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On the Cold Coasts

On the Cold Coasts

Titel: On the Cold Coasts Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Vilborg Davidsdottir
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Craxton was better than none, even if he was English, and that he would soon have his countrymen under control; after all, he seemed clever, and surely the English ribalds would obey someone who was said to be on friendly terms with King Henry himself.
    The bishop provided food and drink in abundance, and he was amiable and courteous to his guests. However, Father Jon Palsson at Grenjadarstadur and all of his followers were conspicuously absent. In the darkened corners of the room, the guests discussed the likely consequences of such a purposeful omission, which they believed could be dire.
    In this manner, news was related and discussed, but Ragna had limited time for such concerns. With the butler gone and no replacement as yet, her responsibilities had increased manifold. It was up to her to make sure that there was plenty to eat and drink, that guests were seated at tables according to rank so that no one was offended, and that the food was presented in a way that befitted a bishopric. Still, Ragna thought the gusto with which some of the good farmers imbibed the English ale quite appalling. Her parents both held seats of honor, with Thorsteinn at the bishop’s high table, next to Ormur Loftsson, the king’s governor. Opposite him sat Thorkell. With some apprehension she observed their exchange, as far as she was able; it seemed to her that they were getting along fairly well. The lawman was in good spirits and seemed in no mood to revive bygones. When she brought wine for the bishop and his companions, her foster-father gave her a broad smile. She put two large, heavy jugs on the table and meant to withdraw, but he placed a hand on her arm.
    “Men speak highly of you, Ragna,” he said. “Father Thorkell says that the management of Holar is better than ever, now that you have been given the keys to the pantry and parlor.”
    She glanced at Thorkell and almost expected to see a hint of mockery in his eyes. Instead, they were tender. She was embarrassed, and felt her cheeks turn crimson.
    “She is modest, too, and well-behaved,” said Thorsteinn, evidently pleased, and released his hold on her arm. “That is just how women should be. If only more were like this, all would be well. Then there would be no need for men to invoke the law to keep their wives, like that old beggar Skeggi Alason in Slettuhlid.”
    The men around the table laughed. The matter of Skeggi and his wife Thordis was well known: she ran away on a regular basis, each time claiming that she had been forced into the conjugal bed against her will, although a full ten winters had passed since she had been given to her husband in the presence of witnesses. Thorkell smiled and leaned forward, shaking his head.
    “Ah, but there we disagree, good lawman. Women who have no passion are a poor catch, and Ragna’s temper is surely equal to that of stalwarts like Thordis Magnusdottir, when the occasion warrants. Also, let us not forget who joined Thordis and Skeggi in matrimony and subsequently dismissed her claims, while accepting a handsome payment in return. It was the man who now sits in the best parish in North Iceland at the invitation of the archbishop in Nidaros, in blatant opposition to the rightful ecclesiastical authorities here at Holar.”
    The men grew quiet, and some sent Thorkell a cold glance, while others grinned to themselves. All of them were well aware of the recent power struggles at Holar. Opinions were divided as to who was more fit for leadership among the priests, Father Jon Palsson, with his many years of experience as a priest and vicar of Holar see, or the ambitious Thorkell Gudbjartsson, who had been educated abroad and was endowed with a keen intellect, although he was still young, and moreover favored trade with the English. It was clear to everyone that the latter had the upper hand, for the time being at least, since Jon Palsson was a sworn adversary of the English and loyal to his hereditary king. He had, on top of everything, managed to capture the parish of Grenjadarstadur with the aid of the archbishop in Norway while Holar was without a bishop. Yet bishops came and went, and even the mighty could fall, as history had proven, time and again.
    Thorsteinn Olafsson got to his feet. “I say we drink to all women, those with a temper as well as the well behaved,” he said, lifting his goblet high into the air. “Yet those who have chosen the church as their bride should be the last to advise the rest of us how to

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