The Iron Lance Page 9

  Ragna did not deign to glance at him, however, but directed her steps to his mother. “Welcome, Lady Niamh,” she said nicely. “We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Please,” she lifted the tray, “be refreshed after your journey.”

  Lady Niamh inclined her head regally, accepted the offered cup, and raised it to her lips. She sipped elegantly and thanked Ragna for her kindness and courtesy. Only then did the young woman turn to address Murdo. “Be welcome, Master Murdo,” she said, offering him the tray; “the freedom of our hearth is your for as long as you care to stay.”

  “I thank you, Mistress Ragna,” he replied, ducking his head as he took up the cup. He drank down a gulp of the sweet mead and replaced the golden vessel on the tray, whereupon Ragna, her lips twitching with private pleasure, turned once more to his mother.

  “Lady Ragnhild is ready to receive you,” she said. Indicating the elder of the servants at the cart, she added, “Roli will see that your men are well settled in the servants’ house. Would you like to follow me? I will take you to my lady’s chamber.” With that, she led them into the house.

  They entered a long, wood-panelled vestibule, off which two wide doors opened. Ragna chose the door on the left and showed them into the room where the Lady of Cnoc Carrach waited to welcome her visitors. The chamber was comfortable, with lime-washed walls to which ochre had been added for color, and a rug of woven wool on the smooth timbered floor; an oak screen closed off one corner of the room, and there was a small needlework tapestry hanging on the wall. Ragnhild, dressed in a rose-red cloak and mantle, was sitting in a chair beside the window, which was open to make the most of the failing light. Although the day had been balmy for the season, a small fire of coals burned in a brazier to ward off the chill which was seeping into the air with the coming of night. She glanced up from a tiny book she was reading, and smiled as her visitors entered the room; closing the book, she placed it on the window ledge and then opened her arms to greet her childhood friend.

  The two women kissed, and embraced one another with a warmth of affection that made Murdo squirm slightly. But Ragna, having placed the tray and cup upon a nearby table, watched with obvious delight.

  “Nia,” said Ragnhild, “it is happiness itself to see you again. I do hope your journey was not too arduous.”

  “Oh, Ragni—Ragni, dear friend,” replied his mother,—Murdo was surprised to hear them speak so familiarly to one another—“it is so good to be here. It has pleased me greatly to think we might spend these days together, and now that I am here, I am delighted.”

  They hugged one another again, and Murdo averted his eyes. When he looked again, Lady Ragnhild was turning towards him. “And who is this handsome young man?” she inquired, as if she did not know who could be accompanying her friend. “This cannot be young Murdo! But of course, it is!”

  She stepped before him, extending her arm. Murdo bowed politely and kissed her hand. “Murdo, greetings and welcome. It is so good of you to allow your mother and me the opportunity to see one another again.” She spoke as if he were the lord upon whose whim the celebration depended and, for all it was a simple device, Murdo found that he liked it.

  “My lady, the pleasure is entirely mine,” he replied gallantly.

  Whereupon, Lady Ragnhild endeared herself further by saying, “As you will be the only man among us, you shall have the lord’s place while you are here.”

  The only man, thought Murdo; that had not occurred to him.

  “I do so hope you will not become bored with our female chatter. I have instructed my daughter to do whatever she can to make your stay more pleasant.”

  Although Murdo would have given his left arm to see Ragna’s reaction to this announcement, he dared not glance her way. Instead, he forced himself to look straight into Lady Ragnhild’s eyes and reply in what he hoped was his most winsome manner. “You are most considerate, my lady. But I beg you, take no thought for me. I am certain I shall find the company here endlessly agreeable,” he told her, thinking he had acquitted himself very well.

  The Lady of Cnoc Carrach gave him a pleasant smile, and turned once more to his mother. “I know you have had a long day, and that you must be tired from your journey. Therefore, we will not presume upon you for supper. Instead, we will allow you to dine alone tonight, so that you may rest and restore yourselves.”

  Murdo’s heart sank. After waiting so long to be here, the thought that he would have to wait yet one more night to be with Ragna was beyond endurance. Desperately, he tried to think of some way to divert this disaster, but his mind refused to yield any suitable reply.

