Yngvar stiffened. Alasdair seemed to hold his breath. The more reasonable file leader shook his head.
“This is not for us to decide,” he said. “Alexius is next in line for command. We need to notify him first.”
The angry file leader glared at Yngvar, then threw his dagger at his feet. The iron clanged bright. He drove his finger at Yngvar instead.
“You’re going to pay,” he said in a low threat. Tears were in the man’s eyes. “After all the commander did for you. You cut his fucking neck.”
“I did no such thing,” Yngvar said. “Why would I? I had saved his life once.”
“You didn’t have your friends then, did you. You’re a snake and I’ll see you dead.” The file leader snarled at him and stomped down the stairs. The other soldiers looked at each other. The smell of pepper and blood had crept out of the room into the hall.
“Yngvar,” said the remaining file leader. “Do your men a favor and ask them to surrender. You’ll get a fair trial. No one wants a fight now, even if we could win it.”
“Lord, don’t,” Alasdair said in Norse. “We’ll never be freed if we surrender. You know they’ll find us guilty.”
“Hold on,” the file leader said, interposing himself before Alasdair. “No one knows what you’re saying.”
“My men have no reason to surrender,” Yngvar said. His heart twisted for he was leaving them for an ambush by the people he had told them to trust. “Explain to them what happened, hold your trial swiftly, then release me. The real killers are hidden among you, wearing your armor and tunics.”
The file leader’s shoulders slumped. “I wish you would have cooperated. Someone get Valgerd. We’ll need her to tell the barbarians to surrender. They deserve a chance to make the right choice.”
Yngvar looked to Valgerd’s room. The closest soldier opened the door and peered inside. He turned back, shaking his head.
“Not here.”
The soldiers wrestled Yngvar and Alasdair down the stairs. Yngvar turned a final time, and again he swore he saw a flash of Valgerd’s blue-gray dress and golden hair as she flitted out of her room to a new hiding place. The soldiers, confused and shocked, had left no guard behind with the commander’s body. So she could move freely.
He looked to Alasdair behind him. He nodded. “She will help us, lord.”
“No more words we can’t understand, or we’ll gag you both.” The soldier holding Yngvar emphasized his threat with a hard jerk. They stumbled down the final stairs.
Outside, the humid air was surprisingly fresh. Tears still leaked down his cheeks and his face burned. The flow of snot had ended. He became aware of the burning cut across his knuckles. The slash was not even deep. It might leave a white scar, but it was a shallow cut. Why had the Arab not simply stabbed his hand?
The soldiers dragged him across the parade ground, toward the tower where he had once killed the captain in charge of the wall defense. He stared after his ship, which now felt like a child he was abandoning to strangers. All his companions were still in the dining room. Despite the alarm that had sounded, the rest of the fortress seemed oddly at rest.
Inside the tower they were led down stairs beneath the fortress grounds. These were intended for Arab captives. From the clean condition of the large cells, Yngvar guessed they had been mostly unused. His guards unbound him and gently pushed him inside the black-barred cell. Alasdair followed.
The file leader closed the bar door behind him. He ran his fingers through short-cropped, graying hair.
“We will get this sorted out,” he said. “You’ll have your say at trial.”
“One of the men is a traitor,” Yngvar said. “Those Arabs had help reaching the commander.”
The file leader held his eyes and nodded. But he offered no opinion, leaving with his fellows. Some glared back at Yngvar. Others simply clopped up the wooden stairs to the tower.
Yngvar put his hands around the cold iron bars. The air was cooler, wetter, and smelled of earth. The long row of cells was made entirely of iron lattice work. A thin man could fit his arm through a square. He could not. Alasdair might. The rear wall was all of earth and stone. Each cage could hold six men comfortably.
The door above slammed shut and darkness enveloped them.
“Feels familiar,” Alasdair said, slumping to the floor against the rear wall.
“Smells a lot better in here,” he said. “And there were unlit torches on the walls. So maybe we will have some light after all.”
