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CHAPTER THIRTEEN -- AN ALLIANCE OF CONVENIENCE

( The royal palace at Dunfermline, Scotland, June 13, 1066)

Sipping wine, and enjoying a light supper in the company of his royal host King Malcolm of Scotland and Malcolm’s most lovely but loveless consort Queen Ingiborg, niece of King Harald Hardrada of Norway, Earl Tosti Godwinesson waited to hear the proposition his blood brother’s generosity of late harbored behind its mask of genial benevolence, knowing a cunning plotter as Malcolm would have an ulterior motive for granting Tosti refuge given the circumstances of his flight from English justice. Gazing from the lean clean-shaven countenance of the King to Lady Ingiborg’s casual smiling mien, the seemingly benign assurance of which was belied by the cool unblinking stare of the tall, tawny Queen’s winter-gray eyes beneath her locks of gold hair worn to her shapely shoulders in the more liberal Norse fashion, Earl Tosti instinctively sensed danger from his sovereign benefactors but remained discreet concerning such alerting intuition, evincing no outward sign of wariness regarding the prospect of impending peril. Instead the fugitive lifted his cup in a warm toast to his royal patrons, expressing nothing but effusive trusting gratitude for their kind largesse.

“To my good friends and protectors from injustice Your Royal Majesties King Malcolm and the most fair Lady Ingiborg. Long life, good health, and God’s grace be ever yours, my dearest companions, and may you never suffer Satan’s fire to singe your heels along life’s crooked path to eternal salvation. Did I articulate the maxim properly, sire? I must admit I’m unfamiliar with the colorful proverbs of your Celtic realm. At any rate, I know you grasp my sincere sentiments well enough, yes, my lord?” King Malcolm Canmore grinned and nodded in appreciation of his guest’s gesture, his amicable yet cold gaze meeting that of Lady Ingiborg as they drank the wine in silent calculating consensus. Lady Ingiborg was quick to compliment Earl Tosti regarding his noble salute, and also to broach the issue of Tosti’s potential repayment of her and her husband’s by no means unselfish indulgence.

“Of course we understand your meaning, Tosti, and reciprocate its warmest feeling of mutual admiration, surely. And I’m certain given the opportunity you would prove eager to act with an equal if not superior magnanimity in order to return the great favor my lord Malcolm and I have demonstrated. True, my lord?” Earl Tosti had to suppress cynical laughter at Queen Ingiborg’s frank implication, having expected a rather considerable cost to be attached to the royal couple’s honoring of his petition for a formal intercession with Harald Hardrada and safe passage to Oslo. Shrugging as if he’d no suspicions concerning the nature of such a tacitly overt insinuation Tosti indicated his readiness to serve Malcolm and Ingiborg at their pleasure, bracing for the treachery of the dissembling pair to reveal itself in the details of his coming assignment.

“If I can be permitted by a kind fate to absolve my profound debt to you and Malcolm in any manner whatsoever, Madam, at once or in the future, rest assured I’ll indeed prove ardent in my effort to do so. May I presume you have some task in mind you desire me to undertake for you? Ah, here comes our soup, borne unto our palates by one of your more attractive servants, if you do not mind my saying.” A comely slave of the royal household, a long-legged Irish lass whose curvaceous beauty captured Earl Tosti’s fancy, her brilliant blue eyes full of an intriguing pride and her insubordinate motion betraying a curiously regal bearing that exerted constant appetent fascination, entered the Great Hall of Dunfermline carrying a metal tray with three wood bowls of steaming broth for the diners, her eyes meeting Tosti’s briefly and communicating an urgent warning and passionate petition at once. Queen Ingiborg observed the mute exchange with ire, unpleasantly cognizant of the insolent slave’s appeal to her own royal husband with whom the presumptuous wench had been dallying, Ingiborg suspected with hot indignation.

“Fionna! Cease your impudent flirtations with our honored guest, forpult mus, or you’ll taste the lash until the bones show through your worthless hide, tispe! Serve us the broth and be gone, lest I give you unto my liege Malcolm’s bodyguards to yield their brave manhood entertainment!

Go on, wench, ere I arise and thrash you myself, snogge!” Fionna glared with unabashed hatred at the scornful Queen, a bold display for a slave in any house and more so in face of sovereignty. Ingiborg flushed at the servant’s audacity and arose in preparation to confront Fionna and order her severe punishment, but King Malcolm interceded to his wife’s great displeasure, permitting Fionna to escape Ingiborg’s wrath with no more than a wry admonition. Tosti’s amusement at King Malcolm’s foiling of the Queen’s intent only augmented Ingiborg’s fury of humiliation to Fionna’s guarded gloating.

“Noo, Fionna, ah doot yer maither dinna learn thee hoo ‘tisn’t weel fer a quine ta bey sae dorty ta a fine leddy, sae ah think ye aucht juist gae swiff, ere Hir Maijesty deigns hae ye cut intae pieces ta feast hir hoonds, heer?” Fionna curtsied politely to King Malcolm and as she withdrew shot an outraged Queen Ingiborg another look of contemptuous despising, winking and licking her lips in deliberate defiance. Ingiborg turned quivering to her husband and demanded a more exacting penalty for the insolent slave, stamping her foot to emphasize her desire.