  His mother redeemed the day.

  “How kind you are, Ragni,” she offered smoothly, “and how thoughtful. But we would consider the pleasure of your company the best restorative of all.” She deferred to Murdo with a slight tilt of her chin. “Unless my son prefers otherwise, we would be pleased to take supper with you tonight.”

  “By all means,” added Murdo, hoping he did not sound over-eager. He glimpsed Ragna out of the corner of his eye—was she laughing at him?

  “Splendid!” cried Lady Ragnhild, as if this were the very thing she yearned to hear. “I will instruct the cooks. Meanwhile, Ragna will take you to your rooms, and I will have my servingmaids bring your belongings shortly.”

  Ragna led them from the room then, and they proceeded further down the long vestibule to the end where a turret of steps spiralled up to the floor above. Upon climbing the stairs, they discovered a chamber faced with three wooden doors. “Your room, Lady Niamh,” she said, indicating the door directly before them. “This will be your room,” she continued, indicating the left-hand door for Murdo. “And my room is there,” she said, lifting her hand to the right-hand door. “Now then, if there is nothing you require, I will leave you to rest before supper.”

  When Ragna had gone, Murdo’s mother turned to him and said, “I am glad we have come. You will not mind being the only man, will you?” Tilting her head in Ragna’s direction, she said, “No doubt Ragna will help you find a way to enjoy your stay.”

  Murdo, embarrassed to have his most intimate sentiments announced so blatantly, turned swiftly to his door and pushed it open. “I think I shall be content here,” he agreed distantly, peering into the room.

  “Oh, aye, I am certain of it.” His mother bade him take a moment’s rest, and went into her room, leaving Murdo to himself. He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. The room was mostly in shadow now; there was a fireplace and many candles, but none of them were lit. The high-sided bed was built into the wall directly across from him; the linen appeared clean, and the curtain was drawn back. A small round table stood in the center of the room, and there was a three-legged stool beside the bed. The walls were limed to make the most of the scant light through the small, square window. There were iron sconces on the wall, and a sheepskin before the bare hearth.

  All in all, the room was not so different from his own at home. Yes, he thought, I shall be content here—especially knowing that Ragna is sleeping only a few paces away. As he was not particularly tired, he decided to have a look around, and so crept from his room and back down the stairs. He found his way to the vestibule and walked outside.

  The sun was down, but the sky was still light, the few clouds violet-tinted in the twilight. Two or three stars were already glowing low on the horizon; the breeze was rising out of the west and it smelled of rain. There was no one about as Murdo proceeded through the yard, looking at the various buildings; he stopped before the barn, but it was dark inside so he did not go in, continuing around the house instead. There were two fields hard by the house, and in one of these ploughing had begun for the spring planting. Other fields and grazing lands lay further off, and more, no doubt, were scattered among the surrounding hills. He saw pens for sheep and cattle—though none for pigs—and, glimmering darkly at the foot of the nearest hill, a pond for ducks and geese.

  Lord Brusi’s farm, though larger, was
much like his father’s, Murdo concluded, and wondered how much land Brusi owned, and how many vassals Cnoc Carrach maintained. As his circular path brought him once more into the yard, the scent of wood smoke told him the hearth fires had been lit, and it would soon be time to eat. There was a low stone trough a few paces from the door, so he took a drink and, remembering that he was an honored guest, washed his hands before going inside.

  Candles had been lit in the vestibule and, curious about what lay behind the right-hand door, he lifted the wooden latch, pushed the door open a crack and looked inside. It was the great hall, and the size of it gratified Murdo, for it seemed at least twice as large as his father’s hall at Hrafnbú. The ceiling was high and open, and there were iron sconces hanging from the beams and rooftrees. The hearth alone took up the whole of the further wall and it was laid with a single immense slab of stone; three more huge slabs formed the opening, looking like the uprights and lintel of the doorway to a cavern. The lintel was handsome gray-green slate which had been chiseled smooth, and carved with the intertwined knotwork of the old Celts.

