I asked Lady Margriet to present herself for escort home, Sister. One will surely follow the other,” he called out to her. When he stopped shouting, his voice could be quite pleasant…for a barbarian.
“Lady Margriet has taken vows…of silence…” she answered, thinking it an excellent reason for not talking to him, “and she fears for her soul if she breaks that.”
Guffaws from all the men below filled the air. Apparently the men did not think a woman capable of silence.
“Present the girl now!” He was back to yelling and banging and she feared the gate would give way soon to his strength.
“A short respite, please, sir. Let me see if I can convince her to see you,” Margriet offered.
There was a buzz of conversation below among all the men there and then an answer. “An hour, good sister. You have one hour to convince the girl to speak to me or I will burn this convent to the ground and remove her myself.”
She knew for a certainty the result that would occur because of his threat and her left eye and the brow above it began to twitch in anticipation. Scrunching her eye shut, she gritted her teeth the moment it began.
Loud, hysterical screaming and wailing began in the chapel and spread out as the novices there, as well as a few of the lay women, joined in the horrible chorus. The few men who worked there, tending the fields and doing the heavy labor that women could not, looked at her nervously. They could not defend the convent against this warrior’s attack. Other than a few knives and a bow and quiver of arrows for hunting, they had no weapons but for some farming tools.
Margriet climbed down quickly and waved to Sister Sigridis, who shook her head. The daft girl probably thought she meant to send her out to answer his demands. “Sister, please tell the reverend mother that I will speak to this Rurik and see if I can convince him to leave me here.”
“Are ye certain, lady? He might take ye by force if ye leave the safety of the walls.”
Although Sister Sigridis’s intention was to offer some consolation, Margriet sensed a feeling of relief in the girl at not having to speak to the man. She did not blame the sister for not wanting to do so, but she knew now that only she could work out a compromise and end this siege before it truly started.
“I am, Sister.”
Margriet lifted the habit over her head and pulled the veil and wimple free, immediately sending a rush of cool air around her. Her body did not handle heat well right now and it was a relief to remove it. Tossing her extra garments to one of the servants, she thought on how she could accomplish the task. What would make the man stop his harassment and go away?
Her only communication with her father over these long years had been in writing, so Margriet decided to prepare a missive that this warrior could take with him and deliver instead of taking her.
Entering the convent through the kitchen, she shushed and soothed all those working there. Although not a nun and not officially in charge, Margriet’s strong personality and innate intelligence had made it easy to “guide” the good sisters to her way of doing things here. She found that the management of people was quite enjoyable and satisfying, and knowing she was contributing to their welfare convinced her that her presence and actions were of benefit to the religious community there. With nothing to distract her, Mother Ingrid spent more hours in prayer each day and that was something that made the woman very happy. As it did Margriet.
She opened the door to the reverend mother’s chambers and searched the desk for an unused piece of vellum, or one that could be scraped and used again. Finding one, she sat and composed a letter to her father explaining how she desired to remain with the sisters in the life of a religious contemplation and prayer. Surely, he would not deny her permission to serve the Lord in such a manner?
It took nearly the full hour to complete, scraping the old ink from the vellum, carefully composing and writing her words, but once she finished and sanded the parchment, she knew it would work. Rolling it up with care, Margriet walked outside, garbed herself once more as a sister and looked around for a companion to accompany her outside the walls.
None of the sisters could be trusted to carry out her instructions in this charade, so Margriet went searching for the girl who worked in the laundry, someone who rarely spoke a word to anyone. If the warrior from the North thought Gunnar’s daughter was still a girl, she would present him with a girl— one who did not speak—and she would talk for her. When the girl, Elspeth, shook her head in agreement, Margriet walked to the gate with her in tow. As she waited for Elspeth to don the other habit she’d secured, she could hear the men on the other side. Margriet paused only to gain the promise of a truce.
“Do you swear that you will take no action against Lady Margriet?” she called out to them, to him.
“Sister, you would try the patience of the very saints to whom you pray! Bring the girl out now.”
Elspeth smiled at his words and Margriet suspected that others had said the same thing about her here at the convent. Still, she needed some assurance against their superior strength and weapons. Deciding that a man’s vanity could work against him, she tried a different approach.
“This is a house of God, sir. Surely even a mighty warrior such as yourself would agree to a truce in the name of the Almighty.”
The rude and bitter swearing that reached her even through the thick gates spoke of other interests he had, but Margriet waited in silence now. After a few minutes of fierce whispers and some laughter from the other men out there, the leader relented.
“You have your truce, Sister. Now, bring the girl out!”
His voice roared and she could hear the wailing again, so she tugged the veil lower on her face and lifted the bar from the gates. Pulling it open, she stepped out through the narrow space and Elspeth followed, head bowed as she’d told her to do.
“Lady Margriet?” he asked.
Stepping closer, he lifted the girl’s chin to get a better look at her face. Damn the man! Margriet feared that Elspeth would bolt, but the girl remained at her side and allowed him his scrutiny. It was when he glanced at her and then stared that Margriet felt faint.
His eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul, so strong and intense a gaze that she tried to turn away from him and failed. He searched her face as though looking for something and then let his eyes drop over her body, in spite of the bulky robes and veil. It was as though he was touching her, running his hands over her flesh, and every inch of her felt scorched by his examination. Their eyes met and the moment stretched on and on until the men behind him coughed loudly. Finally she pulled her wits about herself and cleared her throat.
“This is the Lady Margriet Gunnarsdottir, from Kirkvaw. She has prepared this letter to explain her situation to her father. If you would be good enough to deliver it to him on your return…”
Her pride in getting the whole message out was crushed when he tore open the seal she’d placed and began to read the words there. Then he laughed out loud, the sound of it echoing through the trees surrounding them and out into the forests. Finally, he passed the parchment onto the one nearest him, who read it and handed it back. This second man said nothing, but only shook his head as though in disbelief.
“Sirs, you scoff at something godly and spiritual that the lady wishes to do. Will you deliver it to Lord Gunnar?”
“Nay,