“Kronidiot! How dare you allow that little Gaelic fitte to demonstrate such brazen irreverence towards me and in the presence of our noble guest, no less! I insist that accursed tispe be flogged to my satisfaction until she learns to keep her eyes averted to the dust that impudent hore belongs to, and displays a proper humility in keeping with her menial station! I warn you, Malcolm, if it should be that you’re protecting that presumptuous snogge because you’re putting that insatiable hestkuk of yours to her, there shall be drastic repercussions to such folly, mark me!” Attempting to mollify Lady Ingiborg as Earl Tosti looked on grinning King Malcolm kissed the Queen upon the cheek as he offered earnest reassurance of his fidelity in a low, intimate tone. Lady Ingiborg contemplated him with embittered skepticism, unconvinced by Malcolm’s ardent proclamations and insulted by his perceived low estimate of her intelligence in advancing such transparent lies so unhesitatingly without conscientious restraint.

“As ah hae tauld ye, meleddy, theer’s naught betwixt Fionna an’ aw af a kawrnal naitur, luv, yer mine’s sein’ whit’s na theer, ah sweir, Ingiborg! Ye knew yer de oonlie wumman ah aedur, doon ye, ma sweit loosome wife?” To Malcolm’s surprise and Tosti’s scandalized delight, the aggravated Queen struck her husband a hard blow across the face before stalking off, hurling a final incensed curse at the King in unforgiving parting. Tosti hid his face in a hand to prevent bursting into laughter at Malcolm’s domestic travail knowing the great hurdles his host would face in soothing Ingiborg’s notoriously jealous temper.

“Dra til helvete, drittsekk, and don’t think to warm my bed later with silken words and that damned stakuk of yours, gessael! You can go ronk yourself blind before I’ll spread myself for you again, Malcolm Canmore!” Earl Tosti couldn’t contain his mirth as Ingiborg stormed out and erupted in a fit of sympathetic humor that made King Malcolm shake his head in a rueful familiar reflection as he sighed and reseated himself to enjoy his broth. As the irritated King lifted his spoon he commented concerning his consort’s chronic contentiousness, asking in a facetious manner the reasons for his troth with Ingiborg and its troublesome maintenance.

“Tell aw again, Tosti, why ah iver wad dat dang winch, an’ why ah stey boon ta hir efter aal dis time, eh?” Earl Tosti slurped his soup with a sardonic grin as King Malcolm likewise drank of the hot stew, replying to the King’s query with tart practical perspective. Tosti’s answer did nothing to dispel Malcolm’s annoyed disgust at Ingiborg, though from a purely pragmatic view the estranged sovereign conceded Tosti’s assessment all too well.

“Why, old friend? You wed her because Ingiborg’s the niece of Harald Hardrada, the only and doted-upon daughter of his beloved sister who commands Norway’s affection in her own right despite her less than loveable character. Thanks to this union, you have Hardrada as ally in the event my brother Harold deigns to gaze with avarice upon your realm as he did that of Wales not long past, and so long as Scotland remains a potential beachhead for a Norse army’s landing Harold must treat you with grudging respect and wariness. And of course my presence as guest in your kingdom renders you an even more critical factor in Harold’s anxious calculations under the circumstances. Also, we can’t forget thanks to Ingiborg you have a royal heir in little Prince Duncan. The boy is what, seven or eight years of age now, Duncan? Why, that’s old enough to be married himself truly if it pleased you to consider a match for him.” King Malcolm flashed a discerning grin at Tosti’s pregnant inference, realizing the canny fugitive’s insight regarding his royal brother’s tactical maneuvering left no room for dissembling concerning the offer that Earl Tosti knew Harold had made Malcolm to obtain a betrothal between their houses provided Tosti was surrendered. Nodding in frank acknowledgment therefore, King Malcolm admitted mulling Harold’s proposition before unequivocally declining it. Tosti betrayed no hint of disbelieving at Malcolm’s report though he held in it in profound doubt.

“Ah neer coot lie ta ye, Tosti, coot ah? Aye, ‘tis trew yer brither meed aw a awfer ta wad mi boy Duncan ta yer niece Gundrada wit Nerthoombraya as hir dowry, evin ah wuz sae sweyed ta

yeld ye ta himself wit aal swiff. Ye hae na needcessity ta fear, hooiver. Ah tauld ‘Arold ahm na o’ de habit o’ Judasin’ mi friends an’ dat wuz fixed, wit na rizzon ta argie hit. Yer stull sauf wit aw, Tosti, neer wirry. Aw an’ Ingiborg ur a’ single mine on hit, ye hae mi wird as a genteelman, an’ as de King o’ de Scots.” Earl Tosti feigned acceptance of King Malcolm’s encouraging oath although he’d no doubt his host had in fact made covert arrangement for his surrender to Harold. Requiring additional intelligence concerning the strategy Malcolm had conceived to encompass his profitable betrayal Tosti advanced a sure lure to entice the duplicitous Scotsman’s revelation of his treacherous design’s specificity.

“That’s good to know, my lord, truly. Of course, I hope you understand I’m aware that such kind generosity upon your and Lady Ingiborg’s part merits prompt and unconditional repayment. I believe your good Queen had hinted you might have a mission I might undertake to afford you the compensation your royal benevolence has earned, yes?” The cold gleam that flashed within King Malcolm’s large dark eyes informed the Earl that his erstwhile protector was about to state the means by which Tosti was to be betrayed, under the guise of a favor’s innocuous solicitation.

Taking a deep swig of wine as Malcolm swallowed a fair helping of broth Tosti looked the King direct in the face without wavering, noting with cynical indignation how King Malcolm imposed his secret death sentence without so much as blinking.

