Needless to say, I graciously accepted and have been royal advisor ever since, now serving young Tyrion, albeit in a much less distinguished capacity.
Chapter Four
(June 3)
"Your husband arrives, my Lady!" Winifred shouted excitedly from the stairwell.
"Alright, alright," Ygraine answered mutedly as she removed her rose hip tea from the burner on the wood stove and set it on the counter.
"Here, my Lady! Let me do that!"
An eager Winifred, rosy-faced and sweating profusely, hurried from the stairwell towards the queen, crossing the kitchen floor in no time at all.
"I've got it. Let me pour your tea. You sit down," she insisted, yanking a dish towel from her apron string and grabbing the hot handle.
Ygraine couldn't help but smile at her maid's devotion and she stepped away from the stove.
"Sit down, my Lady. Really. You need to rest. You've got less than a month to go now," Winifred persisted, pushing her gently towards the chair by the window.
Once the queen was seated, with her steaming mug of tea in front of her, the two women peered out the small window above the table so they could watch the progress of the five mounted riders approaching the castle.
"There he is," Winifred gushed. "MY LORD! UP HERE!" she yelled, waving her dish towel out the open window.
"Oh, Winifred, he won't see you from way up here," Ygraine muttered, feeling resentful that she wasn't in as good a mood as her maid.
"Well, he'll be up soon enough," she said smartly, moving away from the window. "Now," she said, releasing a breath of air, "is there anything else I can get you, my Lady? Perhaps a little cake or a few biscuits to go with your tea?"
Ygraine shook her head politely. "No, thank you, Winifred. I've not had much of an appetite this week."
"It'll be the baby's coming soon,” said Winifred matter-of-factly. “That's what that means. He's all done growing inside of you and now he's just waiting. He'll soon enter our world and you and King Gryndall can officially call yourselves a family."
Try as she might, Ygraine could endure her maid's bubbly enthusiasm no longer.
"Yes, that'll be nice. Winifred - perhaps you can go and help Rebecca with the laundry for awhile. I'll wait here until my husband comes up."
"Are you sure, my Lady?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'd just like to be left alone for a little while is all."
Winifred gave the young queen a maternal smile. "Of course, dear. You enjoy some time alone. I'll return in an hour to help you dress for lunch."
Ygraine nodded, grateful for her maid's understanding. "That will be fine."
"Alright, then. I'll leave you to your tea, my Lady," she said, looping her dish towel once more around her apron string before making her way back to the stairwell from which she'd come. "See you in awhile."
Ygraine smiled. "See you in awhile."
Erik the Bald stared at the bust of his father that sat on the mantle above the fireplace. The one Anwir had so openly admired following their meeting the night before.
Its creator was none other than Alf Magnusson, that illustrious artist and sculptor who had done busts of all the jarls of Vinland up until his death several years ago. The bust of Bergthor the Brave was his last. The end of an era. Rather fitting considering the state his father was in.
Drooling. Shitting and wetting himself. Unable to eat without assistance. Not surprisingly, his father no longer held the respect of his people.
Would it be so wrong to put the old man out of his misery? A thimble of arsenic in his mead. A pillow over his face. A fall down the stairs. There were a dozen ways.
The Viking scratched his chin and sat back in his chair, stretching his feet closer to the fire to warm his aching toes.
He wanted to be jarl. He was tired of being thain. Second in command.
While the people of Vinland had no respect for their drooling, incontinent leader, they had even less for him. They knew full well his desire to succeed his father and become jarl, but there were growing rumours that he was unwilling to do what was required. In Viking culture, a son must obey his father and if he does not wish to obey his father, he can either leave the community or duel his father. In this case, there would be no dueling.
He frowned at the thought of such a spectacle. He, with his sword drawn and preparing to fight. His father with a sword in his hand, drooling and rocking back and forth in his chair, completely unaware of the event.
No. That would never happen. And to think that just twenty years ago his father would have whooped the pants off him…
He sighed deeply.
Should he not preserve what little dignity and respect his father still had left? To finally let the man be put to rest and remembered for his great achievements?
Bergthor the Brave, a once proud and intelligent man, was now nothing more than a white-haired and helpless invalid. Worse, the people he had so long governed and cared for, would point at him in the street and whisper about him in the market. It wasn't right. His father had been made a mockery of for long enough and he didn’t deserve such treatment.
To aid his path to Gimli was the right thing to do. It was clear now. His father had to die. And he would have to kill him.
Anwir frowned and gazed out at the choppy sea as their small fishing boat bobbed along the water, headed back to Lindisfarne. The island was still just a dot in the distance, a mere speck compared to the much larger land mass that was neighbouring Carthal.
Seeing Carthal looming in the distance, the priest couldn't help but feel a wave of resentment and he relished the thought that he would soon invade the island and make it his own. Of course, it would take another few months. At least. Because he first had to develop his fledgling alliance with the Vikings.
