The Red Oath

by Jerry Autieri

  Ewald smiled, apparently understanding only a smattering of what he had been told. Yet it was enough to satisfy him and he sat behind Bjorn and Gyna again.

  Bjorn launched into his tale of survival. The gods or a Valkyrie had spoken to him as he floated toward Valhalla. He returned to the world to destroy his enemies. When he returned to the world, he was already a captive of the Arabs. They nursed him back to health at Jamil and Saleet’s orders. They planned to use him in the battle with Byzantines as a shock troop, then kill him after the battle had been won.

  “I knew you lived!” Yngvar said, clapping his hands. “They spoke of a cyclops. That had to be you.”

  Bjorn frowned. Of course he would not know a cyclops was a one-eyed giant. Yngvar had only just learned it himself. But Bjorn did not ask, and continued to describe his journey toward freedom. Hamar, who had escaped the Arabs, met Bjorn at the battle. They both helped each other survive long enough to meet Nordbert and his crew. In the end, he met Gyna while searching Prince Kalim’s palace for her. She was in the process of escaping with Ragnar. By that time they had already killed Jamil.

  “We had to toss away his head,” Bjorn said, shoulders slouching. “The rot was stinking and flies were everywhere. We had no time to properly flense and treat it. I’d have liked to make a drinking cup of his skull.”

  “That is for Prince Kalim,” Yngvar said. “But I am gladdened at least Jamil is dead. Would that I could bring him to life so I might kill him again.”

  Gyna told her tale of escape from Licata with Yngvar’s ship. Jamil and Saleet had sold the ship to a Norseman called Fargrim. His crew sailed back to Denmark with Gyna as a captive. They were planning to cash in a bounty that Erik Bloodaxe and his son Gamle had on all their heads. But Fargrim and his crew never succeeded. They had set ashore in Gyna’s old homeland. She used the ancient bonfires of her father’s making to summon Waldhar. The Saxons answered, but Waldhar was long dead. His son, Ewald, instead arrived. The situation with the Saxons was confused, but she and Ewald escaped with Yngvar’s ship. They fortunately landed in Rouen, where Uncle Aren still lived. He gave them a new crew after the Saxon one betrayed them.

  “Then we sailed here, and King Ewald decided he could storm an Arab ship on his own. So I got caught while rescuing him. You know what happened after that from Bjorn’s tale.”

  Every mouth hung open around the fire. Though it was long past midnight and the fire now burned down to embers, every eye reflected the campfire. No one had slept, except for Ewald who now curled up under his cloak in the grass.

  “Lord, this is God’s work,” Alasdair said, crossing himself. Several of the Frankish warriors did the same.

  “That Ragnar, who was Thorfast’s friend, should end up in the same prison with Gyna is the work of Fate,” Yngvar said. “That Bjorn should reunite with his father’s hirdmen here in Sicily is the work of Fate. You may grant your Christian god his part in this. But surely, we have all been drawn together by the ties of Fate.”

  Grumbled agreement circled the fire. Men touched the hammer of Thor that hung around their necks. Some wore the hammer and the crucifix, and touched both. Men had to be practical in their choice of gods, after all.

  “And now your story,” Bjorn said. “It is cruel that I have spoken so long without ale to wet my throat.”

  “Ale tomorrow,” Yngvar said. “Tonight, I will not bore you with my story. We should rest.”

  Thorfast elbowed his ribs. “You’ll tell it or we will drag it out of you.”

  Yngvar laughed then told his tale. He and Alasdair had washed ashore and joined a pirate band for a short time. He did not know they were prisoners who would be sold to the Byzantines as slave warriors. He spoke of his training to fight with a javelin and how he plotted escape during the battle where he fought opposite of Bjorn. Before he fled, however, he saved Commander Staurakius from the Arabs when all his other men had fled. This had proven a fateful decision, for it led to his status today.

  “I saw the two of you running,” Bjorn said. “Hamar didn’t believe me. But I knew what I saw.”

  Yngvar nodded. “We ran for the shore where we knew our weapons would earn us a fishing boat. We took one and went to sea with no better plan than to be away from Byzantine and Arab both.”

  “Yet here you are,” Thorfast said.