“Weel noo, theer juist micht bey a wey fer ye ta bey o’ yeese ta aw noo dat ah think aboot hit, Tosti. Ye ken de abbie o’ Lindisfarne weel, doont ye? Ah hae juist heerd Lord Morag, de radge brither o’ Lulach de Fuil iss noo residenting theer wit entint ta raise Cain hereawa ef ah yeld ‘im leave. Noo, shut Morag maet wit a misfortunate aynd afore ‘e can mak tribble fer aw, Tosti, ah’d haud hit mich in yer favour, an’ bey foon evin mair fiery in yer defences frum enjuistice thance afore, milord. Ah truist dat ye onerstan aw, an’ can bey o’ help in de maitter. Aye, Aenglish?” Tosti’s reply was a plain affirmative, the cunning Earl recognizing departure from Dunfermline to be a crucial factor in maintaining his liberty and securing an independent passage to Oslo for petition to Harald Hardrada. Proffering his hand to Malcolm in apparent eagerness to prove of fair service Earl Tosti began contemplating the arrangements and precautions he’d need make and embrace to accomplish a successful escape from his royal brother’s clever trap.

“Done, your Majesty! You may rely upon me to demonstrate myself your good and efficient servant in this instance, Malcolm, and count Murag amongst the damned of Lucifer’s chastising.

When do you want me to go, old friend, and what provision will be made for my protection and safe return from Lindisfarne once the deed is done?” King Malcolm seemed to consider Tosti’s critical inquiries soberly and after a few moments yielded the Earl what could be held a rational response. The King brought a grin of amused admiring to Tosti’s lips by his sweetening of the bargain with a promise of affording Tosti safe sailing to the court of Malcolm’s kinsman.

“Ah can hae a few o’ mi baest men gae wit ye, ta asseer ye woont fa’ ta ill feat in Aengland, Tosti. An’ ah laen ye mi wurt ye’ll hae sauf bait ta Uzloo, efter Murag’s deid. Dat’s guid enou betwixt auld friends sic as wi, aye, mi daere brither?” Tosti nodded in agreement to Malcolm’s terms, raising his cup to clink it against the King’s in fast fraternal accord. King Malcom eyed his valuable prize without pity, his regrets for Tosti’s dispatch palling besides the fair prospect attending the rank and territory the Earl’s prudent sacrifice would garner for his posterity.

“Neer fear, Tosti. Afore lang ye’ll bey sailin’ soud ta maet ‘Arold in fit bottle fer de roule o’ Aengland, an’ aw an’ mi oonkle-in-lauch wull bey at yer back whan ye daelivir de mortal blaw, ah sweir.” Earl Tosti smiled in deceptive gratitude for King Malcolm’s effusive declaration of firm support, wishing he could inflict a fitting vengeance upon his faithless host ere he fled in haste to fulfill his own sovereign ambitions. His thoughts flitted briefly to the Irish slave-girl who had evinced potentially useful discontent with her station, the contemplation of Fionna’s solicitation spurring Tosti’s desire no less than his dissembling.

A short while later Earl Tosti lay upon his bed in the room King Malcolm had assigned him ruminating upon as night descended upon Dunfermline, restless in his attempt to contrive some means of extricating himself from the royal escort whose secret purpose he knew was to ensure Harold’s capturing of him at Lindisfarne. Suddenly the Earl intuited he wasn’t alone and when Tosti opened his eyes he was pleased to behold Fionna looming over him with an expression of urgent concern upon her fair and lovely face.

“Well, my pretty wench, what brings you here to visit me out of sight of your royal master, I wonder? Shouldn’t you be occupied in straddling His Majesty’s manly scepter instead of being engaged in the unsavory business of approaching me like this without King Malcolm’s consent? You’d best depart as you came, slave, lest I inform Malcolm and your less than enamored noble mistress of your presence and no doubt sordid purpose here and consign you to the panging kiss of Lady Ingiborg’s wicked lash.” Tosti’s deliberate baiting of Fionna induced the desired effect of instantly eliciting the slave-girl’s agenda. This proved of unsurprising nature, confirming that royal treachery Tosti had already discerned and the obvious ambition of Fionna to dispense with her galling condition of detestable servitude.

“Ye’d baest bey heerin’ mae kloose, milord, fer de King an’ ‘is bualadh craicinn bitseach hae na entint a lattin’ ye gae ta Nurwey. Dey’ve meed a dale wit yer brither ta yeld ye a’ Lindisfarne livin-like, an’ effin ye doont lat mae help ye noo, ye’ll bey sune hingin’ froom a Aenglish tree’s public feat, merk mae! Aal aw esk o’ ye es ta tak mae wit ye aboot fer aw think ye can sei aw’m na duly a maere slave as aw eypaer. Sae whit sey ye ta mi notice, milord? Bey wi friends en dis enstinze, or na?” Earl Tosti rose from the bed to inspect his prospective partner more closely as an anxious Fionna blushed, awaiting Tosti’s assumed positive reply. Tosti was impressed with the Irish girl’s natural regality of carriage, as well as being inflamed by her lithe body’s evident ripeness, and inquired of Fionna concerning her personal background and length of indenturing at the Scottish court.

“Well, my dear, we could be, but first I’d like to know more about you, if you please. You’re not a born slave, that’s plain enough, but how then did you ever come to be the property of King Malcolm, pray? I haven’t been here myself for several years now, and therefore haven’t had the pleasure of encountering you before my late troubles brought me back to my brother’s sanctuary. When did you first arrive at Dunfermline in such servile condition, girl, and under what regretful circumstances was such indignity of the slave-collar imposed upon you?” Tosti saw the softening of Fionna’s features at his kindly inquiry concerning her sore misfortune, and indicated for her to sit upon the bed in comfort while relating her history. The slave-girl obliged in a careful fashion, eager the Earl intuited to pour out the details of her unjust travail, and release its emotional flood of outraged indignation to a friendly ear.

