On the Cold Coasts

pursued at home as a result of their aggression and violence. Be that as it may, it is highly inappropriate, and indeed strictly forbidden, for a man of God to ride armed throughout the provinces and take the country’s defense into his own hands.”
    “This clash must have sprung from an emergency, that Thorkell will surely be able to explain. Could it not be that injuries have prevented his journey here, rather than unwillingness?”
    “Maybe, maybe.” The bishop drummed his fingers on the carved arms of the chair, clearly not satisfied. “However, in that case he could have sent a man with a letter. I have sent him two this summer, neither of which he has seen fit to answer. I have been going over his account entries from earlier years, and there are shortcomings. I believed he was one of the few men who could be trusted, but now I no longer know what to believe.” He grasped the arms of the chair and leaned forward, looking intently into Ragna’s eyes. “Do you think it likely that he will join forces with Jon Palsson, who is said to be gathering forces in Oxarfjord, in the north?”
    “No, not likely at all,” Ragna answered without hesitation. “You can be sure that he would never do that.” She was relieved that she could answer truthfully in that respect, though other things would have to remain unsaid. “I would be inclined to believe that he had armed his men to go against Jon Palsson’s forces, that is how strong their acrimony is,” she added.
    “You are quite certain of that?” The bishop leaned back against the cushions once more and peered with his slate-gray eyes, like he wished to see through her. “I do hope you are right. What have you heard from Thorkell since he left? You must have received some news of him?”
    She shook her head, somewhat uncomfortable. “Nothing more than the stories the vagrants carry from farm to farm, which are rarely credible.”
    “Such as?”
    Ragna fidgeted and avoided his sharp gaze. “There is some talk about him not having delivered flotsam that was found north of Sletta, and some say that he is a bit too harsh when it comes to collecting what Father Jon owes the see. But for that he has Your Grace’s permission and orders, isn’t that so?”
    “Yes, that is correct.” The bishop was quiet for a good while, lost in thought. For a moment she thought that surely he could read her mind and all those things that were unsaid, but she shook off the notion. What did she know of Thorkell’s intentions, if any? His grandiose talk was probably just that—talk.
    “I expect you to tell me immediately if and when you receive further news of him, and especially if you hear from him personally. I repeat that you have my full confidence.” He smiled at her, that ambiguous smile, and she understood that the conversation was over. She stood up.
    That same instant there was a light knock on the door and Jon Egilsson the notary returned. He bowed deeply and respectfully to Ragna as she left the room. When he straightened up, their eyes met; his knowledge was evident in his eyes, and she shivered.

    In mid-August, shortly after the Feast of St. Mary, Father Jon Palsson arrived at Holar along with Asbjorn, abbot of the Thingeyrar monastery. A dozen men made up their entourage. The abbot had arranged a reconciliatory meeting, even though the demeanor and countenances of the men did not suggest a great desire for harmony. Indeed, they seemed more interested in fighting, for apart from the two who were ordained, all were fully armed. Swords and knives gleamed beneath cloaks and coats, and little was done to conceal the weapons. No clouds obscured the hot August sunshine, and drops of perspiration glistened on the brows of the men. The horses flicked their tails in an ineffective attempt to cool themselves in the humidity and drive away the flies. The late summer had been unusually warm, and barely a drop of rain had fallen for weeks.
    The Holar clerks stood in a cluster on the terrace and shifted awkwardly. Finally the newly appointed steward, Father Ari, stepped forward and asked the men in a trembling voice to lay their weapons beneath the church wall before entering the great hall for the meeting, and not to commit further sins against His Grace the bishop by doubting his sincere desire to negotiate and reconcile. The abbot immediately echoed this earnest wish. After a brief hesitation and a gesture from Father Jon, the men dismounted, took their arms, and