Valgerd used her foot to push him in by his butt.
“They say a slave girl, a Greek, was taken in here and raped by the soldiers long ago. They killed her accidentally and now her spirit haunts the place of her death. The soldiers still see her ghost here on some nights. So they avoid this shack and ignore anything they might see in it.”
“You’re fucking mad,” Thorfast said, backing out. “We don’t need any more curses than we’ve already got.”
Yet she kicked him back into the hole. “So when Alasdair said you were smart that was relative to an ox. Listen, I am the ghost. The slave’s death may be true. But I’ve never seen a ghost here. This is where I go to be alone and free. The commander helped me make the story more real by warning the men away. He’s even had this shack blessed, but somehow the ghost returns. Alasdair has been here plenty of times. There is no ghost except the ones they hear from us. Lots of moaning recently.”
He ducked his head out and looked at her. She smirked at him.
“Moaning, yeah. Very well, enough history. Get Ragnar so we can make a plan.”
He crawled inside toward the bedroll. Though the door was closed and no other gap was large enough to expose him, he still hunched on hands and knees behind the small wall of casks. If anyone did peek in from the door, a small woman like Valgerd could lie here and remain hidden. He sniffed at the air, and now understood the muskier notes that lingered here.
“Alasdair, you got to lie with a pretty woman while the rest of us got our teeth kicked out of our heads. Maybe I should become a Christian after all.”
He settled down, removing his longsword and setting it by his side. He flicked off the peace straps. While he waited, he heard the Romans shouting at each other in the parade ground. He could not understand their speech. While Sophia had tried to teach him, it had all been a smear of alien sounds. Nor could his tongue ever bend like those Romans. Yet he did not need to understand the words to hear the passionate arguing from both sides. Men with swords were the same everywhere. Once an argument reached its tipping point, those swords would be drawn and decisions would be written in blood. Thorfast had no doubt that point was fast approaching. He hoped whichever side won the final argument would be friendly.
Better to expect sunrise at midnight, he thought.
At last Valgerd returned with a bewildered Ragnar in tow. All three of them filled the small shack, but one more could still sit comfortably. They sat cross-legged facing each other. Valgerd folded her white hands over her skirt and looked calmly to both of them.
“The commander has been killed,” she said. “I saw the whole thing. First one of the Roman officers relieved the guard at the door to some other duty while Commander Staurakius was inside his war room. I was just about to leave my room. Something about the officer made me fear him. So I hid behind my door. He acted strangely. The officer watched the guard leaving, even ducking down to be sure he was gone. Then he called two soldiers who had been hiding at the far end. The officer whispered to them, then opened the doors to the war room without announcing themselves. All three entered. I heard the commander raise his voice, then he screamed once. I ran to the door to look inside.”
She paused, her eyes looking into her memory. Her small hands rose to her neck and wrapped around it as if she had been cut.
“The commander was holding his throat. Blood sprayed between his fingers. I’ve never seen the like. His eyes were wide and he didn’t seem like the man I’ve known for so long. He just seemed small and weak. Falling apart.”
Valgerd paused and brushed a tear aside.
“It was horrible. He was choking. Then the two soldiers pushed him atop the table. The officer just watched. His back faced me. I thought he would join them, but he just nodded then started to turn around. I fled to my room and watched him go.”
Though she spoke steadily, tears streaked down her blushing cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her wrist. Thorfast felt his hand stir, that he might reach out and comfort her. But he resisted. She had been no friend to him, at least not until now.
“I didn’t know what to do. Of course the commander was dead or that officer wouldn’t have left. But in the next heartbeat Yngvar and Alasdair arrived. They had to have passed that officer. They should know who he was.”
“Do you know who any of the soldiers were?” Thorfast asked.
“Only the officer, but he is a low-ranking one. He doesn’t report to the commander, so I never learned his name. The other two were no men I’ve ever seen, but I don’t know every face in the fort. They didn’t look like soldiers, though they were dressed like them. They had big beards more like the Arabs wear.”