“Aw bey thankrife fer yer chairity in heerin’ mi, milord, yer de fuirst iver ta lestin. Mi neem in fou’s Fionna Ni Finneadh o’ de O’Conners froom de royal hoos o’ Connaught, de proodist o’ aal de faere kingdims in Eire. Aw wez breed o’ nubel blude, an’ juist threy ‘ears past aw’d baen weel-set ta wad a fine ying genteelman froom An Bhreatain – Wales, milord. Than yer brither’s waur agin Prionsa Gruffydd laeft aw a de mercy o’ de deid maun’s God-cuirsed kin, hoo yelded aw ta de slavers in ill spite enstid o’ sendin’ aw hame efter mi baytroothd waz kilt wit ‘is faither.

Sune enou aw kame herewa, ta bey laeft helpless subject ta de cruiel notionate o’ dat dang koont Ingiborg. Effin ah hadda na stairted beddin de King aw woonta hae faerte es weel es ah hae thes fir, bud ahm duly na wunt ta taest mi leuk firthur noo dat yer baen herewa laens aw de wey oota bonnage. Ah raik yer akin ta Muzez, sae fir es ah fegyir. Aye, milord?” Earl Tosti laughed and bowed in polite acceptance of his assigned role to Fionna’s great relief and anticipation. Tosti’s apparent willingness to assist Fionna’s escape from slavery emboldened her to extend the Earl a fervent promise of her future utility and ardent dedication.

“Ah thank ye duly, milord, an aw sweir awll bey o’ a fine wirt ta ye in yer traivels, fer ah ken mich bye wey o’ plenn sense, na dat mi foormil learnin’ lags fer annythen. Ah ken na oonlie de wirds o’ mi oon lan, an dis wun, butt Laidin, Francach, an’ ivin Ioruach lekwice. An o’ coorse ah ken Sasanach, oobveuslie. Sae ah awt bey o’ gret yeese ta ye es ahv sain. Es thae sey in mi countra, trina cheille a thogtar na caisleain. Theer’s na a caizel dat canna bey meed bye twa in prattickil hoormeny. Trew, milord Tosti?” The Earl smiled and indicated for Fionna to arise so he could implant a surprisingly tender kiss upon her lips. Fionna stiffened initially, but relaxed momentarily not offering Tosti any resistance if not encouraging his advances. Tosti inspected Fionna’s body with immense famish, imagining her torrid limber motions in the act of congress until his cod swelled with anguishing intensity.

“Is do nach bhfuil seans ar bith ann, bantiarna?” Fionna’s eyes widened in admiration at the fluency displayed by Earl Tosti in her native tongue, and she appeared to give serious thought to Tosti’s lascivious query. After a few moments of reflection Fionna reached out a hand to caress the Earl’s engorged member through his breeches, flashing a sultry smile and winking in casual assent to the amorous Englishman’s indulgence.

“In a differin’ muid ahd na bey wuntin ta ublyge ye, milord, butt sein es wier gaun ta bey sic guid freends noo ah sey, scaoil amach do bhoibili’n, seanfhear! An a pox bey opon de fuirst ta cry enou!” At Fionna’s bawdy challenge Tosti chuckled, and began to undress the Irishwoman, stripping off the slave’s simple garment of dark russet and then pausing to marvel at the variety of vivid skin etchings sported by his Celtic companion. Before the Earl could inquire regarding their meaning, however, an impatient Fionna urged him to press their intimate engagement.

“Wi hae butt a sma time ta jine coitus, milord, sae laet’s na bey wasterful o’ et, effin ye doont mine. Es ahv heerd dey sae ooft sain lang agae in auld Rume, carpe pugam! Ubi uber, ibi tuber!

Chugainn, cheana!” As Fionna lay back upon the bed and spread herself wide to receive him, a rush of irresistible longing swept over Earl Tosti and disrobing swiftly he quick fell upon Fionna and entered her forcefully, eliciting a gasp of pain and then a breathless exhorting to continue as the Irish girl arched her back and employed her sex’s intimate strength to grip Tosti’s shaft firm and begin massaging the rigid organ to Tosti’s grunting encouragement. When Fionna moaned under the Earl’s impassioned thrusts, and began gnawing at his neck while raking his back with her long fingernails, Tosti’s eyes rolled and his panting intensified as he pounded the taut moist womanhood of the writhing slave with relentless ferocity, his body contorting in bliss as Fionna inserted a finger into his anus to stimulate the straining Earl’s inflamed intromission further, her unorthodoxy of action resulting in a frenzied augmentation of Tosti’s manic strokes until he was pushed beyond the brink of physical endurance. As his climax welled like a furious storm Tosti felt himself drawn into a vast throbbing vortex of exquisitely agonizing sensation, his mind left reeling and his senses distorted by the sheer obliterating dimension of his extended culmination as his body heaved in pure spastic reaction to the sublime punishing impact exerted by Fionna’s formidable prowess.

“Ah, ah, Fionna, bunaite sar-alainn muimin, oh God, oh sweet Christ Jesus, Fionna, Fionna, deanaim neamhshuim, ah, oh yes, yes, mo neamhai aingeal, taim ag teacht, a chailin mo chroi, taim ag teacht, taim ag teacht, oh, oh, ah, ah, ah!” Tosti shuddered in consummation as Fionna sighed beneath him, the latter pressing Tosti’s effusive instrument with such vigor the Earl was fearful the impassioned Irishwoman might well sever his Captain by her grasp’s wanton power. When the crisis of copulation passed Tosti and Fionna lay silent and still save for their panting, drenched in the dripping sweat of their carnal labor’s exalting consequences as they dozed in a relaxed state of mutual satisfaction, at least for the moment.

