Free An Antic Disposition by Alan Gordon

that had so recently attacked them, and the Jutlanders squinted and peered at the horizon.
    “We’ve come south, I think,” said Fengi. “Judging by the sun, anyway.
    “There’s something to the west,” called Esbern, pointing. “I can’t see if it’s island or mainland.”
    “Westward it is,” said Valdemar. “Let’s take inventory. What supplies have we?”
    Sheepishly, the men in the boat held out pouches of gold. Valdemar laughed.
    “We are rich indeed,” he said. “All we need is someplace to spend it. At least we have weapons and armor. What about water?”
    “I filled the skins while I was bailing,” said Gerald. “There’s enough.”
    He looked haggard, his makeup for the most part gone, leaving only a few white streaks on his face. The King looked at him thoughtfully.
    “You were the only one to think of that, Fool,” he said. “We were all remiss.”
    “Sometimes, when you think you are going to die, you forget what you will need if you are wrong,” said Gerald.
    “Have you any food?” asked one of the soldiers.
    “Let’s see,” said Gerald, rummaging through his pack and the one he had taken from Larfner. “Here’s a loaf of bread. Let me pass around half of that for now. And I will put the rest to good use.”
    He pulled a length of twine and a small metal hook out of his bag, then attached them to the end of his staff. He baited the hook with a morsel of bread, and dangled it over the side. A minute later he was hauling a good-sized cod into the boat.
    “Hope you like it raw,” he said, gutting it with his knife.
    “You are proving remarkably useful,” said Valdemar. “Are you ambitious?”
    “I confess to one ambition,” said Gerald.
    “Out with it.”
    “I wish to be fool to the king of all the Danes,” he said.
    “God grant your ambition, Fool,” said Valdemar with a smile.
    They ate in silence, then picked up their oars.
    “Land fall by sundown,” said the King. “Then comes the real work.”
    They made it ashore as the sun hit the far horizon, pulling the boat across the mud flats as shorebirds screamed and flapped furiously about them. When they reached higher ground, they dragged the boat into a thicket and did their best to erase their tracks. Then, to a man, they collapsed.
    “Anyone know this place?” asked the King.
    “I’m not certain, but I think somewhere on Fyn,” said Esbern. “It has the look of the eastern shore.”
    “Should we make for Odense?” asked Fengi.
    Valdemar shook his head. “Sveyn will have sent messengers out yesterday morning. Fyn is under his dominion as much as Sjælland is. If we go to Odense, our heads will be on display in the market by nightfall.”
    “Where then?” asked Fengi.
    “We could take to the water in the morning,” said Valdemar. “Head south to Slesvig. With luck, we could reach your brother before Sveyn’s messengers do.”
    “My brother will know by now,” said Fengi.
    “How?” demanded Valdemar.
    “His drost has a spy in Roskilde who sends him messages by pigeon.”
    “Does he?” mused the King. “Very interesting. Let’s assume he does know. Ørvendil is still my vassal.”
    “Of course,” said Fengi, but there was doubt in his voice.
    “Either he’s still loyal to me, or he will betray me to Sveyn,” continued the King.
    “Or he’ll take advantage of the situation to make his own bid for the throne,” said Esbern.
    “He wouldn’t do that,” protested Fengi, but without enthusiasm.
    “Do you trust your brother?” asked Valdemar.
    Fengi was silent.
    “So, there are three possibilities, and two of them are fatal to our cause,” concluded Valdemar. “Shall we hazard a throw of the dice on Slesvig?”
    “If you do not make the throw, are you still in the game?” asked Gerald.
    The others looked at him.
    “I don’t recall hearing that the fool is part of this council,” said Fengi. “The fool has saved our lives three or four times in the last two days,” said Valdemar.