“What happened after Yngvar and Alasdair?” He glanced to Ragnar, who sat with his head resting on his folded hands, though his eyes were wide with rapt attention.
“They fought the two soldiers. Though one filled the room with a cloud of poison. I had returned after the officer left. I wanted to warn them, but things had moved so fast that they were already on the floor. The poison stung my face so I ran back to my room again. Both soldiers ran out, but one was later than the other. He had been hurt in his leg and it dragged behind.”
“Did you see where they went?” Thorfast asked. Valgerd shook her head.
“I closed my door against the poison and fear that I would be discovered. Later, after Yngvar and Alasdair were captured, one of the soldiers searched my room. I had nowhere to hide except beneath my blankets. He looked right at me then told the others I was gone.”
Ragnar let out a long breath. “Well, lucky for you.”
“And for us,” Thorfast added. “We have allies in the ranks. But why did you say this is all your doing?”
Valgerd rubbed away the last of her tears. She smoothed her dress and continued.
“As soon as I could, I ran to the end of the hall and out a servant’s entrance the soldiers never use. I raced to the dining hall, found the woman Gyna. Alasdair seems to think she is some kind of older sister to him. So I told her what happened.”
“And she did not lose her wits?” Thorfast asked, looking to Ragnar.
“She was no meek maiden when I was with her,” he said. “She could’ve razed Kalim’s palace on her own.”
“Well,” Valgerd said, tilting her head back. “I am a woman and I know how to talk to a woman. She understood what had to be done. They would surrender and wait for me to get help. They would have been slaughtered in a straight fight inside that hall. The Romans might have even barricaded them inside. Gyna told me you and Ragnar were outside. So I planned to gather us all and figure a way to free the others.”
Thorfast leaned back on his hands. Valgerd’s red, tear-streaked face looked hopefully to him. She had a glow of youth to her, the same as Alasdair. No wonder they made a good pair. Ragnar, sitting beside her, stared at the ceiling as if his mind labored over their problems. Sly bastard was probably waiting for him to suggest a plan, Thorfast thought.
“So one of the soldiers was hurt,” he said. “Should be easy enough to find a soldier with a hurt leg among all these men. And you’ll remember the faces of the men you saw?”
Valgerd nodded. “I fear I will never forget them. The commander’s either.”
“We need to get in contact with Yngvar. These Romans must have some system of justice. Between you and Yngvar you should able to prove their innocence. We just need to find the injured man.”
Ragnar clapped his hands. “Well, that’s easy enough. A fresh sword wound to the leg isn’t something you can pass off as an accident. We’ll have the real killer before long.”
Then the Romans outside the shack began to shout. The shouts were answered by the ring of metal on metal and the screams of the wounded.
Thorfast’s smile fell flat. He shook his head at Ragnar.
“I think there’ll be a few more sword injuries before the morning is done.”
9
Yngvar was unable to meet a single eye. He stood in the packed iron cag
e with more than a dozen men. The wall of iron bars that formed a loose grate separated him from the rest of the crew. The scent of sweat penetrated the dried blood and snot crusted beneath his nose. His face no longer burned, but itched. He wished for a bowl of clear water more than even freedom. Yet he kept his head lowered, looking at the dirty boots of the Franks surrounding him.
They had all filed into their cells wordlessly and obediently. Even Bjorn, prone to bouts of rage at the slightest insult, had endured rough handling while being forced into Yngvar’s cage. He stood beside him now, heavy hand on Yngvar’s shoulder.
“I’ve seen better looking walruses than you two,” he said, nodding toward Alasdair at the back of the cell. “Got your faces beat, eh?”
“It was some sort of blinding poison,” Yngvar said. “Though the goat turd did kick me in the nose before he escaped. Is it broken?”
“Well, it’d fucking hurt if it did. You’re talking all right. You’re fine.” Bjorn clapped Yngvar’s shoulder again. “Gyna said Alasdair’s girl is going to fix this for us. Don’t be so gloomy.”