At some point in his placid slumbering Earl Tosti stirred with a distinct sense he and Fionna were no longer alone within his bedchamber. Instinctively the Earl flew up in a defensive rush, groping for a weapon, his sudden sharp movement curiously failing to induce Fionna’s startled awakening. To Tosti’s sober amazement he beheld a pale light hovering just above him, in the midst of which the figure of a regally dressed man stood with a similarly clad woman, the latter bearing the ominous marks of a rope around her neck. The head of the man rested not upon his shoulders as it should, but was borne aloft in the right hand of the transparent entity, Earl Tosti starting in apprehension at the ghastly spectral sight. A gasp of appalled recognition escaped the skeptical Earl as he confronted the slain sovereign predecessor of his host, having witnessed the revenant’s death personally almost ten years earlier in battle at Malcolm Canmore’s side.

“I don’t believe it! Macbeth, by all the howling demons of hell! It can’t be, I saw you perish, your head severed by Malcolm’s blow at Dunsinane! And you, Lady Gruoch! You … you died after your son Lulach’s defeat in the next year, by your own hand as I recollect! You … hanged yourself, I remember. Damn you, accursed shades, you’re dead, both of you, and good riddance, so you’ve no business haunting the living, I daresay! Begone, foul spirits, and let those yet alive savor the sweet fruits of existence in undisturbed serenity your own time to relish has long since passed, begone, I tell you, or by Christ’s crimson thorns, we’ll see if I can’t encompass a second mortality for you, wretched evil wraiths!” To Tosti’s perplexed disturbance his earnest shouting failed to spur Fionna’s instant awareness of the incredible situation, the slave continuing to sleep soundly as if enchanted. To rein his rising dread Tosti again challenged the apparitions with his false bravado, his mouth dry, his heart racing, and his knees knocking together.

“Well, if you’ve come in an effort to impose vengeance upon me for that part I played in your infamous house’s eclipse, hell-shades, then go on! Try and confound me, I dare you in salivating defiance! You’ll not reduce Tosti Godwinesson, Earl of Northumbria, into a mass of craven jelly by your fruitless manifestation, dead ones, as I helped depose and destroy you both in life, I shall be swift to do so for you again, damned as you are, so I challenge thee, nay, I spit at thee, and bid thee do thy worst, Scots devils! Having survived all manner of adversities thus far, I will not fall victim to the vermin likes of you, mark me! Lay on, Macbeth, or does your shade lack stones as well as an attached crown?” Tosti’s taunting aroused no anger from the specters to his annoying and he gazed over at the still form of Fionna, wishing her conscious to yield his manhood critical iron. When the shorn head of Macbeth spoke with unmoving lips to articulate a cryptic prophecy Earl Tosti couldn’t help but shiver in shadow of its dire decree, his eyes transfixed upon the gray sunken features of the ghost as its head imparted stark words of pending woe and warning.

“Heer aw, Tosti Godwinesson, ye fule murtherer o’ yer awn kin. Ef ye shuild gae ta Uzloo fer ill will, than ye shell sune en bye hairstin’ de wickit sids yer coorse o’ sinfil leeven hae gaithirdt. Justice wytes fer ye at de nor brig, waere a sib’s haun wull strike ye ta daith in richt pey fer yer vera gret syne agin ‘im. Ef sic shuild cum ta bey than de fa’ o’ de hoos o’ Godwine wull fallow on ets heels an aal o’ Aengland pruive subject ta de general vinkish at Saenlak. Merk aw, Tosti, an tak heed, ef ye wiss ta sev yersel an yer kin froom sure doom, ye’ll need entir a hoos o’ hoolie praeyr ta remain theer es a paenitant fer de raest o’ yer ‘ears, or yll sei de mortal end fer aal ye an yer naitif countra noo haud prood.” Earl Tosti had little time to ponder Macbeth’s sobering utterance for the spirit of Lady Gruoch intoned an equally somber admonition, pointing a finger at the trembling nobleman in chilling emphasis of her gloomy statement. Earl Tosti was angry and afraid in wake of the revenant’s address, vexed at the thought of his ambition’s frustrating but alarmed by a prospect of implied disaster and its train of terrible consequence.

“Heer aw, Tosti Godwinesson! Ye shell hae butt oon mair chance ta aiver yer feat, whan de blin saer declares hir veesion, an de royal Norse maiden shears hir sicht o’ hir faither’s bludie fa’ in bottle at yer ill provoke. Efter, ye wull sae na butt yer twa murtherdt sibs cumin furth ta summon ye onta de sat o’ Gud fer ta resaive yer lest judgement. Whan de rod ta Yourk’s thick wit de dist o’ ‘arold’s fitmen, an de gret ourmie’s caucht wioot soords an sheals at de nor brig, ye shell ken de trew o’ mi wirds, Aenglishman, an sune enou thaim dat wull dae vaenjence opon ye shell thaimsel fa’ ta da maister ‘f ourms at Saenlak. Sae shell de hoos o’ Godwine pass o’ ets warldlie glore, an de prood lan o’ Aengland pruive a royal teef’s teirfil property.” The specters faded away as suddenly as they’d appeared upon the conclusion of their baleful communication, leaving a shaken Tosti to consider their ominous proclamations in severe division of sentiments, the Earl trying desperately to convince himself that his eyes had deceived him even as his heart shrank in terror at the unnerving visit from the hostile spirits. The stirring of Fionna from deep slumber distracted the unsettled Earl, and when she sat up yawning Tosti sat beside her with an intense desire for reassurance, his anxious gaze and abrupt pallor inspiring the slave’s inquiring as to the cause of Tosti’s apparent serious apprehension.