He was working on it. Slowly, but surely. It was difficult finding opportunities to meet with the Vikings as it would raise suspicions if he was away from Lindisfarne too often and if he was spotted on a boat headed either to or from Vinland.
But he’d had the chance to meet with Erik the Bald and several of his compatriots last night. And their meeting had definitely been fruitful. If little else, it had strengthened the budding partnership between them. The only problem of course was that the soon-to-be jarl was a rather uncharming and boorish fellow - and that was putting it mildly. Completely lacking in manners and social graces, Erik the Bald was not the sort of man with whom to engage in an intelligent discussion about alchemy or politics or history - nor with whom to share a dinner table as he'd learned last night.
However, despite his numerous shortcomings, Erik the Bald was exactly the sort of man he needed to help him invade Carthal. Ruthless, and with an insatiable thirst for money and women, Erik the Bald not only had the army, but the drive needed to embark on a project as ambitious as the one he was planning.
"Your Worship."
The priest ceased his thoughts and turned to look at the boatswain who had interrupted him.
"What is it?"
"Over there,” the man answered, pointing to a small object in the distance, the wind off the water filling its massive sails. “A Carthalian naval vessel."
"And? What of it?"
The boatswain looked anxious. "Well...it's best you get down in the cabin, your Worship...because I can't imagine how we'd explain your presence this far out to sea.”
Anwir looked at him.
Missing teeth. Yellowed skin. Foul breath.
"All we say,” he began, ignoring the man’s foul appearance, “is that I came out here for some fishing."
The boatswain stared blankly at him. “I don’t quite understand, your Wors
hip.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” asked the priest rhetorically, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll be down in the cabin.”
Muttering irritably to himself, he made his way through the door and down the tilting wooden steps.
He was tired of dealing with imbeciles.
Stupid, slow, incompetent, idiots...just awhile longer. Just awhile longer months and Carthal will be mine and I will lord over it. Beholden to no one. A king among men.
Gathering his robes about him, Anwir took a deep breath and seated himself at the small table, resting his back to the wall.
Just a a little while longer...
It would be less time if he didn’t owe Erik the Bald two more favours.
Two more favours. It was Viking custom for an outsider such as himself to provide three favours to a Viking in order to earn that Viking's trust. Once he had done so, he was free to ask for a favour from the Viking in return.
Anwir picked at a piece of fish, caught in his teeth, the remnants of last night's supper with Erik the Bald and his senior commanders. It was rather insulting being told by a group of slovenly Vikings that he, Anwir, the exalted and distinguished High Priest of Lindisfarne, cultured and educated and capable of conversing in several languages, had to prove his trustworthiness…
But, it had to be done. It was the only way.
The first favour had been the royal carriage ambush. He'd arranged that. He had supplied Erik the Bald and Krall, Erik the Bald's head henchman, with the information concerning the departure time of the royal carriage and the route that it would take from Clarendon through the Great Wood.
The Vikings had been happy with the spoils - one hundred gold crowns and some expensive jewellery - but this wasn't good enough. No. He needed to gift them two more favours.
But what? Arranging the ambush of another carriage was out of the question because a second ambush would raise too much suspicion and the last thing he wanted was for Gryndall and his knights to be on high alert. No. These two favours would have to be something a little different.
Whores? Money? Viking appetites were easy enough to please. He would think of something.
Chapter Five
(June 4)
“Five hundred crowns is a significant sum of money,” I said, dipping the end of my quill in ink once more.
Standing in the entrance to the balcony and propping himself against the wall with one arm, Gryndall groaned. “I know…I know, Copernicus. And to think Anwir would play politics with a boy’s life!”
I scratched a note in the margin of the text I was copying and glanced at my king. “It does seem rather rotten.”
“And, what's more, he is a priest. A religious man.”
Gryndall shook his head in frustration.
“Just one more example of how the religious can’t claim the monopoly on morality," I sighed, adding, "your grandfather was right to make Carthal secular. Look at how quickly my beloved Rome collapsed once our Empire adopted religion.”
Neither of us spoke for several minutes, my king most content to watch Donal and Conan instruct a group of cadets in archery in the courtyard below and me, to continue copying the massive text laid out on the desk before me.
“It’s a king’s ransom,” Gryndall muttered after a time.
“Aye. Only it’s for a sixteen year old boy,” I quipped, perhaps a little more cheekily than I should have. “You know, my Lord,” I added quickly, seeking to make up for my cheekiness, “there are always other ways.”
“Other ways?”
“Other ways to get the things you want without paying full price.”
He stared at me. “Explain.”
I cleared my throat and set down my quill. “You steal the boy away from Lindisfarne.”
Gryndall's eyes bulged out of their sockets. “And just how exactly do you expect me to do that with all those prying monks around? They wouldn’t let us out of their sight for a minute.”
I shrugged. “There has to be a way.”
“Yes, but how? Copernicus, sometimes…”
He clenched a fist and I grimaced, ashamed at my inability to come up with something better to say.