“She better fix this,” Gyna said from the opposite cell. She had pressed against the bars so that her eyes fit into one square. The dark frame around her face made her seem somehow madder than usual. “I trusted the girl because of you, Alasdair.”
“She will aid us,” Alasdair said from the back. “Though I am not sure how.”
Yngvar cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.
“I asked all of you to trust me,” he said in Frankish. Only Ewald, Gyna’s nephew, would not understand. But he had gone to a corner to sulk at his fate and seemed uninterested in anything. “Now we are disarmed and put in a cell. I did not expect such a swift turn of fortunes. There is unrest among these soldiers. They’ve killed their lord, and now a struggle for power must take place. Whoever wins will need our swords. They will have lost more strength than they can afford.”
Nordbert started shaking his head. “And we will need food. Better to leave us to starve and flee this place.”
“No,” Yngvar said. “This land is ripe with food, especially for armed soldiers. It is not like our lands, where farmers must beg the gods to grow a single weed. Here there is fruit that grows wild. Seas teeming with fish. And a heavy population that will yield up its food at the point of a sword. Hunger is not an issue here. But the Arabs are. And no matter who wins in this fight, they will need fighting strength to prevail against them.”
He looked to each man now, emboldened by his own speech. He had omitted that many of the soldiers knew he had raided them and killed a beloved captain. His Wolves knew the truth, but Nordbert’s men did not need to be reminded. He needed them calm and ready to act when the time came.
For he had a plan now.
They spent what felt hours idling in the cells. Most of the men slouched against the rough iron bars. Bjorn rested against the bars where Gyna sat on the opposite side. Nordbert and Hamar both sat together. The two navigators had formed a friendship. Yngvar held onto the bars at the front of the cell, staring patiently up at the stairs. As he did, he felt Alasdair join him.
“I’m sorry, lord.”
Yngvar shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
“I shouldn’t be so gloomy. It is just that it seemed we were so close to escaping this place, and now we are imprisoned again.”
“It is a temporary burden. I have a thought. I just need Valgerd to get down here so I can put it into action.”
“I hope she is all right,” Alasdair said. “And that she found Thorfast and Ragnar.”
“The gods did not bring us all together to starve us in a cell. I believe this, and you must as well. Surely, one day we will all be slain. But it will be a glorious death with the heads of our enemies piled high around us. We will not go onto death as starved men who died like forgotten dogs. We will go to Valhalla and the heroes awaiting us there will stand and cheer. The benches will be made clear for us, and I will sit by my father and grandfather. And you will as well. They will have seen your deeds and named you a hero.”
Alasdair smiled. “I don’t think I shall go to Valhalla, lord. I must go to heaven, or more likely to hell.”
“Don’t speak of it. On the day the Wolves die we will all go to Valhalla together. I will take you with me.”
He patted Alasdair’s shoulder and his young friend laughed. Of course, he meant every word. Alasdair wanted him to embrace Jesus Christ. He never would. For if he did then he must believe his father and grandfather are not in Valhalla but are in hell. He shuddered at that thought. What a terrible fate for heroes. Why would anyone want to be a Christian? So when the Valkyries came for him, he would not go with them unless they collected Alasdair as well.
His thoughts roused when he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open and saw a thin light flash before it closed again. From the lack of sound, he knew Valgerd was approaching and not a guard. Alasdair did as well, for he stood straight and strained to see her.
Her golden hair carried the faint light that spilled from the top of the stairs. Yet she wore the darkness well, remaining a vague shape until she was up against the bars. Alasdair reached out to her, and she took both his extend hands in hers.
“You’re all right,” Alasdair said. “I was so worried.”
Valgerd smiled and shook both his hands. “I have only a short time here. The soldiers are fighting amongst themselves. There are no guards here now.”
“Did you bring a key?” Yngvar asked.
“You ask much of me,” she said, stepping back from Alasdair. “Keys are not left hanging out for anyone to find. The guards have gone to join the others. Now, I have found Thorfast and Ragnar. But they are not sure what they can do.”