“Whit agues ye, milord, ta rander ye sae vera palie on a suddenty? Ye shuild na lat aw sleep in, fer wi hae na time ta taurie herewa onless ye wiss ta risk fail o’ awr fleg ta bey frei. Ahm na wunt ta bey laft a de mercy o’ Ingiborg’s wheep, ye onerstand, sae wi baest bey gaen afore daw. Ef et pleesures ye, milord.” Earl Tosti’s ignoring of her counsel irked and puzzled the slave girl, but instead of pressing the obviously troubled Englishman further Fionna changed topics, asking Tosti how he’d come to acquire fluency in her language. The touch of Fionna’s hand on his arm brought Tosti out of his trance and he shook his head to clear it, not wanting to display weakness in front of his new ally and mistress.

“Sae tell aw, milord Tosti, hoo cum ye ta spek Gaelach sae weel? Ah na seed a Sasanach ah coot palaiver wit in sae aesy fashions, whan did ye git yer fuirst learnin o’ et an froom wham, ef ah may ken?” Earl Tosti smiled and kissed Fionna’s hand to her blushing delight, brushing back her tangled reddish-blonde hair from Fionna’s face with genuine fondness. Rising from the bed to dress himself Tosti informed Fionna of how his carnal dalliances with household slaves in his youth had imparted more than passing pleasures to him.

“With respect, bantiarna, you’re not the very first Celt of Eire I’ve encountered. When I was a boy my family owned many slaves like you of all nationalities, and by the time I’d attained the age of sixteen I’d bedded Irishwomen, Scotswomen, Welshwomen, Bretons, and Cornishwomen of every size, shape, and skill, you Celts proving to be the most inspired wenches my experience has yet yielded. It therefore shouldn’t come as any great surprise I should acquire some of their lilting vernacular during lulls in our torrid trysting. If you look close, you’ll be able to examine several scars I yet carry from my past intimate engagements with your kindred, Fionna, and if I may say, your own outstanding ability in harness renders my prior partners pale as … as ghosts flitting futilely about in my memory, exiled to its distant marches by the sublime superiority of your fair sex. Bullai mna, bantiarna. If I may inquire in kind you’ve said you’re fluent in Latin, French, and Norwegian, so might I have positive proof of such claim, if it please you? There is no need for you to say anything too extensive or polished, girl. You must only demonstrate you possess basic knowledge of the tongues in question, enough to survive upon as I’ve no doubt we may soon require.” Fionna reddened, offended somewhat by Earl Tosti’s implicit skepticism of her linguistic talents. Standing and clearing her throat the proud Irishwoman presented the Earl with an impressive display of her conversational gifts, shifting with a graceful practiced fluidity from one tongue to another and grinning with youthful immodesty at her accomplishment.

“Est-ce qu’ainsi, mon seigneur, que je dois dire? Comment a son sujet me blesse pour vous penser doute mon etude? Apres tout, je suis pas simplement certains dupent peu de chatte que vous vous etes avere justement baiser, vous savez. Si vous voulez s’echapper faisant etirer votre cou, ou votre tete etre placee sur un baton, vous avez eu la meilleure exposition encore plus de respect, monsieur, ou bien vous pouvez finir vers le haut en arriere en Angleterre plus rapide que vous pouvez dire je suis dans le merde dans toute langue! Meliora Cogito! Fronti nullia fides, omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis. Quid novi? Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem. Trahimur omnes studio laudis. Stercus accidit. Delenda est Carthago! Pax vobiscum, die dulci fruere. Quo vadis? Akt gir makt. Berre dem som vondrar finn nye vegar.

Bra vind i ryggen er best. Berr er bukselaus bak. Betre halt enn fotlaus. Alt vettet sit ikkje i ein haus eit hovud. Alle monner drar. Mikill Wotan! Doni langaspjot viti! Satisfaisant, oui?

Bacraut oskilgetinn! Vademecum?” Earl Tosti clapped in impressed appreciation of Fionna’s formidable linguistic dexterity to her intense satisfaction, the slave girl curtsying with a smile. Tosti took Fionna’s hand and kissed it, sure she’d prove a most invaluable asset to him at the royal court of Oslo.

“Indeed, bantiarna, I am quite convinced now I couldn’t do without you! You’ve earned a place of respect at my side, and the greater your service unto me, girl, I promise you the vaster your ultimate reward when I return home, and crush my enemies like the accursed worms they are! I assume you’ve some plan to facilitate our departure and expedite our distance from this hostile vicinity once we’re at liberty?” Fionna nodded, her heart swelled with hope and joy at the realizing of her longstanding desire for freedom. Lowering her voice the slave unveiled to Tosti the means by which their covert exit from Dunfermline castle would be achieved.