They were both recalling their horrible imprisonment in Prince Kalim’s dungeon. That was a horror he would never forget. Sometimes, when Yngvar would wake in the dark of night, he would think he was still back in that cell. Terror would overtake him until he realized he was awake.
“Valgerd must have seen everything,” Alasdair said. “She was hiding before we arrived and did not want to be seen by the guards. She will warn the others. If she cannot, she will help still save us.”
“Save us?” Yngvar said, leaning against the bars. “How many more times must that happen? I am weary of being saved.”
“As many times as we keep surrendering,” Alasdair said.
“You would have had us fight a dozen men? So that even though we are guilty of no crime, we would make ourselves so simply for killing soldiers on duty? Do you not see what is happening? We are being made to take the blame. This is the opening of a rebellion in this tiny fortress so far from home or help. The commander held them together. Whoever was against him, probably Captain Alexius, decided it was time to end their rivalry.”
“But their plan relied on us walking in at the exact moment,” Alasdair said. The anger in his voice now replaced with curiosity. “Do you think these enemies manipulated us so smoothly?”
“No,” he said. “We ruined their plans. Yet somehow they were going to bring the blame for the murder back to us. They just altered their tactics when we showed up. The Arabs did not kill us when they could have. Nor did they even seek to disable my sword hand when they could have easily. They wanted no doubt that I could cut off the commander’s head.”
“Lord, there was so much blood on that floor. The Arabs surely have left tracks to follow. And one was stabbed in the leg.”
“They will,” Yngvar said. “The question remains as to who will find them first. You’ll notice they left no one behind with the commander’s body. Why? So that Staurakius’s enemies can clean up what signs remained. And they could do more to make it seem we were the killers. There is much wrong here. We’re all conveniently gathered in the dining hall. Commander Staurakius’s guard was gone when we arrived. It is as if they manipulated us. But how?”
“So Valgerd’s witness will be key,” Alasdair said. “I hope she is all right. I have shown her how to hide. But she has much to learn.”
Yngvar smiled. “I’m sure you have had other reasons to show her how to hide. Well, I too hope she survives. But her word might count for nothing. She is neither a man nor a soldier. She is a slave. Her word is only worth however much the new commander decides. Valgerd was Staurakius’s favored slave. Perhaps not so for the new commander.”
“Then we must hope Bjorn and Thorfast give a good fight,” Alasdair said. “Or we might end our days here.”
Yngvar’s grip tightened around the rough bars. He smiled without mirth.
“I will not die without taking every man in this fortress with me. I swear it.”
8
Thorfast ducked behind a stack of broken barrels and shattered wood that had been piled against the fortress wall by the front gate. The heavy grate creaked and moaned as it lowered. Two soldiers drew the gates shut behind it. All this within moments of another smaller guard running up to the base of the wall and shouting up. No alarm sounded. None of the guards looked out across the wall.
These gates were closing to keep men inside.
He knew that was a bad tiding.
These recent days had been the most magical in Thorfast’s life. After his tra
gedy with Sophia and the revelation Yngvar lived here in this fortress, he had found Bjorn and Gyna. How could that have been possible? He felt as if all the gods watched him now. For there was no other explanation. Fate had assembled them together again for a greater purpose. Now, as he crouched behind barrels that smelled vaguely of old beer, he wondered at that purpose.
For the gods were again about their mischief.
The gate doors snapped closed. Thorfast watched from the shadows of the wall he was supposed to man. It was Fate that turned his head.
Across the parade ground, a group of soldiers dragged Yngvar and Alasdair with their arms bound at their backs out of the main building. They had been dragged into a tower and vanished from sight. Had he not turned in that instant, he would have not seen them.
“So much for trusting these Romans,” Thorfast murmured to himself. Unlike the others, he called them Romans and not Byzantines, for that was how Sophia had referred to herself.
It seemed that no matter what you called them, these people could not be trusted.
“Now what are you about, Yngvar?”
