Chapter 9 #2
“Did you tell her I can’t seem to help myself?
Cleve is a stubborn man. He cares for me, I know it, he knows it, but he won’t let me close.
Some of his reasons are murky, others quite stupid, even others utterly false.
Why can’t you simply tell him that I’m as little a real princess as Sira is a queen, bred for the position? ”
“I cannot do that. Surely you see why, Chessa. As for Cleve’s reasons, murky or not, stupid or not, nothing will sway him.
As for Kiri, I only told her that you admired her father.
I told her that if a princess looked at her father in an admiring way, why then, her father was of unquestioned nobility. ”
“Is that true?”
“I don’t yet know the full truth, at least those truths from Cleve’s dreams. He remembers that his father was the Lord of Kinloch, on the western side of Loch Ness, in Scotland, near the trading town of Inverness.
He remembers his stepfather, the man’s coldness and cruelty toward his mother.
Does he remember correctly? Are they truly as things were?
When you are, well, settled, Merrik and Laren are going with him to Scotland, back to Cleve’s home, to set things aright if there is anyone left to set things aright with. ”
“Hasn’t it been a very long time?”
“Aye, twenty years. I truly don’t know what Cleve expects, but he must go home, he must see what there is left. He had a mother, an older brother, and two sisters. Life is very uncertain. They could be dead. It is likely.”
“When I am settled,” Chessa repeated slowly. Then she smiled at Mirana, this woman who looked so much like her. She knew how she wanted to be settled. And she knew now how she would gain it. It would not be well done of her. She didn’t care. She was fighting for her future.
Chessa took another bite of Utta’s porridge, swallowed, drank a bit of goat’s milk, and said, “What did Kiri’s mother look like?”
“Sarla? Ah, that is a tale. Sarla always seemed so gentle, so very sensitive and kind, her voice always low and soft. Even her hair was a soft brown, as soft as she was, her eyes a lighter brown. She was quite pretty, really. It’s just that one usually didn’t notice because she was so very quiet.
After her husband, Erik, died, she and Cleve became lovers.
She became pregnant with Kiri. But then Laren’s father, Hallad, came to Malverne and wanted her.
Hallad is Duke Rollo’s brother. He was very rich and could offer her more than she’d ever had in her life.
She decided to marry him. Cleve told her she could do as she wished, but he wanted his child from her first. She tried to kill him and thankfully all was discovered.
Sarla stayed at Malverne until Kiri was born, then she, well, she died. ”
“Did Cleve love her?”
“Perhaps at first. If someone tried to kill you would you still love him?”
Chessa smiled, took another bite of porridge and said, “I don’t blame Ragnor for wanting to take Utta. She is a wonderful cook.”
“Aye, when I first came to Hawkfell Island, she was but eleven years old. Her cooking kept me alive.”
“Alive? What do you mean?”
But Mirana only patted her hand. “Ah, there’s a tale for a long winter’s evening. I have much to do since we have so many hungry men here. You must decide what you wish to do, Chessa. Oh, have you begun your monthly flow yet?”
Chessa rolled her eyes and said nothing.
That evening, Chessa moved closer to Cleve when Laren, not only the mistress of Malverne but also its skald, stood before all the people to tell them a story.
“She’s a female,” Ragnor said, wiping the mead from his mouth. “How can she be a skald? That is ridiculous. Where is a real skald? Where is a man?”
“Be quiet. My lord,” Kerek said. “They have been kind enough to allow you to remain in the longhouse, hold your tongue.” He poured him another goblet of mead.
Ragnor, who recognized that insolent tone, knew that he didn’t want to hear it again, thus said nothing, merely accepted the mead and drank deep.
Laren said slowly, “Let me tell you about the great king Tarokamin, who was born in a land far to the south.
A land called Egypt where there is a long river called the Nile that divides the country into two parts and gives it life.
You see, all else in this country is naught but desert, mile after mile of sand, empty and barren.
“For thousands of years, the kings in this country built mighty stone monuments in which they were buried with untold riches. The more powerful the king, the greater the wealth buried with him. The monuments were called pyramids. They were very large at the base then, with each level, fewer stones were used until there was but a point at the top of the monument.”
“There isn’t a country like that,” Ragnor said. “A country with the name Egypt. As for these pyramids, who would want such a stupid sort of burial monument? A point at the top, you say? That is ridiculous. I am learned and I know there’s nothing like anything you’ve described.”
“This is a story, my lord, naught more,” Laren said, smiling at him through gritted teeth.
“Listen now and learn of Tarokamin. He wanted a monument greater than any king who had come before him, greater than his father’s, greater than his grandfather’s, whose was the greatest to be seen in the land.
He ordered a Babylonian master craftsman to oversee the work.
He hired hundreds of overseers. One hundred thousand slaves quarried the stone and hauled it to the site where the huge monument was to be erected.
“King Tarokamin married and had a son who was more precious to him than his wife, than his army, than all his jewels, but not more precious to him than his burial monument.
He would go to the afterlife when he died, but he would still be immortal, for all who came after him would see his monument and know that he had been a great and wealthy king.
“The years passed. His son grew to manhood, a handsome, strong young man. Every day of his life he looked upon his father’s monument.
Tall now, taller than anything he had ever seen in his life.
Two thousand men standing side by side couldn’t come together around the base of the great stone pyramid so massive a structure it was.