“Aff coors ah dae, milrord! Theer’s a secrit wey oota herewa dat laeds a few miles awa dat wi can yeese ta mak oor rin ta frei, an ah hae twa horse-beasts wyten fer uz awen ta mi sex wit oon o’ de King’s maen dat hae sum kindly saftnis fer aw. Dat, an ahv peyd ‘im wit sum gowd ah staw froom de coort o’ Wales an kept sauf fer threy ‘ears. Sae, milord, whit say wi gae noo, aye? De sey es wyten, an wit et guid fowerchin, Gud wullin.” To Fionna’s surprise and concern Tosti hesitated, arousing her anxiety and irritation at such curious reluctance. Thinking ruefully on the recent prophecies imparted by the ghosts of Macbeth and Lady Gruoch with such baleful finality, the Earl inquired concerning Fionna’s opinion of the veracity of the seer’s art and if belief in the supernatural and a life beyond the flesh was part of the Celtic girl’s personal perspective.

“Tell me, Fionna. What think you of seers and their alleged proficiencies in discerning future events by arcane means? Do you truly think things not yet transpired may be perceived ere they occur, as so many swear is valid? And tell me also if you hold as true the notion of an existence beyond this mortal world in a realm of spirit from which the dead might return to visit the living.

Are such things possible, in your view, or simply so much self-deluding stercus tauri?” Fionna was taken aback for a moment that Earl Tosti should put such serious fundamental questions to her, but also quite flattered at his evident interest in her intellectual outlook on such substantial matters. After a few minutes of sober reflection, Fionna yielded him a response of a somewhat equivocating nature.

“Ah muist say, milord, ye doont mence wirts whan et cums ta yer cherce o’ enquayres, dae ye? Weel, ets na easy ainsir ah can rander, duly. Ah meen, hoo’m ah ta say whit’s trew or na, efter aal? Ah wez tauld froom whan ah wez a chile dat theer wez a Gud an dat Iosa Criost wez de Slanaitheoir o’ aal de warld, an dat theer wuildt bey a dey o’ judgjin’ fer aal beylevin’ sools. Es dat hoo et es, dae ah think, yer eskin? Whee kens, milord? Fer awsel, ah na hae pruif o’ sic tings ontil noo, butt dat doon’t maen thae tings doon’t hae ainy trowth ta dem. Ah heerd enou o’ ghaist tories in mi time na ta bey ta certis in mi raik o’ whit’s rael an whit’s na. Ah hae a sib at hame dat tauld aw lang ego hoo he seed a banshee afore ‘is faither an brither fa in bottle butt ah dinna beylif ‘im than an ahm na certis ah dae noo, duly. Sae fir es de feuture gae ah doont brod on et. Que sera, sera, es thae say in Ah Fhrainc. Oui, mon seigneur?” Tosti wasn’t satisfied at Fionna’s inconclusive answer, pressing her to provide him a more definitive reply. Fionna was irked at the Earl’s persistence but humored him for their imminent escape’s sake.

“Oh, come now, bantiarna, you’ve proven yourself an intelligent entity, you must have some more comprehensive insight to offer on the subject! It’s a simple enough issue to address, truly.

Do you believe the future can be foretold or not, and do you believe life persists after death and spirits of the dead may return to communicate with us? Aye or nay and tell me why. From the abundance of skin etchings you sport, I’d say the true answer would be the former, wouldn’t it?” Fionna crossed her arms over her breasts, abruptly embarrassed by her flesh’s bare flaunting to her English lover. Tosti grinned, his expression indulgent but impatient.

“Aal o’ mi sibs hae thir skane pentit, et’s na pruif o’ ainy beylif in a’ting parteeklar. Ah hae de ink common ta must maids mi age o’ noble blud, nocht mair. Ye shoont read a’ting ta mich enta dem, ah sweir.” Tosti laughed and reached out to gently pry Fionna’s arms from her chest, leaving her to stand fully exposed with a telling blush. Inspecting Fionna’s varied collection of tattoos Tosti pointed to one of them and requested an explanation of its significance, informing Fionna of the etchings impressed on the flesh of Harold and the Earl’s English kin, particularly Ealdgyth Swanneshalles.

“What’s that emerald design there on your right breast? I believe it is called a shamrock, isn’t it? Isn’t that supposed to be a symbol of good fortune, bantiarna? So you must believe in luck, I gather, yes? I’m familiar with the practice of tattooing, and its manifold meanings as my brother Harold and his good wife Lady Ealdgyth Swanneshalles are both collectors of such curiosities of the flesh. Lady Ealdgyth’s blood is half-Cornish, you know, Fionna, making her a Celt like you, almost. She is as well-inked as you, and I hear her latest skin-etching features my brother’s wife her greatest rival the Lady Aldgyth and Stigand the Archbishop of Canterbury engaged in an act of impassioned obscenity upon her fair arse, a good place for it, don’t you agree? And what of those elaborate dragons about your wrists? Are they not talismans of divine protection, Fionna?”

The Irishwoman instinctively began to cover her body at Tosti’s analysis of its art but Tosti did not permit Fionna’s obscuring of her skin’s enhancement. Forcing her to hold out her arms for inspection Tosti gazed at every portion of Fionna, marveling at the completeness of her flesh’s coloring and its intriguing variety of designs.

