The iron lance

'Have you decided what he will be called?'

'I had thought to call him Murdo, after his father,' Ragna answered. 'But now that I see him, I think he should have a name he can make his own. Do you think Murdo would mind if his son had a different name?'

'I think men care less about such things than they let on.' Niamh brushed the tiny round head with its pale fluff of hair. 'A mother can be trusted to know what is best for her child.'

'Then I will call him Eirik,' declared Ragna.

'A good name,' mused Niamh. 'A name of strength and eminence. I like it!'

'It is the name of my great-grandfather-the first man of our people to be baptized a Christian.' Ragna cradled her baby, and whispered his name to him for the first time. 'Eirik,' she said. 'Do you like it, my darling?'

The two women sat for a time, cosy in one another's company, whereupon Ragna, exhausted from her labour, drifted off to sleep. Niamh pulled the bedclothes around the new mother and her infant, and then lay down beside them herself. Night folded itself around them and they slept soundly and peacefully, stirring only when the babe stirred.

It was Ragna who heard the commotion in the yard: voices raised, people shouting, the dogs barking, and the sound of horses stamping in the midwinter cold. She came awake with a start and saw Niamh resting beside her.

'Wake up, Nia.' She gently shook the older woman's shoulder. 'Someone is here.' Even as she spoke the words, her heart leapt in her breast. 'Wake up! The men! I think the men have returned!'

Niamh came awake at once. 'What? The men, you say?' She hastened to the single narrow window, rubbed the small square of glass with her hand, and peered out.

'Can you see?' Ragna sat up excitedly, waking the baby, who started and cried out, his tiny voice no bigger than a bird's cackle. 'Hush, my lovely,' soothed his mother. 'All is well.'

'It is still dark,' Niamh reported. 'I cannot see who it is. They have horses-three or four of them, I think…'

'Is it them? Is Murdo with them?'

'I cannot say.'

There came a crash as the bolted door burst open and the voices from outside spilled into the house. Then came the rapid thump of feet on the wooden stairs. 'They are coming up here!'

Niamh stooped and retrieved a poker from the hearth and stepped to the bedside. There came the sound of other doors banging open and, a heartbeat later, the door to their room opened and a man's head and shoulders thrust through the gap. Niamh tightened her grip and raised the iron poker.

The intruder saw the women, and called to someone behind him, 'Here they are! I've found them!' He pushed the door open wider, but did not come into the room.

Instead, he stepped aside and was quickly joined by two others, one of whom was a priest in a cowl and long brown robe. The foremost intruder was a tall, fair-haired knight of princely bearing; he regarded the women placidly, his expression firm, but not threatening. 'My lady,' he said, inclining his head. He looked from Ragna to Niamh, as if he was not certain which to address by that title.

'Who are you?' Niamh demanded, lowering the poker, but holding it across her body as a warning.

'I am Hakon Kol, my lady, house carle to Prince Sigurd.'

'What do you mean by disturbing the peace of this house?'

'I am sorry, my lady,' the warrior answered. 'We have come from Bishop Adalbert, who has…' He glanced uneasily at the young woman in the bed holding tightly to her infant, and his nerve began to desert him. '… the bishop has…'

The priest, seeing his envoy falter, pushed the knight aside impatiently. 'The bishop has placed this house, and all its lands and chattels, under the protection of the church.' Looking from Niamh to Ragna, he said, 'Are you Lord Brusi's daughter?'

'Yes, but-'

'Do you deny that Lady Ragnhild died and was buried four days ago?'

'I deny nothing.' Ragna replied, her fright giving way to disbelief and confusion. 'But the bishop knows full well that -'

The priest withdrew a rolled parchment from the pouch in the sleeve of his robe. Unrolling it, he began to read. 'Be it here known that for the good husbandry of these lands, Bishop Adalbert of Orkneyjar does hereby exercise the right of possession granted by Lord Brusi of Hrolfsey in the signing of the papal decree of remission and conveyance.'

'We are well aware of the decree,' said Niamh angrily. 'Yet, it does seem passing strange that you should choose this time to remind us of this fact.'

The cleric, ignoring her remark, resumed reading. 'For the protection of any and all Lord Brusi's surviving kinfolk, wards, dependants, and vassals, the bishop in accordance with the grant of rights has decreed that all said inhabitants shall be removed from these lands forthwith.'

'For our protection?' Niamh advanced. 'Speak plainly, priest! You are taking away our home, and casting us out into the cold.'

Folding the parchment carefully, the priest replaced it in his sleeve pouch. 'Adequate provision has been made for you elsewhere.'

'My father is on pilgrimage,' Ragna said, fighting to keep her voice steady. 'When he returns he will take up the lordship of his lands once more.'

The priest regarded her coldly. ‘Should he return.'

'This is our home,' Ragna pleaded. 'We have every right to stay here.'

'The bishop is responsible for your welfare, and is ever zealous to ensure your protection.'

'The bishop is ever zealous for his own gain.' Niamh advanced another step. 'To think that you would use the sad death of Lady Ragnhild to cover your thievery. Shame! Shame on you and all your viper brood.'

The knight shifted uneasily, as if he would distance himself from the stinging accusation.

'You will be taken from here to a place where you can be cared for until such time as the final disposition of these lands shall be completed.' With a flick of his hand, the priest directed his now reluctant henchman to his duty. 'Take them out.'

Eyes imploring, apologizing, begging pardon for the hateful thing he was being made to do, the warrior moved a step forward. 'My lady,' he murmured softly. 'Please.' He made a small supplicating gesture with his hands.

Niamh made no move, but stood glaring defiantly at the priest.

'Take them away!' growled the priest.

The warrior hesitated, his frown deepening. The priest shouted his command again, and still the warrior balked.

Seeing his order defied, the priest rushed forward; taking Niamh roughly by the arm, he tried to wrest the poker from her hands. When her grasp proved the stronger, he raised his hand to strike.

As the blow fell, the warrior reached out, seized the priest by the wrist and jerked the hand aside, squeezing hard. The priest gave out a little shriek of pain and released his hold on Niamh, seeking instead to free himself from the knight's crushing grip.

The warrior bent the priest's arm and forced his hand behind his back. 'She is a lady!' Hakon said, his voice low, but filled with menace. 'Remember that.' He shoved the priest aside.

The priest staggered back, shaking with impotent rage. 'You will do as you are told,' he gasped, rubbing his wrist. 'You will perform your duty, or the bishop will hear of this.'

'I am Prince Sigurd's man, not yours!' the knight countered.

The priest turned and fled the room. In a moment, they could hear him calling for others to come and help him remove the women.

Turning once more to Niamh, the knight held out his hand. 'Please, my lady. Give us no trouble, and I will see no harm comes to you, or the young lady and her child.'

Niamh looked to Ragna, clutching the infant to her breast. Footsteps sounded in the room below as more men pounded up the stairs. 'My lady?'

'Very well,' Niamh relented, delivering the poker to her captor. She moved to the bed and put her arms around Ragna, who was sobbing softly. 'Be strong,' she soothed. 'We cannot prevent this, but we must do now what is best for the child.'