It would soon be completed, this stone mausoleum that would house his father’s bones in magnificently decorated chambers, hidden in the bowels of the monument.
“The day came when his father told him he was to marry his sister. Don’t be shocked.
This was the custom of the land, one we find very strange, but it is what the kings did.
King Tarokamin hadn’t married his sister because he didn’t have one.
He had married a princess from a neighboring kingdom. But he knew how things were to be done.
“However, the son hated his sister, hated her with a soul-deep hatred. He told his father he wouldn’t marry her.
He told his father that he could never produce children by her because he hated her so much.
He said she was wicked, that she had many lovers, that she was vain and grasping. No, he wouldn’t marry her, not ever.
“His father told him that if he refused, he would give her to his younger brother and he, the beloved, favored son, would be banished from the land. The son bowed his head. He knew how proud and stubborn his father was. He also knew the custom and he knew he couldn’t flout it.
He felt sorry for his brother, who was gentle and uncertain, not good material for a king.
“The next day he was gone, his two servants and six of the king’s soldiers with him.
Tarokamin was distraught. They could find no trace of his favorite son.
Never was he seen again until three days after the old king had died.
” Laren had lowered her voice until her final words were barely above a whisper.
There was utter silence, all the people leaning forward, all their attention on Laren, and now she smiled at them and said again, “Tell me if you can what became of the son?”
Merrik laughed. “She has done it again. I keep thinking I will come to understand her mind, but it has been five years and I still have not succeeded.”
“Wait,” Cleve said. “Laren, you said the son wasn’t seen again until after the father died?”
“Aye, that’s right. He wasn’t seen again until three days after the old king had died.”
“Ah, then he came back with an army and overthrew his younger brother,” Chessa said. “He then took his rightful place as ruler.” Cleve nodded as did most of the people.
Laren shook her head.
Rorik said, “Perhaps the younger brother went out and found him, waiting outside the kingdom.”
Laren shook her head again. She looked at Hafter, at Entti, whose babe was sleeping on her lap, at Mirana, at all the people, one by one.
“Come, tell us, Laren,” Aslak shouted. “What did happen to the son? How was he seen three days after his father died?”
Suddenly Ragnor laughed. He rose from the bench, belched and laughed more. “You are all fools. Anyone who is of royal blood would know the answer to her foolish puzzle.”
Everyone looked at Ragnor, many fists raised in his direction. He drank down more mead. Laren wondered how he still sat straight on the bench or managed to stand. She saw rage on Merrik’s face and said quickly, “Aye, my lord? You know the answer?”
“Certainly,” Ragnor said. “Shall I tell you?”
“If you can,” Rorik said, wishing he could forget that Olric, king of the Danelaw would exact retribution were his son killed.
Merrik nodded. He rather hoped Ragnor would make an ass of himself. After all, the rest of them had.
Ragnor said to Laren, “You said he hated his sister and refused to wed with her and for this reason he was forced to leave his country and his younger brother would succeed the father when he died?”
“Aye, that’s correct.”
Ragnor belched again and laughed. “You’re fools, all of you.
Listen to the answer. His sister hated him as much as he hated her.
How could it be otherwise? Thus, he left and none ever heard of him again.
When he was seen three days after his father’s death, it was in the massive mausoleum that you call pyramid.
Aye, he was found and all recognized his clothes and the jewels he wore, but he was naught but sand and bones.
You see, the sister killed him, she avenged herself for his humiliation of her, and placed his body in the old king’s hidden burial chamber.
She was probably aided by this Babylonian craftsman who would know where the burial chambers were hidden. He was her lover, wasn’t he?”
“By all the gods,” Laren said, staring at Ragnor of York. “You are perfectly right, my lord.”
Ragnor preened like a jackdaw. “Let me also tell you that the sister wasn’t blamed for the murder. All believed the king had killed his son and placed him in the burial chamber. Since he loved him, they would be together for eternity.”
“That’s right, Lord Ragnor.”
“I can’t stand this,” Rorik said, got up, and left the longhouse.
Ragnor laughed and drank more mead. “I am a prince. Of course I would know the answer. Don’t raise your fists at me, remember who I am, remember who my father is.”
Ragnor said, looking as if he would soon be patting Laren on her head like a puppy that has just performed well, “Perhaps I am wrong. She told a fine tale. I liked the question at the end. It holds interest for a smart man. Aye, you did well, Laren. Perhaps a female isn’t such a bad skald after all.
” And he pulled off his silver armlet and handed it to her.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, stunned.
Cleve said to Chessa, “I will go join Rorik. This is too much to bear. By all the gods, I want to kill him.”
Kerek left Ragnor bragging and braying to any of his men who would listen and came to Chessa, who was watching Kiri playing with a leather ball. “You see, he isn’t always stupid, though he did brag a bit too much about his superiority.”
“You’re right, that was well done of him,” she said, not looking up at him.
“Don’t you believe that if a man is clever, as Ragnor just proved to be, that he can be taught other things?”
“You mean like kindness, good judgment, generosity, common sense? Ah, and humility? That quality surely crowns all others. Shall I continue, Kerek?”
Kerek ground his teeth. “A man can’t be everything that is to your liking. You cannot demand a god. A man must have some flaws.”
“Leave it be, Kerek,” she said, patting his arm. “Leave it be. I won’t wed him and there’s the end to it.”
He said nothing. Chessa sighed and took herself to the fire pit to help Mirana and Entti clear away the remaining food from the evening meal.