“Just look at you! You’ve a claddagh in the midst of your chest, a great bear claw imprinted on your right arm, a dolphin design upon your right thigh, a lion upon your left arm and hounds on your left thigh, a butterfly impinged upon your left breast, an angel in prayer impressed upon your stomach, ravens upon both shoulders, a cross in the Celtic style upon one side of your neck and what appears to be a blood tattoo, judging from its bright crimson coloring, on the other and we are not done yet, are we, bantiarna? There’s the phoenix stamped upon the back of your left hand, and the sea-horse upon your right, your right palm boasts the image of a blazing sun while a blue rose rests on its opposite. And of course, we mustn’t forget the noble gentleman and fine lady that adorn your forearms, respectfully! Your parents, Fionna, I presume? Your mother is a true beauty, if I may say. No doubt she’s proven a great comfort to you, and perhaps indeed has protected you these last three hard years. So I guess I’ve answered my own question somewhat, haven’t I? You do believe in supernatural influences over mortal lives, and thus must believe in the existence of ghosts, and the possibility of the future’s forecasting. Or are all those talismans of yours impressed for naught, pray? I almost forgot! Turn around! I want to see the tree upon your back! It’s the Tree of Life, yes? I understand from Ealdgyth it is a central motif of all you Celts. There’s even supposed to be Scriptural support for sporting such a design, in Revelations and Proverbs, am I correct? I must admit, it’s very impressive. How do those Biblical verses go, Fionna? I’m certain a bright bantiarna like you knows them by heart. Recite them if you please.

Now!” Fionna frowned, sighing, weary of having Tosti regard her as he would a freak of nature. Realizing a tactful accommodation would best serve her own interests the Irishwoman complied, citing the relevant Scriptures as requested.

“Reavilations twaenty-twa, laene twa, Blaessid aur dey dat dae ‘is kummandtmints, dat dey micht hae richt ta de tree o’ life. Prouvirbs aelevin, laene thurty. De froot o’ de richtayus es a tree o’ life. Sae et’s trew ahm a beliffer lak must sools, whit o’ et? An why noo dae ye hae sic needcessity ta ken mi voos on sic subjects, eh? Dae sumting happen on a suddenty ta fricht ye, milord?” Fionna saw from the abrupt flushing of Tosti’s complexion she had intuited correctly but decided not to press the issue, for fear of further delaying their departure from Dunfermline. Earl Tosti likewise let the question drop, his interest in supernatural occurrences now displaced as with Fionna by more urgent practical concerns.

“Get dressed, bantiarna, we’re leaving. I’m putting my life within your hands, Fionna, and so you ought bear the example of Lady Tilaflaed in mind should you be considering betraying me to Malcolm and Ingiborg. It truly would be pitiful if circumstances bid me to cut your lovely throat, you know.” Fionna gasped, her hand reaching to her neck in wary defensiveness at Tosti’s blunt warning. Contemplating him with indignant suspicion Fionna responded with a reassurance of her fair intention, inquiring delicately regarding the cause of Tosti’s slaying of his kinswoman and his perspective of the heinous action.

“Ye need na hae ainy feir, milord, fer ets na in mi aintrist ta beytrai ye noo, es et? I’ll guid ye ta frei, an wi can than ride ta de purt o’ Kirkcaldy an tak shep ta Uzloo, ah sweir on mi maither’s sweit sool. Bey de wey, Tosti, whhe dae ye murther Leddy Telifleed, duly? An whit dae ye noo think ‘pon sic ill act, milord, ahm kewryus ta ken ef ye’ll tell aw. An whee dae ye elzo kill Leddy Gwendolyn, whee ah ken quid weel an duly aedmirredt? Whit dae she iver dae ta ye ta yirn sic a graizlie feat?” Earl Tosti scowled, annoyed by the query but by no means morally troubled by it. In a gruff tone of careless indifference Tosti provided a rough and ruthless rationale for his cruel conduct, Fionna shivering in face of such unabashed and unrepentant brutality.

“Tilaflaed perished because she’d disrespected me and sought to undo me, bantiarna. And as for Princess Gwendolyn, she died because she’d the misfortune to come upon me in wake of my having disposed of Tilaflaed. I couldn’t let her flee to alert all Norwich to my presence, and her hostess’s tragic fate at my hands, could I? Come. Let us fly from this abode of mutual peril and treachery. The open sea and Oslo await us, Fionna, as does my greater destiny all thanks to you, my fair Celt. Go on. Show me the passage out of here.” Fionna nodded, and Tosti followed the slave from his bedchamber out into the corridor, the pair proceeding with maximal caution. The two fugitives then went down a winding stairway very slowly to avert detection, and passed into another wide hallway that led them to a large iron door situated next to a latrine. Fionna opened the door with a silver key Tosti assumed had either been given to her in secret or likewise stolen and she took the apprehensive Earl down a second long stairwell that seemed to descend forever until it reached a narrow twisting passage that wound toward a slender opening through which a shaft of moonlight penetrated like a pale beacon of hope to guide them to the outside and liberty. After assisting Fionna to squeeze through the conduit to freedom, Earl Tosti received her help to push himself through it, emerging into the humid summer air amidst a gradually declining night beneath bright twinkling stars, and a full waning moon facing deposition from the sky’s natural sovereignty. Gazing about Tosti spied the horses Fionna had promised and the two went fast to mount them for swift travel, Fionna smiling and posing the eager exiled nobleman a final query of speculative and somewhat risible nature.

“Say, milord! Ef wi happen ta maet ainy o’ thaim sey-baesties de Nursemin hae elweys spak uf wull ye bey sae guid es ta aintirsed fer aw wit em, sainse yer plennlie mair a sib ta thaim than aw, ye voo et, Tosti Auld Man, ye black-hertid Aenglish baisturd?” Tosti glared at the laughing Irishwoman to Fionna’s amusement, the former slave making an amicable gesture of an obscene nature to her irked companion. Fionna then spurred an impromptu race with Tosti, thus forcing the exasperated Earl to ride hard after her to keep up, fair Fionna’s wild youthful mirth echoing all the way to Kirkcaldy.

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