He sat behind the barrel, afraid to move. He had his swords and daggers, but no shield or armor. He wore no cloak. Across the parade ground, he saw that Ragnar had found a hiding spot as well. He hovered between two buildings where the morning shadows were deep. He was canny, and could speak the language. If he hid then there was real danger afoot that he must have overheard. But he was too distant to reach or signal. But his friend spotted him and waved him lower.
Thorfast squatted down and waited.
As soon as Yngvar and Alasdair had gone to report to the commander, he and Ragnar decided to take a tour of the fortress despite Yngvar’s warning. He was glad to have Yngvar to lead him and the others. But he did not need to follow every order, did he? He was not like these brainless Roman soldiers who couldn’t step forward or backward without an order. He wanted to learn the fortress and could not see the harm in it. He and Ragnar had split up when his friend wanted to see if there was anything useful he might acquire from the buildings he now stood between.
Fate was strange.
From the barracks, scores of soldiers in red tunics and their mail armor flowed into the parade ground, shouldering heavy spears. Their leaders ordered them with only hand signals. It was surprising to see so many men work so swiftly with so little noise.
Of course, Thorfast understood why. His gaze swept across the parade ground to the dining hall.
This is going to get bloody, he thought.
A glance up the wall revealed all the wall sentries looked toward their companions. If he moved now he would expose himself. Across the way Ragnar had the common sense to remain in hiding.
So he was going to watch the battle. The Romans had the advantage of surprise. They also had made the foolish choice of bringing spears to a fight inside a hall. There was potential Bjorn and the others could prevail. But what would victory gain them? They were still trapped in this fortress. Even their ship was a prisoner. The realization sent a jolt through him.
Sneaky bastards, he thought.
The Romans marched forward with their spears ready. Two squares of men spilt off to cover each entrance. The wooden building was quiet and dark. Did the others know what was coming?
Yet rather than storm the hall, the Romans sent a man inside. The soldiers outside remained ready for a full assault.
A fly landed on the barrel rim right before his eyes. It rubbed its rear legs furiously. Thorfast stared past it. Nothing happened within the dining hall. He waited until it seemed that the soldier who went inside must surely have been killed. He imagined Bjorn and Gyna being told they had to surrender or die. The soldier’s head would fly off his shoulders the next instant.
So why hadn’t Bjorn thrown the severed head out of the door and followed behind, his ax held high?
The fly buzzed into the air, landed on Thorfast’s nose, then spun away.
Bjorn emerged from the dining room.
Followed by Gyna and her nephew, Ewald. Then Hamar and Nordbert and thirty more Franks.
“Odin’s balls,” he said. “They fucking surrendered?”
He spoke louder than intended, and raised his shoulders in fear. Yet looking up the wall, he saw the sentries staring impassively at the surrender carried out below.
Thorfast blinked as if trying to awaken from a paralyzing nightmare. The Romans were dividing them all into groups. Weapons were collected. To Thorfast’s surprise these were being neatly stacked in a wagon. No one seemed to be treated roughly, though some men scuffled with their captors.
Ragnar leaned out of the narrow alley as he tried to see what Thorfast did. After staring at the gathered men, he snapped his head toward Thorfast. The horror on his face was plain.
“I know,” Thorfast mouthed across the gap.
What Thorfast didn’t know was a plan for escape. He had gone with Yngvar’s story that these Romans could be trusted. After all, could they all be so rotten that not even one out of a fortress of men could be trusted.
But even Sophia, a Roman herself, had not been honest with him. She had used him, even if she had loved him. Or had she loved him? It mattered nothing now that she was dead. The point was that even a Roman woman he had fallen in love with was untrustworthy.
He watched as his companions were rounded up and marched toward the same tower where Yngvar and Alasdair had been taken.
His head buzzed with fear. He and Ragnar would have to sneak in and free them. But he had no confidence in his chance at success. That was Alasdair’s skill and not his.
“Thorfast,” the voice whispered from his left.
He crashed back against the wall, instinctively pulling into the shadow. He stared wide-eyed at the voice.
