The Red Oath

by Jerry Autieri

  Yngvar watched the dark shapes of two ships casting off. He looked to One-Eye.

  “I thought your ship was on the water? Whose is that in dry dock?”

  “I lead these three ships,” he said. “So I can be aboard any of them. This one behind your walls is my actual ship. I won’t leave her to you.”

  “Alexius has promised to cooperate with me. Will you do the same?” He again extended his arm. One-Eye looked to his men, who again seemed loath to meet his gaze.

  “We’re fighting Arabs, right? Not fellow Romans?”

  “I have sworn to take Prince Kalim’s head in vengeance for all my crew that he led into death. I will die before I surrender that oath.”

  One-Eye grasped Yngvar’s arm. He smiled broadly, “I don’t mind dying as long as I go down with my ship fighting these fucking Arabs. Though, I’d rather not die at all.”

  Yngvar tightened his grip on One-Eye’s arm. “I promise a sea of enemy blood for your ship to sail.”

  They broke up, both Alasdair and Ragnar following.

  “Do you think we can trust him?” Ragnar asked. “I mean, once he has his ship he can sail off.”

  “He won’t be getting his ship before ours,” Yngvar said while returning to the parade ground. “And we could do the same once our ship is repaired. But considering all the Byzantines I know, while I know him the least, I trust him most.”

  “Lord, I think it is dangerous to trust anyone here,” Alasdair said.

  “But we must trust someone here,” Yngvar said. “Or we will never do all we have set out to do. But don’t fret. I will trust no one with everything, except for our own people.”

  For Yngvar, the morning had felt like a year had passed. He could not remember a more eventful day, where his fortunes had shifted like clouds in a windstorm.

  For the first day, all Byzantines were rounded up and confined just as Yngvar and the slaves had been. The traitors got the cells and the soldiers were quartered where the slaves had been or else in the dining hall. Captain Alexius was spared the humiliation. He remained with Yngvar and his Wolves in the main fort, nominally his hostage. Any uprising by the soldiers would mean killing Alexius. It seemed he enjoyed enough of his men’s goodwill that they abided peace for the day.

  Command Staurakius was to be buried in a cemetery outside the walls. Yngvar conferred with Alexius on what would be most respectful for the fallen commander. But all his men would need to be present, which could not happen until Yngvar sorted the details of the new arrangements with Alexius.

  Two days later they held the commander’s funeral. His body having been stored in a tent outside the fortress, had bloated and begun to stink. Yngvar found the entire ceremony confusing and too solemn. One man led them in prayers that made no sense and eventually the commander was set deep in the earth. Yngvar insisted the commander hold his sword in death. It was placed across his chest before the pinewood box was buried.

  Repair of his ship began under Nordbert and Hamar’s supervision. They were not ship builders but were the best men to advise on the needed repairs. One-Eye had his own crew to work his ship. A cache of lumber had been hidden by the traitors to deny Yngvar repairs. One-Eye located it on the first day. It made Yngvar wonder if One-Eye had sided with the traitors at one point.

  Now that the Byzantines had been returned their weapons, the fortress returned to a semblance of normality. The slaves were declared freed, with Yngvar ensuring he was the one to declare it. Lucas the Byzantine cried at the declaration, as did many of the others. The soldiers just watched with hooded eyes. He offered them all a chance to leave and start a new life. None accepted the offer, though Yngvar wondered if the choice had been due to loyalty or the danger of wandering alone in a country at war.

  The final scene in the drama of the last three days came with the trial of the traitors. The Arab assassin had been tortured into confessing how he had been hired by Prince Kalim to kill Staurakius and create chaos. He identified the traitors who helped him and his partner gain access to the fort by scaling the walls with a simple grappling hook. The traitors made sure no one was near to see them. Yngvar had grimaced at the Arab’s suffering. His hands and feet had been shattered and flattened with mallets. The Byzantines had started next on his knees, crushing the left one before the Arab told all he knew. They then dragged him into the parade ground and chopped off his head.

