On the Cold Coasts by Davidsdottir Vilborg

Author:Davidsdottir, Vilborg [Davidsdottir, Vilborg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-03-12T23:00:00+00:00

In mid-August, shortly after the Feast of St. Mary, Father Jon Palsson arrived at Holar along with Asbjorn, abbot of the Thingeyrar monastery. A dozen men made up their entourage. The abbot had arranged a reconciliatory meeting, even though the demeanor and countenances of the men did not suggest a great desire for harmony. Indeed, they seemed more interested in fighting, for apart from the two who were ordained, all were fully armed. Swords and knives gleamed beneath cloaks and coats, and little was done to conceal the weapons. No clouds obscured the hot August sunshine, and drops of perspiration glistened on the brows of the men. The horses flicked their tails in an ineffective attempt to cool themselves in the humidity and drive away the flies. The late summer had been unusually warm, and barely a drop of rain had fallen for weeks.

The Holar clerks stood in a cluster on the terrace and shifted awkwardly. Finally the newly appointed steward, Father Ari, stepped forward and asked the men in a trembling voice to lay their weapons beneath the church wall before entering the great hall for the meeting, and not to commit further sins against His Grace the bishop by doubting his sincere desire to negotiate and reconcile. The abbot immediately echoed this earnest wish. After a brief hesitation and a gesture from Father Jon, the men dismounted, took their arms, and laid them in a pile on the pavement. Two of them remained next to the pile; the others walked into the cool shade of the great hall to meet with His Grace Bishop Craxton.

The meeting was short, lasting barely an hour, and when Jon Palsson came striding out, he was fuming, his face dark red with agitation. Not only had the bishop demanded that he give back to the holy see of Holar the two lands that were his rightful property, constituting wages for the years that he had been steward following the death of Bishop Jon Tofason, he had also wanted twenty head of cattle as penance. On top of all else, he had flatly refused to reinstall Father Jon at Grenjadarstadur, even if the debt was paid. The chapter had already ruled and reiterated that the Holar see was in charge of appointments for that parish, and not the archbishop in Nidaros.

“Such a great price I shall not pay for indulgence and forgiveness,” Jon Palsson shouted, slamming his fist on the table. And so there was no repentance and no reconciliation, and nothing remained behind but the large cloud of dust that trailed Father Jon and his men as they galloped down the Holar yard and out along Hjaltadalur Valley.

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