Yet he did not need to see in detail. The clang of iron and thud of shields was a familiar song, one he had sung until the notes of screaming men and their shattering weapons were slashed into his memory. The Roman song was no different.
As soon as Valgerd had left, he and Ragnar crawled to the door and peeked beyond. The shouting and chiming iron had drawn them. The soldiers’ first blows had been shoves and threats. Beyond the edge of the narrow view Thorfast afforded himself, he heard the familiar hiss of a drawn sword.
Then battle erupted. Sword rang on sword. Spear thumped against hastily drawn shields. Some men fell screaming. Others deflected the attacks but did not know what to do next. Confusion ruled. It seemed some of the soldiers had been ready for violence, but a great deal more were unprepared. They had expected to fight Norsemen but found their weapons turned against them. Groups of soldiers did not know which orders they should obey. Thorfast saw three men run toward one leader only to be ordered toward another. No one knew who the enemy was.
“Madness,” Ragnar said, crouched beneath him. “They’ve all gone mad.”
“Soon the two wolves that want to lead this pack must fight,” Thorfast said. “That’ll decide it. We had better be gone before then.”
The soldiers scattered and broke off. Some appeared to flee while other seemed to regroup. Thorfast decided neither side of this conflict had been prepared for violence. Plans had to have been disrupted and so now men had to choose sides at sword-point. A score of bodies, some dead and others rolling with the pain of their wounds, marked where the undecided forces had clashed. For the moment, the echo of battle subsided into shouts and threats but no more sparking swords.
The rear wall panel lifted open again, and Valgerd stepped inside. She did not bother to fix it closed behind her.
“You have orders,” she said, her face grave. Her cheeks were flushed red and her pale skin gleamed with sweat.
“Clam yourself and tell me what Yngvar wants us to do.”
She wiped her brow with the back of her wrist and nodded sharply. She then recited Yngvar’s plan. When she finished, Thorfast had to cover his mouth or else laugh aloud.
Ragnar was less amused, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“That sounds like lot to do in practically no time. I mean, you saw out there. This battle is not going to last much longer.”
“That is why we must hurry,” Valgerd said. She glared at Thorfast. “What is so funny?”
He waved his hand at her. “Never mind. You would not understand. It has been too long since I’ve heard a plan as crazed as this. It is exactly what Yngvar would want us to do. Risk everything on the vaguest hope it all works out. But, the gods love him, or so he says. It must be true for we’re all still alive. Anyway, take us to Lucas the Byzantine. I will show him where his best interests lie.”
Valgerd led them out of the shack. She stood aside as they passed back into the alley between fortress wall and shack. Before setting out, she replaced the panel. They filed down in shadow, hewing to the wall in the direction they had come from.
Crossing out of shadow, Valgerd raced across the parade ground. Thorfast glanced toward the crowds of soldiers cursing and accusing each other. If any looked toward them, they took no action. Still, he rushed along with his hand on his sword hilt as if a Roman might leap into his path.
They collapsed against the wall of the building across the way. This was a long but low building. It had a single door in the front. The building’s length ran away from him toward the opposite fortress wall. The wood was gray and old. A roof of faded red tiles seemed to have flaked away sections of tile to leave piles of shards in the dirt.
Valgerd slid across the wall to knock on the door, but it opened at her approach. A strong man with curly brown hair and hazel eyes greeted them. His beard was thick but close-cut. His mouth was lost in it. He wore a dirty gray tunic tied with a leather belt. He did not even wear shoes.
He and Valgerd spoke harsh words. Both nodded toward the madness behind them.
“That’s Lucas the Byzantine,” Ragnar said. “He wants to know what’s going on.”
“I forgot you speak their language,” Thorfast said. “Well, make sure Valgerd is accurate to what I say. I don’t trust her.”
“Why not?” Ragnar asked, his brows raised. But before they could answer they were led inside. Valgerd had understood and glared at Thorfast.