A small woman in a gray-blue dress and a head full of golden hair tied in braid smiled at him. This was the Norse girl, Valgerd.
“You!” His hand reached for his dagger. “Is this your work?”
“It is,” she said.
“Then you come to die?” He tugged at the dagger strapped to his belt, though he had no heart for murder. He just wanted her to flinch.
She did not.
“Keep your dagger sheathed or it might flash a warning to the men on the wall.” She glided easily along the dark strip of shadow. Despite her golden hair, she seemed to mix easily with the darkness.
“What do you mean this is your work?” He backed away from Valgerd as if proximity to her alone would kill him. “Is this another trick to keep Alasdair for yourself?”
She clucked her tongue at him. “So Sophia told you. But you have left her as she feared. Don’t be so swift to chastise me.”
“Sophia was killed,” he said flatly.
Valgerd stared at him. Her eyes were ice blue like his own. Her skin was smooth and clear, a well-cared-for slave. She could not hold his gaze and turned aside.
“I am sorry to hear it. But we’ve other matters at hand, if you’ve not noticed.”
“Ragnar is stuck across the way,” he said. “Do you have a means to rejoin us?”
She glanced across the open ground. “Forget him for now. I do not know him or his capabilities. I have learned enough of you from Alasdair to trust you. Listen, the commander was murdered. Yngvar and Alasdair have been blamed for it.”
“That is nonsense. They saved the commander’s life.”
“I know it,” she said. She constantly looked around herself for anyone approaching. But the soldiers were all massed at the far end and facing away from them. She continued to explain the situation.
“There are men here who want to blame them for it. There’s a rebellion afoot. It’s all very Roman. First kill the leader, then get the soldiers to rise up. Listen, we shouldn’t talk here. There are men only twenty feet above us.”
“And we have a place to go in this fort? It’s big but not enough for three people to hide in.”
Valgerd smiled. “I know this fortress better than any. There’s
a place to hide. Tell your friend to wait for me. I’ll take you first.”
“Yes, let me just speak to him in a dream. Girl, you see the distance as well as I do. I can’t tell him anything.”
“I meant to use your signals or whatever, you oaf. I thought you were the smarter one of the two?”
“Two of who?” Thorfast waved his hand at her. No sense arguing with a foolish girl. He waited for Ragnar to look at him, then he held up both hands to signal that he should wait there. Whether he got the message or not, he could not tell. The whites of Ragnar’s eyes were clear in the shadow.
“That’ll do. Now lead the way,” he said.
Valgerd grabbed his hand. Hers was small and smooth against his skin. It made him wonder what kind of slave she had been to the commander. With hands as soft as hers, she likely served him in bed. Yet he followed without fuss. She held them to shadow that lined the wall. The Romans were busy with their own confusion. It seemed news of their commander’s death had split them into different sides. So Valgerd had not been wrong. This at least gave them easy passage.
They arrived behind a low row of wooden buildings, shacks that seemed on the verge of collapse. These were set an arm’s length from the stone fortress wall. The ground back here was barren but for thick weeds and light debris.
“Wait inside here and I’ll be back with your friend,” she said. She then crouched down and removed a section of the wall. Now that she had, Thorfast noted the wood seemed brighter than the other gray planks around it. The light that fit into the alley did not flow inside the opening.
“I’m going to wait in this shack? A spear’s throw from a gang of angry Romans in full war gear? Are you mad?”
She stood, then pushed him toward the small entrance. He got to his hands and knees, feeling the cool dirt and grit under his palms. He peeked inside but his eyes could not adjust to the darkness.
“None of the soldiers will enter, even if you screamed at them. Though please don’t.”
He stuck his head into the entrance. It smelled musty and stale. It was dark but white light seeped through gaps in the walls and ceiling. A comfortable-seeming bed roll and unlit iron lamp had been set up behind a small wall of used casks. A wooden cup and plate sat beside the bedroll.
The Red Oath Page 8
