Njal squinted at Hoskuld over the breakfast table. “About time you got married, my boy.”
“Whoever you say, Pops,” said Hoskuld obediently. That was exactly the answer Skarphedin had taught him, and it went down well.
“I knew you had good judgement,” beamed Njal. “Hildigunn Starkadsdottir, she’s the one I’ve picked out for you. Greatest beauty in the district.”
“Whatever you say, Pops,” repeated Hoskuld, and that afternoon, the entire family rode out dressed to the nines. They made a beeline for the house of Flosi, the patriarch.
“Hey there, Flosi,” said Njal. “Mind giving me Hildigunn?”
“I’m going to assume you’re not asking for yourself personally,” said Flosi, looking at Bergthora. “Skarphedin’s married. Is it for Grim? No, he’s technically married to Astrid the Cougar, even though it never comes up. Helgi – wait, that’s Thorhalla Asgrim Ellida-Grimssonssdottir…” Flosi snapped his fingers. “Hoskuld, right, the kid you had with the neighbour lady?”
“Close, but it’s the other Hoskuld,” said Njal, his smile not even twitching. “Hoskuld Thrainsson, my foster-son.”
“Hoskuld? Now there’s a great kid,” said Flosi. “This is the Hoskuld whose mother you set up with Thrain, when she was fourteen and he was a middle-aged sex pest?”
“That’s the one,” nodded Njal.
“The Hoskuld whose father your sons murdered publicly in cold blood?”
“Ice-cold,” said Njal, with the air of a connoisseur. He appreciated wordplay.
“The Hoskuld whose uncle you colluded with to take him away from his mother and bring him up in a houseful of his father’s killers?”
“Precisely,” said Njal. “After all our families have been through together, Hoskuld is like a son to me, and I’ll put up any brideprice you ask for.”
“Hmm,” said Flosi. “I think this calls for my niece’s opinion. After all, she’s the one who’ll be living with all this drama. Hildigunn! Sweetie!”
Hildigunn strolled in, and her uncle briefly explained Njal’s proposal. The beauty thought it over.
“Hmm,” said Hildigunn, at last. “Nothing personal about Hoskuld – he’s a nice guy, but Uncle Flosi, you promised me you’d marry me to a chieftain.”
“Oooh,” winced Flosi. “I did, didn’t I. Never mind, Njal – wedding’s off.”
“Now wait a moment,” said Njal. “What if Hoskuld was a chieftain? Then would you marry him?”
“Sure,” shrugged Hildigunn. “It’s my one dealbreaker.”
“Give me three years,” said Njal, and ran out the door, Hoskuld following in mild confusion.
“Thanks for always having my back, Pops,” said the young man, gratefully. “Do you have a plan?”
“Chieftains go bankrupt sometimes,” said Njal. “And then they sell their title.”
But, after riding up and down the entire district for two of the three years, and rummaging in every bargain bin, Njal hadn’t found a single chieftainship for sale.
Njal looked up from his notes and smiled at the man across his desk. “So, this is the map of Svein’s property, and this is yours?”
The man, Thorstein, nodded.
“Then the case is easy,” said Njal, in his most reassuring voice. “Get two witnesses that your property ends at the brook, and another that Svein had a load of birch logs, not spruce, and fill out these forms here – memorize the bottom paragraph. You’ll win your case.”
“I have your back, Svein,” said Njal, cool as a cucumber. “All you need to do is convince the panel that your father never accepted Thorstein’s father’s settlement, and to do that you just need to call up the old panel in that case as witnesses. Here’s a list of the survivors – I’ll make sure Bjorn shows up.”
Svein nodded. “How can I ever thank you?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Njal, “Could you appear as Thorvald’s witness in Thorvald v. Asbjorn? I need you to testify that Asbjorn did, in fact, receive a loan of two hundred silver pieces last year, and that the interest agreed on was 12%, and that Asbjorn was to pay in full last spring.”
“That, I can do,” nodded Svein, and shuffled out the door.
“Asbjorn, Asbjorn, Asbjorn.” Njal shook his head. “Lucky for you, Thorvald never did press his claim at the last quarter court, so if you follow my instructions exactly – and I know you will – you can wipe out your entire debt.”
“I’ll be careful,” promised Asbjorn, a bead of sweat rolling down his face.
“You will. Incidentally, can I just get your signature on this notice?”
The next Thing was pure chaos.