He felt ashamed, for he had no reason to speak ill of her. She had lied to him once. But then had that not been a plan she had made with Sophia, who he had forgiven for the same mistake? He decided he had best forgive Valgerd, yet he struggled with this. She did not act like a slave should, and that bothered him.
The door snapped shut behind them. Thirty slaves all dressed as Lucas stared at him. The whites of their eyes were clear in the dim light. The long row of the wall was lined with bunk beds on either side. The floor was covered in rotten straw that lent a rank odor to the room.
“Yngvar and Alasdair was once part of this group?” Thorfast asked. He did not expect an answer, but Valgerd nodded.
“Before they ever saved the commander’s life in battle they were slave-warriors just like these. They have kept their friendships, even thought they were raised to stand by the commander.”
Thorfast greeted Lucas the Byzantine with a raised hand. The slave did not seem to understand at first. But such a basic gesture of peace needed no translation. Thorfast did not waste any more time. He outlined the death of the commander, Yngvar and Alasdair’s fate, the fight among the Romans, and finally Yngvar’s plans. It was all basic summary that both Valgerd and Ragnar facilitated. The slaves began to panic. Lucas, however, stood with hands on his hips. He spoke little, but then finally spoke directly to Valgerd.
“He says that no matter which side wins, their fate will be the same. While Yngvar and Alasdair are friends, he does not know the other men. How can they be trusted?”
Thorfast nodded. He would have slapped this fool across his head to get him to think clearly. But he had his task and the lives of all the others lay with him now.
“Yngvar chooses his companions carefully. These are not wild men with no honor. They are men he has judged worthy of his company.”
Thorfast smiled. Yngvar didn’t know the name of a single man on that crew besides Nordbert.
“Further, what hope have you of freedom if you wait for the gods to decide your fate? You have been handed this chance to shape your lives. Would you not leave these walls as full and free men? Do none of you dream of farm and family? Have the Romans even beaten this out of you? You are as dogs to them. Your lives are to be spent in their defense. But you know the value of your lives. If you would join Yngvar, take up weapons for yourselves, you will remember all you have forgotten. You will be free men from that moment. Even if you die, you die free. Who here chooses to live his life upon his knees?”
He waited for Valgerd to complete his speech. Yet even before his final question was translated, he saw the resolution grow among the group. They were slaves, and rightfully feared crossing their masters. But now they seemed to grasp that this chance would never come again.
Lucas the Byzantine smiled. When he spoke, Thorfast did not need Valgerd’s translation that they agreed to the plan. He heard it in the strength of the slave’s voice.
“You must arm yourselves,” Thorfast said. “Where are your weapons housed?”
“He said in the armory.” Valgerd cut off his next question. “It’s a building where they keep weapons. I will show you where to go.”
Thorfast led the slaves from out of the shadowed barracks into the heat of the midmorning sun. The two forces were clashing again, fighting in ranks but without much heart. To his eye it was like two brothers pitted against each other for the sport of their cruel father. Leaders hovered in the rear and shouted at anyone who lagged.
“Tell Lucas to keep his companions quiet,” Thorfast said to Ragnar. “Or our appearance will give them a commo
n enemy to fight.”
He translated while Valgerd led them in a jog against the long row of buildings. The armory was in the main fortress, it seemed, and there would be no easy entrance. They would have to run right behind the clashing forces.
“We will blockade the doors while we fetch our weapons,” Thorfast said. “Then we will bait them into attacking us.”
“Wait,” Ragnar said as they trotted along the shadow of the buildings. “Attack us? Who is going to free Yngvar and the others?”
“Valgerd,” he said, calling ahead. She raised her skirt as she ran. Gods, was she truly so dainty for a slave? “You can get the key to their cells?”
She frowned over her shoulder. “I’d have done it already if I could.”
“I can arm the slaves, hold the fortress, and distract the Romans. But I can’t stroll back across the open and ask around for a key. Someone has to get the key and let Yngvar out.”