  “Yes, Fate had to show us one more thing before striking us across the face again. When storms came, our boat wrecked on a small island,” he said, holding back his smile. He had been relishing this moment the entire tale. He let the men lean in closer before he continued.

  “And on that island we found a king’s treasure. Gold and silver enough to sink a ship. It is as the gods promised us—great rewards for great daring. When we return to that island, we will become richer than all the jarls of the north combined.”

  All the men broke into a cheer. This drew aggravated curses from the guards on the wall, who had likely been asleep at their posts until the celebration roused them.

  “Do you know how to find the island again?” Bjorn asked. “We’ve got to grab that treasure before someone else does.”

  “I think the island is known to some,” Yngvar said. “The Byzantines who picked us up from the island were aware of the island and its treasure. And they also knew of its curse.”

  The mention of a curse dampened the celebration. Yngvar sighed and nodded.

  “It is gold madness of the worst sort,” he said. “It led me to nearly kill Alasdair. He is only just recovered from what should have killed him. For a time, I believed I had killed him.”

  Now no one spoke. Though the Franks had only known Yngvar for less than a night, anyone could tell he and Alasdair were as close as twin brothers. Thorfast, Bjorn, and Gyna stared as if they had not understood the words. Alasdair sat cross-legged and staring at his hands.

  “So that is enough retelling of tales,” Yngvar said. “The gold will wait for us. It has waited for a thousand years or more. Now we should grab what rest we can. Tomorrow, we’ve a ship to repair.”

  Despite the sour note of the final story, the Franks stood and sought their tents. Ragnar and Hamar both wandered off. Gyna tried to kick Ewald awake, but the youth batted back at her and cursed. Bjorn and Thorfast both stood before Yngvar and Alasdair, neither who had risen.

  “Well, we are all united now,” Thorfast said, slapping his hands together. “And as soon as we get our ship repaired, we will be away to riches and maybe revenge. What else can we ask for?”

  Now Yngvar looked to Alasdair, who gave him a solemn nod.

  He had to tell them of his agreement with Staurakius. But if he told them now, no one would get any rest. So he gave a feeble smile and hoped tomorrow would bring the courage to tell them they were not going home so readily.

  “Yes, we can ask for nothing else,” Yngvar said. “We will all soon be rich beyond our dreams.”

  6

  Yngvar helped carry his ship into dry dock. Tears threatened to roll from his eyes as he felt the hard and slimy hull against his shoulder. Thirty companions had joined him in lifting it from the beach and marching it up the path to Pozzallo’s gates. Gyna stood in the prow, shouting with victory as she clung to the neck where the prow beast would be set. She had suffered so much to bring this ship back to him. Yngvar could never repay that sacrifice.

  The hull had been cracked by a failed ramming attempt. Crushed strakes and splinters fell behind the ship like a wake. The ship had nearly swamped but for the heroic bailing of the crew. It would need extensive repairs to be seaworthy again. But the hardest parts to replace, like masts, spars, and rudders, were in good shape. He would stand upon the deck and sail to glory once more.

  The Franks were cheerful despite their lack of sleep. They had risen at dawn with the changing of the Byzantine guard. They were as eager as Yngvar to get the ship relaunched. All any of them spoke of was the island of gold hidden somewhere in the Midgard Sea.

  Yngvar smiled and nodded every time he heard thi
s talk. The gold would wait for them. But his promise to kill Prince Kalim and Saleet had to come first. With a fortune aboard their ship, the Franks would be unlikely to risk their lives to tear down Prince Kalim’s walls.

  Then there was his promise to Commander Staurakius.

  The morning was blissfully cooler than any Yngvar had yet experienced in Sicily. The black flies that usually swarmed him had vanished. Still, sweat flowed down his face and pooled salty moisture into his mouth. As he passed beneath the gates of Pozzallo, he glimpsed the red tunics of soldiers come to inspect the Norse ship. Some shouted curses that their officers silenced. Other officers let the curses pass. Though no one but he could understand, no one could fail to feel the anger.

  “Sounds like some of them need a lesson in hospitality,” Bjorn said. He was behind Yngvar, shouldering the ship through the parade ground toward the dry dock at the far end from the gate. It was simply a cleared space with supports to set a ship. One of the Byzantine scout ships was set there already. It had been in dry dock since Yngvar had rejoined Pozzallo. No one ever worked on it, or so it seemed.