“What if…” I began, the wheels turning in my head, “you bring eight chests for the money. Eight chests. It will look magnificent. Stunning. They’ll be awed. Jaws will drop. They’ll need a dozen or more monks to carry those chests up the mountain to the monastery. Anwir will be impressed. He’s always had an eye for gold and other fine things. Men like that are easily fooled,” I muttered as an aside.
Gryndall nodded as though he was still waiting for the climax of what I had to say.
“You fill the bottom half of each of the eight chests with heavy bricks," I said, rather enjoying this evil scheming, "the top half of each chest, you fill with money. Let us say, two hundred and fifty crowns in all - in small coins.”
He smiled. “And by the time Anwir realizes that the chests are half filled with bricks and that I've only given him half the five hundred crowns he's asked for, we’ll have left with Lionel.”
I nodded. “Precisely.”
Gryndall sighed, looking at me, his expression conveying that he was impressed. But then his face clouded over. “There’s only one problem.”
“And that is?”
“What about after. Once he learns I’ve deceived him. He won't be happy.”
I chuckled softly. “And since when have you ever worried about what that washed up priest thought of you?”
If I’d known then the evil plans being set in motion, I would have checked my hubris. I underestimated Anwir. We all did.
Chapter Six
(June 5)
"Aidan."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Can you prepare my wife's horse?"
The stable boy nodded. "Of course, my Lord. What sort of saddle will she need?"
"We're only riding as far as the lake. So just the light saddle should do.”
"Certainly, my Lord."
Gryndall watched the wiry youth until he had disappeared into the stable.
“My Lord?”
Turning around, Gryndall found himself face to face with Donal.
"Donal."
The slim, yet muscular knight with the stubble on his chin and the intelligent eyes wore a concerned expression. "My Lord. Do you think it wise to go riding unescorted?” he asked, gesturing towards the king’s white stallion. "That carriage was ambushed not a half day's ride from here."
Gryndall nodded, pursing his lips and releasing a gust of air. "Aye. I'm well aware of that fact."
Donal looked incredulous. "Well? Should you not ask one or two of your devoted knights to escort you and your wife to the lake? What if the men who ambushed that carriage are still in the area?"
Gryndall shook his head. "I refuse to be held hostage in my own kingdom. I shall go where I please, ambushers be damned."
"So long as you can handle the ones you encounter."
"I already spoke to Copernicus. He said we're safe here. So long as we stay out of the Wood. The ambushers need cover."
A fair point I guess..." said Donal slowly. "Who does he suspect is responsible?"
Gryndall ran a hand through his dark, bushy mane. "He agrees that Vikings could have been responsible."
"That's not good."
"No, it isn't."
"Are we ready to go then?" a female voice called from behind them.
Both men turned to see Ygraine approaching. She wore her leather riding gear and her long blonde hair was tied back into a neat bun. She strode up to them with confidence and pecked her husband on the cheek.
"I can't wait to get out. I was so bored while you were away,” she said, twirling mid-step. “And Winifred would hardly leave me alone for five minutes - "
Gryndall smiled. "You know she loves you dearly. If she's pestering you, it's because she can't bear to leave you on your own."
"I know," Ygraine sighed, glancing at Donal. "I thought this r
ide would be just the two of us..."
"It is just the two of us," said Gryndall, glancing paternally at Donal. "We'll discuss this further at our Assembly tonight. I hope that's acceptable."
"That's acceptable. Just be careful out there, my Lord. My Lady," he added, acknowledging Ygraine with a nod.
"We'll be careful," said Gryndall.
"Yes, we'll be careful," his wife repeated, gliding happily over to Aidan as he brought out her chestnut brown mare from the stable.
"Make sure the other knights are aware of the Assembly," said Gryndall as he watched his wife use the stepping block to mount her horse, her swollen belly making it impossible to simply jump on.
"I will ensure all knights are aware of the Assembly, my Lord."
"Good. Thank you, Donal. Now I can see my wife is impatient to go," Gryndall remarked with a smile on his face as Ygraine rode towards them.
The queen gave her husband a gentle swat with her riding stick as she passed. He turned and quickly tried to catch hold of her, but she was already gone.
"I'll get you back for that!" he hollered after her.
"You'll have to catch me first!"
Donal shook his head in amusement as he watched the queen speed off towards the castle gates, peasants diving and chickens flapping wildly to get out of her way.
"She's a wild one, my Lord."
Gryndall laughed as he mounted his white stallion. "Aye, and that's why I love her!"
He cracked his reins and a second later, was galloping after her, shouting apologies to the peasants that had to again dive out of the way.
"Knights of the Order. Thank you for coming to the Assembly," said Gryndall, his voice filling the Great Chamber as nineteen pairs of eyes, belonging to nineteen knights seated at the round table, stared back at him. "We have urgent matters to discuss. Percy Goodfellow - a citizen of Carthal, a brother, one of our own, was murdered in cold blood less than a week ago. It is difficult for me, as your king, as the person responsible for the safety and well-being of the populace, to stand here while the man responsible for Percy Goodfellow's death remains free."