“As long as you can return to them,” Yngvar said. “I will give them plenty to do.”
Valgerd gave a small smile. “I expected as much from you, lord. The commander valued your thoughts.”
“Did you witness what happened?” He pushed closer to the bars. As others noticed him speaking to someone outside the cell, they began to draw closer.
“All of it,” she said. “From before you both arrived. But I do not know the officer’s name.”
“We won’t need it,” Yngvar said. “We are going to make our own claim to this fortress. Let these fools fight among themselves, and we shall defeat who is left standing.”
“Lord?” Alasdair stood back from the grate in surprise.
Bjorn, who had joined them at this moment, looked between him and Valgerd.
“So this your woman? A fine girl, especially if she can convince Gyna to put down a sword. What’s this about fighting?”
Yngvar crouched to Valgerd’s eye level. “The soldiers battle for control? Tell me this. Did the slave soldiers take a side or are they locked in their barracks?”
“In their barracks, lord,” Valgerd said. Her eyes widened in understanding. “You want to get a message to them?”
“I do. We Norsemen and the slaves are all on the same footing. If we join together, then we will number over sixty men. Whatever is left of the Byzantines might be a bit more than that. They will not be fighting for freedom, but for the sole purpose of ending their fighting. They’ll want to stop and we cannot stop. How many more of their friends are they willing to see die before they realize they are better served pointing their swords at the Arabs?”
“But we are imprisoned,” Nordbert said as he pushed to Yngvar’s back. “They’d have to fight alone across that courtyard to reach us.”
Yngvar shook his head and continued to speak to Valgerd.
“You must get to Thorfast and Ragnar. Lead them to the slaves and speak with Lucas the Byzantine. You will have to translate. But Thorfast is a talker and his words are both daggers and lockpicks. Translate faithfully and he will get Lucas to lead the slaves in the fight. Thorfast will have to arm them and they will in turn need to arm us. It will be a hard thing. But if the fortress is tearing itself apart, i
t can be done. Did you learn why they fight?”
“One officer wants to lead where another does as well. Some suspect you killed the commander and others say you were unjustly blamed to cover someone’s ambitions.”
“Arabs killed the commander, no doubt Prince Kalim’s meddling. One was badly injured and I doubt he could have escaped this fortress. If we can find him, then our account will be proved true. I want as many of the surviving Byzantines on my side when all is settled. Now hurry. A fight like this won’t last long before a victor is declared. It may even be done now. But that does not change my plan. Hurry, everyone in these cells depend upon you.”
Valgerd seemed to shrink under the realization. For the space of a breath, Yngvar wondered if he had burdened the girl beyond her abilities. Yet she served the commander dutifully and he praised her for her skill. So when she squared her shoulders and set her jaw, he saw what the commander must have also seen—resolution to succeed. She looked from him to Alasdair.
“Next we meet we will all be free under the open sky.”
She slipped back into the shadows. Alasdair stared longingly at her. Bjorn chuckled.
“Well, got spirit, that girl does. Let’s see if she succeeds.”
“If she can’t,” Yngvar said. “I’ll be trusting you to rip these gates off their hinges.”
Bjorn rattled the bars and frowned. “I’d have to be pretty fucking drunk before I tried that.”
“Then we’ll have to trust her to get back to Thorfast, find Lucas and his men, arm them, break us out, then arm us. The rest of the plan will be on our shoulders. What could go wrong with that?”
Bjorn laughed again. “About everything.”
He tested the gate once more, this time seriously.
10
In the gloomy shed, Thorfast and Ragnar knelt on the dirt floor as they peered out of the doorway. Thorfast had dared cracking it enough for a razor view of the action. Despite Valgerd’s promise everyone considered the shack haunted and therefore ignored it, he did not chance more. The fresh air brushed his cheek where it flowed in. The morning sun also struck him in the eye, obscuring most of what he strained to see.
The Red Oath Page 9