  Two long black boards on trestles ran side-by-side the length of the hall to end at a third, shorter board before the hearth. Both long tables had benches either side, but the short table had benches only on the side nearest the hearth. Iron sconces lined either wall, and iron candletrees and candleholders of various kinds were scattered around the room in profusion. New straw had been laid on the floor, filling the room with the fresh scent of the field.

  “The hall is being readied for the feast,” said a soft voice behind him.

  Murdo turned quickly. “Ragna, I—”

  It was not Ragna who stood before him, however, but one of the servingmaids: slight and dark, her hair pulled back and bound in a length of white cloth. She was holding a trencher on which lay a small loaf of bread and bowl of salt. “You are to sup in my lady’s chamber tonight,” the maid explained cheerfully.

  “I see,” he replied.

  The two stood for a moment looking at one another, and Murdo, unused to such bold scrutiny from female servants, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  “You are Murdo,” the maid informed him.

  “Yes.”

  “I am called Tailtiu,” she said. “I serve Mistress Ragna, and my mother served Lady Ragnhild—until she has died two years ago. One day, Mistress Ragna will be a lady, and I will serve her just like my mother before me, you see.”

  “Yes,” Murdo answered; then, fearing he was repeating himself, added, “I see.”

  “You are from Dýrness,” the maid blithely continued, “and your father is one of Jarl Erlend’s noblemen—just like Lord Brusi.”

  “He is that.”

  “Lord Brusi and his sons has gone on the pilgrimage to the Holy Land with your father and brothers,” she said, warming to the discussion. “You were not allowed to go, for you has not taken arms yet, for all you are too young.”

  “I am sixteen summers now,” Murdo announced haughtily. He stared hard at the impertinent creature, and wondered how she had come by her information and whether he should send her away. But she was not his to command, so he stood firm and hoped his scowl would drive her off.

  “Mistress Ragna is good to me,” Tailtiu continued. “She is very beautiful, too, and she has given me many gifts, for I am her maid.”

  “So you have said,” replied Murdo.

  “You do not look like a Dane,” the maid observed.

  “My father’s line is descended from Sigurd the Stout,” Murdo declared. “My mother’s people are blood kin of King Malcolm of Scotland.”

  “My father was a Dane, too,” the girl countered, as if the illustrious Sigurd were no more to her than an itinerant farmhand. “My mother was of the Irish. She was brought here as a wee girl no bigger than a cricket—is what she used to say. One day I will go to Ireland, too. They say it is a fine land—an island, it is, and much bigger than all of Orkneyjar.”

  “That is what they say,” agreed Murdo wearily.

  Footsteps in the vestibule alerted them just then, and they turned to see Ragna approaching. “There you are, Tailtiu,” she chided. “I am certain Master Murdo has better things to do than listen to your chatter all night.”

  “Yes, Mistress Ragna,” Tailtiu said, not chastened in the least.

  “I will take this,” Ragna said, reaching for the tray, “and you can return to the kitchen.”

  Ragna took the tray and the maid departed, casting a lingering mischievous glance at Murdo as she went. “The chamber is ready,” Ragna told him, moving towards the door. “You can come in if you like.”

  “Thank you,” he said, following her.

  Ragna turned and met him at the threshold with the trencher of bread and salt. “You must take a bit of bread and dip it in the salt,” Ragna explained. “It is the custom of the king’s court.”

  Murdo pinched a chunk of bread from the loaf and pressed it into the salt. He held it for a moment, uncertain what to do next. “And then?” he asked.

  “You must eat it,” Ragna answered. The laughter in her voice charmed rather than shamed him, and he laughed, too.

  “Why must I eat it?” he asked, to prolong the pleasantry.

  “It is a sign of hospitality by which honored guests are received in this house,” she told him. “My father learned of it in King Olaf’s court.”

  Murdo put the bread into his mouth, and Ragna indicated that he should go into the room. He stepped across the threshold, and caught the warm scent of her as he passed—slightly sweet, like heather, or a spice of some kind. She followed him into the chamber, which had been transformed into a dining room. A table had been set up before the hearth, where a fire now crackled, making the room warm and welcoming.