  Alexius read Commander Staurakius’s so-called journal. He had suspected an uprising but was not able to prove anything. He had named men he felt certain wanted to desert the fortress before the Arabs attacked. The named men were all among the group of traitors, those either alive or dead. The leader of the rebels was a fellow captain, junior to Alexius in tenure. His name was Hector and he had died in the original clash. Yngvar was shocked to find good-natured Narses the Cook among the named traitors.

  Many of the traitors were unrepentant. Some shouted curses at their former companions. Others shouted warnings that all would die as dogs for a land the Emperor no longer remembered. In the end, those who cooperated in naming or confirming other traitors were beheaded. Those recalcitrant soldiers who struggled against Alexius even in confinement were flogged to death. Yngvar, his back a mess of thick scars inflicted by Erik Bloodaxe’s whip, could not watch even though he agreed with the punishment.

  Throughout the tumult following the rebellion, Captain Alexius had not pressed Yngvar for his oath. He was pleased to avoid the issue. He was still uncertain of what to do. Whenever his conversations with Alexius waned, he had been quick to end them and leave before the captain remembered their unfinished negotiations.

  On the fourth day, the stench from the burned bodies of the executed traitors still hung in the air. Yngvar stood on the steps to the main fort, where he and his Wolves made their quarters. Alexius and his select staff also quartered there. The Byzantines were now down to a paltry sixty-three soldiers after all the traitors had been executed and the slaves granted autonomy. Lucas the Byzantine, however, swore to serve Yngvar until they tore down Licata. By default this added all his former slave companions to his numbers.

  Yngvar shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. Heavy clouds shrouded the blue skies, at last relieving them of the oppressive heat. To many this meant winter was at hand. To Yngvar and his Wolves, it was as warm as a northern summer. He might have had cause to celebrate the shift in temperature, but now he gazed toward the clouds of dust in the distance.

  Thorfast and Alasdair joined him on the stairs. They too shielded their eyes as they followed Yngvar’s line of sight. Soldiers on the walls, both Byzantine and former slaves, pointed to the northwest.

  “We knew this would happen,” Yngvar said. He let his shoulders drop as well as his hand. “By now the Arabs know we are weakened.”

  “But they might not know about us,” Thorfast said hopefully. “Even thirty extra men can make a difference behind a stone wall.”

  Yngvar nodded but did not truly believe either of Thorfast’s statements.

  “Lord, we should climb the wall and see for ourselves.” Alasdair started for the wall, but he stopped short.

  A runner, one of the youngest of the soldiers, sped across the parade ground. He was about to pass Yngvar on the stairs, probably to report to Alexius who was inside with his new aides. Yngvar stopped the runner with an outstretched arm.

  “You’ll give me your news,” he said in his firmest voice. “The Arabs are approaching, I assume.”

  The soldier stepped back from Yngvar’s outstretched hand. At first he seemed to recoil in disgust, but after meeting Yngvar’s unyielding glare he lowered his eyes and raised his respect, standing straight as if he were reporting to an officer.

  “Sir, there is a large force proceeding toward us from the northwest. We cannot see the details yet, but we are certain these are Arabs.”

  “We’ve no scouts?” Yngvar asked.

  The young soldier’s mouth fell open as though he had been asked if sea water was salty.


  “Sir,” he said in a voice that hinted of chiding. “What men we have are all behind these walls. We should send scouts. But I’m not sure how many are still alive.”

  Yngvar scowled at the young man. Had he been a real soldier, Yngvar might deplore the soldier’s attitude. But for a Norseman, the soldier might have been rough and direct, but he told the truth. That was all Yngvar needed of him.

  “Go on to tell Alexius,” he said. “I’m sure he will find a scout to determine their strength.”

  “Sir, that is not necessary.” The young soldier had slackened his posture, but now straightened his back again. “There are well over two hundred approaching from the northwest and we are confident they are Arabs. It is the smaller force approaching from the direct west that we should scout.”

  Yngvar and Alasdair turned immediately to face the west. Thorfast, who did not understand the dialog, simply copied them. Yngvar could not see any sign in the air.

  “There’s a second force? It must be much smaller.”

  “It is. But they are far off and come in and out of sight as they pass behind trees and hills. We spotted them from the shine of their armor. Anyway, it should not be hard to guess their identity. That force must be Prince Kalim’s.”