Valgerd looked over her shoulder again. “I don’t know where it is.”
They ran out of time for talk. They had jogged with thirty or more excited and fearful slaves trailing them. Lucas the Byzantine remained closest, but the others had bunched behind him like scared boys inching toward a haunted grove. Such a gathering was not missed.
The Romans facing them began to point and gesture. Of course, those with their backs to them thought it a trick.
“That’s just enough hesitation,” Thorfast said. “Now run.”
The order needed no translation. In fact, none of his plan had been passed on to the men, which was perhaps best. That they trusted him was either credit to his persuasiveness or more likely credit to the bedlam enveloping the fortress. As he bolted toward the fortress doors, he smiled.
He had devised a plan more reckless than Yngvar’s. He was getting good at this.
The Romans understood what was happening, yet they failed to act in time. Years of looking at these men as slaves without their own wills had led them to believe a few shouted orders would get them back in line. One of the Roman leaders pointed a rod at them and cursed like Loki himself. Every word was delivered with a strike of his rod to an invisible victim.
Some slaves hesitated. Thorfast had no time to see who followed. But to his satisfaction as he ran into the torch-lit, stone rooms of the main fortress, the slaves tumbled in behind.
It seemed none of the Romans, however, were willing to break ranks against their newfound enemies. So the fortress was captured.
Ragnar slammed the heavy doors shut. There were no other openings at this level. When Ragnar dropped the heavy bar into the slot across the doors, it thumped with finality.
The slaves clustered together, even more like scared boys than ever. Thorfast drew his sword and sneered at them.
“Aren’t you warriors?” He spread his arms wide to indicate the room around him. “We are safe in here. Go take what weapons you will from this armory. Then we will negotiate terms.”
Ragnar translated and half of the slaves went deeper into the fortress. The others watched the doors with wide eyes.
Lucas the Byzantine stepped to the front of the remaining slaves. His hazel eyes glowed with anger as he spoke. Ragnar answered a few words then Lucas held up his hands for silence. He nodded to Ragnar to translate. He looked to Valgerd, who now seemed to have shrunk to mouse size.
“He thanks you for arming them and coming to their aid. But now that they have weapons and control of the fort, he is in charge. And he will make the terms he wants.”
Thorfast smiled.
“I hate this land down to the last worm digging through its mud.”
He bumped up against Lucas’s chest so that they were nose to nose, then planted his drawn sword into the wood floor. The slave did not waver.
“Only the strongest lead,” he said in a growl. “I’ve got no time for your shit. Fetch your weapon and make peace with your god. I’ll be sending him your head.”
11
Valgerd felt her stomach turning to water. Somehow she had become trapped in the fortress that was once a place of ultimate safety to her. This fool called Thorfast and his Byzantine counterpart in Lucas were butting up against each other and threatening violence. She knew Lucas, but did not know Thorfast. The one called Ragnar was trying to calm both of them, but his words were as soothing as scalding water.
The other slaves stood confused, unsure of what their self-proclaimed leader intended. For now, the only ones with weapons were the Norsemen. Frankly, as far as Valgerd was concerned, the two Norsemen would be a match to the best of the slaves’ fighters. Yet they could not prevail against so many attackers.
As Thorfast and Lucas shoved at each other and cursed, the other slaves were returning with swords and spears. Some carried small round shields of iron. They stopped when the saw the two leaders squared off.
“Enough,” Valgerd shouted. She hadn’t even realized she was going to speak. “Thorfast, you need these men. You won’t win them by cutting up their leader before their eyes. Even the Romans have never done such a thing.”
Thorfast whirled on her. She had to contain her laughter, for he was the image of a child who had his favorite toy snatched away.
“Warriors respect the strong,” he said. “And this fool wants to lead his own men. How is Yngvar’s plan going to succeed if I let him lead?”
