IV
Johan Kvag, bishop of Roskilde, often had business in Copenhagen, for he was its liege. In a private room of the house he kept there, he sat long silent while he considered, from his seat whereon were carved the Apostles, the young man in a plain chair before him. Ordinary clothes and Jutish brogue hardly accorded with the gold, given to Mother Church, that had persuaded his major-domo to arrange this audience.
“You have told me less than you could, my son,” he finally said.
Niels Jonsen nodded. His self-possession, at his age and station in life, was remarkable too. “Aye, my lord,” he admitted. “Some might suffer, did the whole tale come out. But I swear before God that I’ve spoken no lie to you, and won the treasure in no wrongful way.”
“And now you would share it with my see. If your reckoning of its worth is correct, that would be a donation an emperor could scarcely match.”
“I’ll leave the dividing to you, and trust in your fairness.”
“You’ve small choice,” the bishop said dryly. “You’ll not stay alive, let alone grow wealthy, without protection.”
“I know it well, reverend excellency.”
Johan cupped his chin. “And still you bargain,” he murmured. “You forget the danger to your spirit that lies in worldly riches.”
“My priest can steer me clear of that, I hope,” said Niels.
“You are a cocky one, aren’t you?”
“No disrespect, sir. But if naught else, I’ve people I’d like to help, beginning with my mother and her brood. Besides, the way the Hansa’s pushing in, meseems the kindgom should be glad of a big shipowner who’s Danish.”
The bishop’s gravity broke in a laugh. “Well spoken!” Niels’ countenance lightened. “Then you’ll take me on?”
“Not that fast, my son, not that fast. There are certain conditions to meet. First, though you keep a secret or two from me, you must tell all to a priest, that he may shrive you.” The sunburnt face drew downward. Johan smiled and added: “I’ll send you to Father Ebbe of St. Nicholas’. That’s your patron, and Ebbe is of seafaring stock himself, lenient about things that others might find overly peculiar.”
“A thousand thanks, my lord.”
“Next you must lead trusty men to the hoard, unbeknownst, for them to examine it.” The bishop bridged his fingers. “We must be careful. If it’s as great as you claim, we cannot bring it forth overnight. Wars would ensue for its possession, on whatever pretext. Few years ago, this city was under Norwegian attack; and when I think of the German dukes—Yes, I suspect our wisest plan in the end will be to leave the major part buried.”
“But you can do so much good with it,” Niels protested.
“Gold cannot buy more in aid of the poor than the land can produce. Nor are clergy immune to temptations, of which the worst may be those of power.”
Johan raised a reassuring palm. “Certainly we’ll have use for considerable amounts,” he went on. “They can be introduced in discreet fashion. Likewise for your career, my son. Not only dare you not burst flamelike into opulence; you’ve much to learn ere you can successfully lead a company.
“We’ll explain that you’ve come into an inheritance, and that I have found you worthy of my favor. This should raise few questions. Folk will suppose you’re the bastard of a well-off man, perhaps kin of mine, who’s died.” At Niels’ scowclass="underline" “Nay, no reflection on your mother’s honor. It’s merely what they’ll take for granted, a common kind of event which occasions short-lived gossip, if any.
“In due course, I’ll have you made a burgher, and you can get your licenses for trade. . .. Look less impatient, lad,” the bishop chuckled. “I’ve no intolerable length of time in mind.”
“You’re generous, your reverence.” Niels clenched fist on knee. “But some matters can’t wait very long.”
Johan nodded. “True. You bespoke your family. And doubtless you anticipate pleasures. No vast harm in that, if amidst them you still remember God. And maybe you’ve a venture or two you’d like to begin on at once, that’s within your present abilities? Well, none of these things is impossible, for you will admittedly have money. Your need is just to hold covered how large the sum is.” Joy blazed at him. “Go with my blessing. We’ll talk further tomorrow.”
The moats, walls, watchtowers that guarded Copenhagen were stately. Within them, however, most of the city was houses wooden and thatch-roofed, jammed together along narrow, crooked, mucky streets. The folk who crowded it were mainly laborers, their drabness relieved here and there by the flamboyant rags of a juggler or fiddler; traffic was mainly afoot, save for wagons forcing through with a bow wave of curses. Beggars and foreign seamen gave strangeness but hardly more color. A mounted knight, a rich merchant, a famous courtesan in her litter, would stand out as much by rarity as by finery. Swine, poultry, dogs, children wandered about. Noise went like surf, voices, feet, wheels, hammers. Raw beneath a low gray sky, the air reeked of smoke, dung, offal, graveyards.
And yet, Niels thought, the saying was true: this was indeed free air. It bathed him with hope, made him drunk on dreams. Here was the womb of the future. He could almost set aside the longing for Eyjan that ever querned within him-almost-in this place so utterly sundered from everything of hers.
He reached the inn where he was staying, hurried through the taproom with a bare wave to the landlord and the drinkers, thudded upstairs and along a hallway. The Blue Lion was for those who could afford the best that became a commoner: clean, safe, with a pair of bedroom for hire in addition to the general one. He knocked on a door of the former.
Ingeborg let him in. She had bought an image of the Virgin and stood it on a shelf. He saw from wrinkles in her gown that she had been praying. Her gaze sought his, she trembled and parted her lips but could not speak.
He closed the door. “Ingeborg,” he said, “we’ve won.”
“O-o-oh. . . .” A hand went to her mouth.
“The bishop agrees. He’s a fine fellow. Well, he does want to move slowly, but that’s all right, that’s wise. Our luck has turned.” Niels whooped. He danced where he stood, for the bed left scant floor space. “Our luck, Ingeborg! No more poverty, no more toil, no more whoredom—the world is ours!”
She crossed herself. “Mary, I thank you,” she whispered.
“Aye, me too, we’ll light many candles, but flfst let’s rejoice,” Niels babbled. “We’ll feast this eventide, I’ll have the kitchen get whatever you like and cook it for you, we’ll have wine and tapers and music—Oh, Ingeborg, be glad. You deserve gladness.”
He clasped her waist. She regarded him through tears. “Teach me how to be happy,” she asked.
He fell moveless, staring down at her. It came suddenly to him that she was fair to see, full figure, gentle features, luster of brown eyes and billowing hair. They had kissed before, but quickly, in simple friendliness. Now the whiplash need was off him-off them both. He’d wondered in fleeting moments how that would feel, being free to remember Eyjan all the time. Now he knew; but here was Ingeborg.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, amazed.
“Niels, no,” She tried to draw back. He pulled her against him. Her mingled scents of woman were dizzying. The kiss went on and on.
“Niels,” she breathed shakily into his bosom, “do you understand what you seek?”
“Yes, Ingeborg, darling.” He lowered her to the bed.
-Afterward, as they lay resting in embrace, she said, “I beg one thing of you, Niels.”
“It’s yours.” He stroked the softness of her back.
“Never call me ‘love,’ or ‘dearest,’ or any such word, as you were doing.”