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Authors: Ellen Kuhfeld
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banners!”
The herald approached. “Red cloth doesn’t hold its color well,” he said dubiously.
“Ah, they’ve learned new dyes in Miklagard.” Olaf pointed to pennants flying above his booth. “See those flags? I’ve flown them every fair for a year, and the red is still bright as new.”
“The rope for that banner has turned pink,” the herald pointed out. Ragnar knew from the flicker of expression on Olaf’s face that there would be fresh ropes tomorrow.
Ragnar knew better than to discuss the virtues of cloth. He went back to his table, and soon found himself discussing the virtues of Surtsheim iron instead. Out of the corners of his eyes, he kept watch for watchers, but there no longer seemed to be any.
He’d about decided he’d been imagining things, and was showing iron bells to a jester, when he saw Gervase Rotour and Dirk Cachepol headed his way. They were accompanied by four men.
One of the men seemed to have a scalded cheek, and the collar of his tunic was stained with food. Another was the fellow who’d been at the potter’s.
Chapter 5
Monday: Plain Speech
“This is not a good time or place,” Ragnar told the jester. “Go, now—swiftly.” Ragnar flashed a sidelong glance in the direction of the approaching bailiff.
There was a brief flash of incomprehension on the jester’s brow, which did not fit well with the image of the knowing gleeman. Then the eyes in his homely-handsome face moved to follow Ragnar’s gaze. Bards, jesters, and gleemen have an instant understanding of lawmen in all their manifestations. He gave Ragnar a sympathetic smile, and cartwheeled off to the sound of jingling brass bells.
Ragnar gathered his dignity about him, tried to settle his shrinking stomach, and sat on the chair just outside the door of his booth. It had been expensive, richly carved with a seat of tooled leather, but it had proven its worth many times over. A master merchant is more impressive in a chair befitting his status. An impressive merchant commands better prices. He adjusted the folds in his tunic, and then the bailiff and his men arrived.
Gervase Rotour was dark where Ragnar was ruddy. His clothes were plain, but of Miklagard cloth, and while Ragnar wore many rings and arm-rings of silver, Gervase wore a few massive rings and brooches of dulled gold. His hood had a long liripipe behind, which he tucked up into his belt. The tip hung solidly enough to indicate considerable weight. Was it money, Ragnar wondered, or an unobtrusive truncheon? Or both?
“Good day, Master Ragnar.”
“Good day, Lord Bailiff,” Ragnar replied. “I’ve been wondering if you might not pay me a call. Will you have a seat?” He gestured to the stool beside him, also carved, but not as well, and without a back.
Gervase sat down with a faint smile and a nod. His troopers unobtrusively surrounded them. Ragnar noticed more and more Northmen idly standing nearby. Olaf and the others were paying attention.
Gervase sighed, acknowledging the deadlock of forces. “I speak plainly. One of our richest local merchants is dead, killed from ambush on the road. There could be a great deal of trouble if his slayer is not found immediately.
“Thorolf Pike was seen arguing with you yesterday. Furthermore, you are from Surtsheim. It is no secret that he was outlawed there for the killing of Snorri Crow—and that you were one of Snorri’s men. There are other evidences that suggest you may have been involved in Thorolf’s killing, which I should like to give you a chance to explain.”
“Bailiff,” Ragnar spread his hands, “my conscience is quite clean in this matter. I’m sure I can give satisfactory answers to any questions you may care to ask.”
“Hm,” Gervase said, and was silent for a moment. “You were seen going toward Northlanding early in the afternoon, only a few hours after the argument. You returned after dark. And it is said you visited the abbey. Thorolf was killed just beyond the
The herald approached. “Red cloth doesn’t hold its color well,” he said dubiously.
“Ah, they’ve learned new dyes in Miklagard.” Olaf pointed to pennants flying above his booth. “See those flags? I’ve flown them every fair for a year, and the red is still bright as new.”
“The rope for that banner has turned pink,” the herald pointed out. Ragnar knew from the flicker of expression on Olaf’s face that there would be fresh ropes tomorrow.
Ragnar knew better than to discuss the virtues of cloth. He went back to his table, and soon found himself discussing the virtues of Surtsheim iron instead. Out of the corners of his eyes, he kept watch for watchers, but there no longer seemed to be any.
He’d about decided he’d been imagining things, and was showing iron bells to a jester, when he saw Gervase Rotour and Dirk Cachepol headed his way. They were accompanied by four men.
One of the men seemed to have a scalded cheek, and the collar of his tunic was stained with food. Another was the fellow who’d been at the potter’s.
Chapter 5
Monday: Plain Speech
“This is not a good time or place,” Ragnar told the jester. “Go, now—swiftly.” Ragnar flashed a sidelong glance in the direction of the approaching bailiff.
There was a brief flash of incomprehension on the jester’s brow, which did not fit well with the image of the knowing gleeman. Then the eyes in his homely-handsome face moved to follow Ragnar’s gaze. Bards, jesters, and gleemen have an instant understanding of lawmen in all their manifestations. He gave Ragnar a sympathetic smile, and cartwheeled off to the sound of jingling brass bells.
Ragnar gathered his dignity about him, tried to settle his shrinking stomach, and sat on the chair just outside the door of his booth. It had been expensive, richly carved with a seat of tooled leather, but it had proven its worth many times over. A master merchant is more impressive in a chair befitting his status. An impressive merchant commands better prices. He adjusted the folds in his tunic, and then the bailiff and his men arrived.
Gervase Rotour was dark where Ragnar was ruddy. His clothes were plain, but of Miklagard cloth, and while Ragnar wore many rings and arm-rings of silver, Gervase wore a few massive rings and brooches of dulled gold. His hood had a long liripipe behind, which he tucked up into his belt. The tip hung solidly enough to indicate considerable weight. Was it money, Ragnar wondered, or an unobtrusive truncheon? Or both?
“Good day, Master Ragnar.”
“Good day, Lord Bailiff,” Ragnar replied. “I’ve been wondering if you might not pay me a call. Will you have a seat?” He gestured to the stool beside him, also carved, but not as well, and without a back.
Gervase sat down with a faint smile and a nod. His troopers unobtrusively surrounded them. Ragnar noticed more and more Northmen idly standing nearby. Olaf and the others were paying attention.
Gervase sighed, acknowledging the deadlock of forces. “I speak plainly. One of our richest local merchants is dead, killed from ambush on the road. There could be a great deal of trouble if his slayer is not found immediately.
“Thorolf Pike was seen arguing with you yesterday. Furthermore, you are from Surtsheim. It is no secret that he was outlawed there for the killing of Snorri Crow—and that you were one of Snorri’s men. There are other evidences that suggest you may have been involved in Thorolf’s killing, which I should like to give you a chance to explain.”
“Bailiff,” Ragnar spread his hands, “my conscience is quite clean in this matter. I’m sure I can give satisfactory answers to any questions you may care to ask.”
“Hm,” Gervase said, and was silent for a moment. “You were seen going toward Northlanding early in the afternoon, only a few hours after the argument. You returned after dark. And it is said you visited the abbey. Thorolf was killed just beyond the
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