  Ragna placed the trencher on the table, and turned to the hearth where a pitcher and cups were waiting. She took up one of the cups, and brought it to Murdo. “A drink while you wait,” she said.

  Murdo sniffed the warm liquid and caught the same scent of spice which he had smelled on Ragna, though he did not know what it might be. He put the cup to his lips and sipped. It was metheglin, and although Murdo had drunk it but twice in his life before now, he pronounced it very good indeed. His commendation brought a smile to Ragna’s lips. “Did you make this?” he asked.

  “I did,” she answered. “How did you know?”

  Lady Ragnhild entered the chamber at that moment, and Murdo turned to greet her. She joined them at the hearth and accepted a cup from her daughter. “I see Ragna has made you properly welcome,” she said. “As the hall is being prepared for the Easter festivities, I thought we might enjoy ourselves better here.”

  “It is a good room,” Murdo agreed, then remembering his manners, he lifted his cup. “Here’s health to you, my lady.”

  They drank together, and Murdo, the temporary lord, felt pleased with his thoughtfulness. When Lady Niamh joined them a few moments later, he proposed her health as well, and the evening began. Tailtiu and one of the kitchen servants brought a succession of dishes to the table, beginning with braised fish, and then roast fowl and turnips. There was ale to drink, and flat bread, both soft and hard.

  Over meat, the formality of their reception fell away, inspiring in Murdo the hope that he would not be suffocated by the strictures of polite custom. When talk turned to the absent lords, his mother said, “I am most eager to hear how you have fared since your menfolk left. It cannot be easy for two women alone.”

  “No,” allowed Ragnhild, “but I am growing used to the extra demands. The vassals undertake the difficult chores, of course, and we have many loyal servants. It is not easy, no, but we are making our way.”

  “It is the same with us,” Niamh said, and went on to explain how they had worked themselves half to death during harvest time. Murdo listened happily to his mother’s account, luxuriating in her luminous appraisal of his many labors and successes.

  After that, talk passed to other things and the evening proceede
d pleasantly. When they finally rose from the board, the candles had burned down, and the fire was a heap of embers on the hearth. Taking a taper from the nearest sconce, Ragna led them up the spiral steps to their rooms and bade them a pleasant and restful sleep, before disappearing into her own room. Only then did Murdo realize he had said none of the things to Ragna that he had wanted to say.

  He bade his mother a good night and went into his room. The candles in their sconces were lit, and a fire burned brightly on the hearth. The servants had placed a candletree beside his bed, and Murdo sat on the stool before the hearth and pulled off his boots, vowing not to let another day go by before he found a way to get Ragna to himself alone. But the next day the household was upside down in preparation for the impending celebration, and the day after that was Passion Day, a fast day, and the beginning of the Eastertide observances; everyone spent, as it seemed to Murdo, the entire day in the little chapel the monks maintained on the island. If not for the ride to and from the chapel, Murdo would likely not have had a single opportunity to see Ragna at all. The next day was also a fast day, so there were no meals to be taken and, as Murdo himself was now fully occupied with helping prepare for the feast, he had to content himself with the few glimpses he got of her as they went about their respective chores.

  Thus, it was not until Easter day that he found the opportunity to speak to Ragna at length again—and then the house was awash with the boisterous tide of kinsmen and friends which had swept over Cnoc Carrach, and it was impossible for Murdo to see her alone. Some of Ragna’s female cousins had come to partake of the festivities, so he had to content himself with sitting across the board from them and exchanging mild pleasantries of only the most general and insipid kind.

  After the first of several meals had been served, however, many of the younger people, having taken the edge off their hunger, went out in search of diversion. Some had begun a game of skilty in the yard, and Murdo wandered out to see how they fared. He had played skilty from the time he was a child, and now considered himself above its modest pleasures. Still, as the rest of the young people were making such a fuss about it, he decided to join in, and even caught two of the fleeing hares before he saw Ragna watching him from the doorway of the cookhouse behind the kitchen. She motioned him to her before disappearing inside.