Each party to a lawsuit came armed with various trump cards and carefully-memorized legal formulas, all of which thoroughly nullified each other’s cases. The courts were deadlocked. Even the normally open-and-shut cases ground to a halt on procedural technicalities and creative interpretations.
“This is bullshit,” growled the crowd of large, angry men. It was the Thing, so obviously there was no actual violence, but the glares and failed settlements spoke of duels and ambushes in the near future. Njal looked on with grave concern, and not even the slightest twinkle of triumph.
“Well, everyone,” said Njal cheerily, at the Thing after that, “Isn’t it about time for us all to declare our lawsuits?”
That was all it took for the crowd to break out in grumbles, then furious roars.
“The system isn’t working for us!” yelled one man. Njal noted, with satisfaction, that it was one of his clients. “We’d rather just fight it out!”
Njal’s face was a picture of pure horror. “We can’t do that, gentlemen! This is Iceland, and we respect the law here. With law, the land will rise, but with lawlessness it will perish, as I always say.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?” sighed an elderly farmer. “The law is a confused mess.”
“We should have a meeting about it,” said Njal, and soon all the chieftains – and, of course, Njal – were having a top-secret meeting at Law Rock.
Njal addressed Skafti Thoroddsson, the Lawspeaker. “It seems to my legal mind that there’s a solution to this problem. The lawsuits are getting tangled up in the Quarter Court. Why not create a fifth Quarter Court?”
Skafti expressed doubts.
“I HAVE DOUBTS,” he said. “THERE ARE ONLY FOUR QUARTERS IN A WHOLE. THIRTY-SIX CHIEFTAINS, NINE TO A QUARTER. WE DON’T HAVE THE CHIEFTAINS FOR A QUARTER COURT. BESIDES, HOW WOULD IT HELP?”
“Chieftains are trivial,” said Njal. “We can always appoint more. The fifth quarter would solve all our problems. Any cases that get tangled up in one of the other quarters would be referred to the fifth court, who could act as a neutral board of appeals.”
“NOT A BAD IDEA,” mused Skafti.* “WHAT KIND OF CASES?”
“Procedure violations,” shrugged Njal. “Perjury. The verdict was wrong. Anything that can’t be worked out in the Quarter Court.”
“RIGHT,” nodded Skafti slowly. “AND THE JURIES?”
“Appoint forty-eight, then have each side remove six,” said Njal. “The defense can give up their right, but if the prosecution doesn’t remove another six,”
“TOO MANY JURORS, INVALID TRIAL.” Skafti became animated. “AND THAT WOULD BE A PROCEDURAL VIOLATION, WHICH – OH DEAR.”
“It won’t come to that,” said Njal. “We can give the council power to grant exemptions, add the entire Fifth Court to the council, and decide by majority vote.”
“AND IF SOMEONE CAN’T ACCESS THE COUNCIL?”
“Then that person, if and when he makes it to council, will have full veto power over all decisions made thus far-”
One of the council members coughed. “Gentlemen? You’re geeking out over the details again. Now that we’ve come to a conclusion, can we just appoint the new court and call it a day? You nerds can hammer out the fine print afterwards.”
“EXCELLENT,” agreed Skafti. It bounced off Law Rock and reverberated all over the Thingvellir. “WHAT ABOUT THE NEW CHIEFTAINS?”
A few names were put forward, and accepted. Then Njal gave a soft cough. “What about my foster-son Hoskuld? He’s a great kid, and his father was half a chieftain already before his, ah, unfortunate run-in with my sons. Also, he really wants to get married, and his girlfriend is picky.”
“GOOD SUGGESTION,” said Skafti amiably. “LET THE COURT APPOINT HOSKULD THE CHIEF OF WHITENESS.”
“Ooh,’ winced Njal, whose vision of the future did a full-body cringe at that. “Can we just leave it in Old Norse?”
So it was Hoskuld, Chief of Hvitanes who rode away from the Althing, and the gallant young man made a beeline for his semi-betrothed.
It was the wedding of the season. Soon after all the money changed hands, Njal personally bought Hoskuld a farm at Ossabaer, and Hoskuld made Njalsson history by actually moving there. But he and the Njalssons remained friends, and they visited every holiday and exchanged all kinds of gifts.
* By this time, the other council members had zoned out. Councils and little things like rearranging the entire country’s legal system are mostly for the benefit of main characters, after all.
Saxo Dramaticus 