She rolled her eyes and looked to Lucas. She spoke Greek to him.
“You’ve got a larger problem outside these doors,” she said. “Can’t you just let the white-haired fool think he’s in charge?”
“But he’s not,” Lucas said. Again, he looked like a child that had just been pushed in the cold mud.
Valgerd put her hands over her head. “This is too much. Ragnar, explain to both of these idiots that I’ll be back with Yngvar. Only together will they defeat the Romans. They can figure out who will lead when they are all free.”
She did not even wait for Ragnar to finish his translation. She shoved past stunned slaves. In this fortress, there would be other slaves just like her. All of them would be hiding and hoping to be forgotten. She knew all of them, of course. One of them must know where the keys to the cells are kept.
Thorfast and Lucas began shouting at each other anew. But their curses faded as she wound her way down halls toward the slave quarters. The last thing she heard was the banging on the heavy doors. The Romans had decided to table their differences now that their fortress was captured.
Time would run out fast from here.
Down the halls and down stairs, she came to the room where the other serving girls slept. These were maids and runners, all young women from all over the Empire. They kept the modest fortress running and clean. Valgerd alone had been the commander’s personal servant. Some resented her for it. Soon she would know by how much.
She arrived at the bottom of the short stairs. The stone walls were lit with a single lamp that fluttered yellow light across the wooden door. It was closed but Valgerd saw the shadows around the jamb. She knocked on it.
“It’s me,” she said. “I have news. Let me in.”
A muffled voice answered through the door. “Are you alone?”
“Of course,” she said. “Hurry, we don’t have any time.”
The door swept open and to her surprise she found only two of the girls she had expected. Both wore plain gray dresses that were more stained and torn than Valgerd’s. The older of the two, a mousy girl called Lucia, stood holding the door like she was standing behind her father.
“What is happening?” Lucia asked. She stepped aside for Valgerd to enter, then closed the door again. “They said the commander was killed and we should remain in our quarters until fetched. I wondered where you were.”
“Well, it has been quite a morning,” she said. She smiled at the younger girl, Silvia. She was perhaps thirteen with big brown eyes and frizzy auburn hair. She might have been a beauty but for the red rash that flourished all over her face.
“So it’s true,” Lucia said. “An
d you are alive?”
Valgerd clucked her tongue at the question. “Put aside whatever differences we have. I am alive thanks to God’s mercy. But none of us will be for long if we cannot end the fighting that’s overtaking the fort.”
“The soldiers fight with each other,” Silvia said. “I have heard some of them wanted to go home but they could not. Is that why they fight?”
“Perhaps. The slave warriors have risen up during the confusion. They’ve barricaded themselves in here.”
Both Lucia and Silvia drew sharp breaths. Lucia grabbed Valgerd’s arm.
“What does that mean? What are they going to do to us? We’re innocent slaves.”
Silvia nodded at every word, her already big eyes grown even bigger.
“The Norsemen and the slaves will join together. Then we can negotiate with the soldiers.”
“Negotiate?” Lucia shook Valgerd’s arm. “With who? Who’s leading now that the commander is dead?”
“God grant it be us. Listen, I have to fetch the Norsemen from their cells. Do either of you know who holds the keys? They were not in the jailer’s room.”
Both girls looked dumbfounded. Lucia’s grip on Valgerd’s arm weakened.
“So, you don’t know.” She pulled out of Lucia’s hold. “I will have to trust God to guide me.”
She made to turn, then Silvia grabbed her arm instead.
“Calixtus holds all the keys,” she said. “He has a huge ring of keys on his belt. I like the sound they make when he walks. Reminds me of home.”
“Reminds you of home?” Lucia recoiled from the younger girl. “What kind of home did you live in?”
“Never mind that.” Valgerd’s heart sped up. Her excitement caused Silvia to step back from her leaning closer. “Could you find Calixtus in a crowd?”
The Red Oath Page 10