  At last they set the ship down as Gyna shouted unnecessary orders to everyone. She ran along its length, peering over the rails as if checking some detail. Yngvar doubted she understood anything about ships or ship repair.

  The men gave a small cheer when the ship was settled. Hamar was already about inspecting the hull, running his hands along the side as he walked the length.

  “Well, that was about all I can contribute to the repair,” Thorfast said, while rejoining Yngvar. He clapped away the scum clinging to his hands. Yngvar did the same.

  “Hamar will need tools and lumber,” Bjorn said. “Ain’t looking like your friends want to help, though.”

  He nodded toward the soldiers across the parade ground. While most had returned to their duties, a number remained staring after them.

  “They think we were behind the attack earlier this year.” Yngvar rubbed the remaining film of scum from his hands onto his pants.

  “Well, they’re right,” Bjorn said. “But we were paid for it. And I think we’ve suffered enough for that choice. They got to let it go.”

  “If they had killed one of us, would you let it go?” Yngvar asked. He clapped Bjorn on his thick shoulder then smiled. “We’ll get through this. Just keep away from them and all will be well. They need us on their side.”

  Bjorn and Thorfast both nodded appreciatively. Yet Alasdair gave Yngvar a sympathetic look.

  “Well, then, what about that ale?” Bjorn asked. “You said it last night. Ale today. I wonder what watery piss these Byzantine fancy lads drink. Will I even like it?”

  “Don’t underestimate them,” Yngvar said. “Man to man, they might not seem much of a threat. But as a unit they are like a swarm of bees. You can swat as many as you like but they will sting you to death in the end.”

  Bjorn waved his hands in dismissal and laughed.

  “Ah, well, bees make honey for good mead,” Thorfast said. “Though by now I’m glad for even watery piss. What do you say? A meal and drink? The men could use it. Yesterday was trying for everyone.”

  “The commander will allow us to use the dining hall after the others. No one is there now, so let’s use it.”

  “Dining hall?” Bjorn asked. “They have a hall just for eating?”

  “Even a small place like this?” Thorfast asked, equally surprised.

  “It is like our own mead halls, but less important to them. For as long as I’ve been here, all orders are given in the parade ground. The leaders make their decisions in their command room. The hall is just for eating and drinking. Sometimes gambling and rarely fighting. Don’t any of you fight here and make sure the others know this as well. The Byzantines take discipline seriously. A simple fight could get you lashed or worse.”

  Watching Bjorn’s and Thorfast’s faces shift from amusement to disbelief reminded Yngvar how different Byzantine military life was from anything in the Norse world. Yngvar knew he was more adaptable than most. Bjorn would be his opposite, and the most likely to get into trouble without even realizing it.

  They all arrived in the dining hall after Yngvar had herded them like sheep. Though he had only been separated from his men for a single season, he had come to appreciate the precision of the Byzantines. One shouted order got all men moving together. But to get Nordbert and his Franks, Gyna, Ewald, Hamar, Thorfast, and Bjorn all to head to the dining hall was exhausting. Some men had wandered off to explore the fortress. What should have been a simple command had to be repeated dozens of times.

  Once inside, Yngvar had to persuade Narses to open his kitchen again. The old cook narrowed his eyes at him but did not object. “The commander said I’d have to feed them. What kind of miracles does he think I can work here?”

  “Doesn’t your god make fish or something?” Yngvar asked. “Go pray you don’t let Norsemen grow hungry.”

  By the time his unruly group had settled, Narses and his servants were already reheating the morning meal of rice porridge and over-salted fish. They served it out in wooden bowls that the men were obliged to fetch themselves. Not having a servant irritated the crew. Worse still is most did not recognize their meal as food and complained about the rice.

  “Lord,” Alasdair said quietly while they stood at the back of the hall, watching men stare at their bowls in confusion. “You have to let them know we will be here until next spring.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Yngvar said, folding his arms. “I said if Messina is not settled by winter then we will leave.”

  “But we will not sail north in winter storms, lord.”

  “We will,” Yngvar said. “It is not always foul weather in winter. Besides, these men are from Frankia and so it is there we must return. A far less dangerous journey in winter from here.”

  “Frankia?” Alasdair said, touching his hand to his chest. “We have no place there anymore. Well, I never had a place there. But even so, they expect to fix the ship and sail straight to the treasure then leave to live as kings. Their expectations are to be home before winter.”

  Yngvar scratched his head. “Yes, well, I don’t know these men well. I think it best if I speak with Bjorn and Thorfast first.”

  “And Gyna, too,” Alasdair added. “Gyna will help calm Bjorn when he doubtlessly loses his wits for the news.”

  He gathered all his Wolves together. He included Hamar and Ragnar as honorary members. Ewald joined of his own accord, but as everyone else would speak Norse, he was effectively barred. They crowded a table away from the rest. The hall was built to accommodate hundreds. It echoed with Frankish voices. Nordbert stared after them, the only suspicious one among his crew.

  Yngvar sat with his back against the wall so he could take in the entire room. Of his Wolves, only Gyna seemed to hesitate at the rice porridge. She kept dipping her finger into it, swirling the rice, then frowning. Everyone else slurped it down as if they might never eat again.

  “I’ll come to the point,” Yngvar said. “I’ve got some news you might not be pleased to hear.”

  Bjorn had his face buried in his bowl. Thorfast smacked his lips and cocked his light brow.

  “At this point, I can’t imagine much worse than what we’ve endured. Say it.”

  “I have sworn an oath to serve Commander Staurakius.”

  Bjorn belched. Gyna still frowned at her porridge while she mumbled Saxon complaints to Ewald, who seemed to want her bowl once his was emptied.

  Alasdair gave him a meaningful look, but Yngvar was nonplussed.

  “You know that means we are under his command?”

  “Yeah,” Bjorn said, setting his bowl down. He turned to Gyna’s. “Are you going to eat it, woman? I’ll take it.”

  “I don’t like how it feels. Doesn’t mean I’m not hungry,” she said, harboring the bowl from Bjorn. Ewald hooked his finger on it and tugged it toward himself.

  “We will be manning the walls,” Yngvar said, looking between a
ll his men. Hamar was driving his finger into his nostril and staring back toward the kitchen.

  “We cannot leave at will,” Alasdair said. “We’re here until the commander releases us.”

  This at last drew looks from Gyna and Bjorn, and paused their debate over her uneaten porridge.

  “Can’t leave?” Bjorn said. “How long before we tell him to fuck off and leave anyway.”

  “Well, by winter,” Yngvar said. “You are all taking this calmly. I thought you’d all flip the table and attack me.”

  Thorfast shrugged. “The ship’s not ready for open water. We’re not going to come by lumber easily here. I don’t even need to spend another night to tell you the bastards who don’t like us will make everything hard to do. So we’ll stay while we get the lumber needed. I assume there’s pay?”

  “Supplies to repair the ship plus our meals,” Yngvar said. “He has nothing more to offer us.”

  He again waited for explosive rage.

  “May Thor strike you dead!” Gyna leapt up from the bench. Yngvar’s heart leapt. Then Gyna launched into a stream of Saxon curses.

  Ewald had claimed her porridge and was dumping it into his open mouth. Rice dribbled onto his beard and shirt.

  Bjorn roared with laughter. “Well, you should’ve eaten it rather than play with it.”

  “It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to eat it.” She dropped back onto the bench and put her hand to her forehead. “This little shit is going to drive me to madness.”

  “You’re already there, woman.” Bjorn laughed, as did the other Wolves.

  Yngvar and Alasdair laughed as well. But this was from relief.

  Once everything settled, the mood lightened. Ragnar, who had kept out of the discussion, now leaned in beside Hamar.

  “Jarl Yngvar, I have no home. So if you’ll have my sword, then I’ll go where you lead. But these Franks. I think they’re your worry.”

  Bjorn nodded his shaggy head. “Yeah. Better get Nordbert over here. Got to explain this to him carefully. He’s a good man. A great man, really. But he’s proud and he doesn’t want to be here. He’s serving my father, who has got to be dead by now. They all know it too. They really want to go home and get their families ready for winter. Especially with a new jarl leading them. Must be a fucking mess over there from what they say. Jarl Vilhjalmer betrayed and killed. Kings’re all changing.”