  Yngvar and Alasdair stared at each other, then Yngvar grabbed the young soldier by his arm.

  “The small force is Prince Kalim’s? Then what is the other force?”

  “Probably the emir’s army, sir, or at least part of it sent to clean us up. Sir, I should report all this to the captain.”

  Yngvar released the soldier. He looked at the stone stairs, not seeing them but instead imaging the columns of Arabs headed for this tiny fort. Despite its size, now it felt like a stone in the endless sea.

  “Well?” Thorfast asked. “You look like you’ve seen your death.”

  “Not seen it yet,” he said, looking too Alasdair. “But I’ve heard it well enough. The Arabs are coming. All of them. We are in for a hard fight.”

  16

  “That is more than two hundred Arabs,” Yngvar said. He set his hands over the edge of the walls, gazing out at the army assembling below. Their glittering mail and bright blue robes all melded together under the dull glare of the overcast sky. “But I can’t be sure how many. They all are a blur.”

  “Lord,” Alasdair said as he leaned beside him. “There are not much more, perhaps two hundred fifty. I will have to count again.”

  “Well, I can’t see nothing with one eye,” Bjorn said. He stood a space down the wall with Gyna and Ewald. Thorfast stood beside Yngvar, but for once he kept true to his name and remained silent. Both his hands gripped the stone walls until his fingertips were bloodless.

  Yngvar scratched his head. He stood in the shadow of the tower where he had been imprisoned a week ago. Captain Alexius surveyed the forces with his aides. A crew leaned idly on the ballista next to him.

  “Are we just going to allow them to surround us?” Alasdair asked. “We should break them now.”

  Yngvar rapped his fist lightly on the rough stone wall. He searched the dark clouds for a sign from the gods, but they hid their thoughts as they often did.

  “I have no idea how to defend a fortress. So I will let Alexius lead us in that. But more importantly, we would have to surrender our one advantage to attack them, and they still outnumber us. No, we have no choice but to sit them out.”

  “Sit,” Thorfast mumbled. “I have not survived so much just to sit and wait for death.”

  Yngvar patted his shoulder. “We will not die. Not here. The gods wish us to return home as their champions. You must believe this.”

  “Are you looking at the same army as me?” Thorfast turned to him, seeming like a man who once knew how to smile but had forgotten the gesture. “You can tell Nordbert and Lucas such things. But we are soon to be at the mercy of these Arabs. We have water, but do we have food enough?”

  “Staurakius had been stockpiling for just this situation. He knew Pozzallo would be attacked like all the other forts along this chain. Only now, we have fewer men to feed. We can endure.”

  Thorfast shook his head. His white hair rushed over his shoulders as he did.

  “I will fight and die beside you. I am not afraid of death. None of us are. I wanted to see Kalim destroyed before that day came. It seems I will be denied this one pleasure. I will find Ragnar and Lucas. We will sharpen our blades. It is all we can do.”

  Yngvar smiled. “What happened with you and Lucas? Valgerd said when she left you two, you were ready to kill each other.”

  Thorfast smiled. “Lucas might’ve been able to fool me if we shared a language. But I saw he was merely testing my resolve. We put our swords down and wrestled. He is a strong wrestler. We were getting nowhere and both knew the real threat was the Romans. In the end, we laughed off our differences. Though to be honest, I was prepared to kill him. I might still, if he ever tries to grab my balls again.”

  “Well, pray that never happens,” Yngvar said. “Go do what you must to be ready. There are enough of the enemy that they may attempt to storm the walls and be done with us. A good fight lies ahead.”

  Thorfast descended to the parade ground via a ladder. Bjorn and the others remained with him. Gyna pointed west and Ewald strained to follow her thin finger.

  “I see them now,” she said. “They have a white and gold banner. That’s what Kalim flew over Licata.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Yngvar said, as he and Alasdair joined them. He could not see so far. His eyesight was like a forty-year-old man’s. It had worsened after his ordeals here in Sicily.

  “I thought you paid attention to everything,” Gyna said. “He had white flags with a golden moon and stars on them. They were everywhere. Gods, you really are going blind.”

  “We all can’t be fucking eagles,” Bjorn said. “Stop showing off. Do you see how many men there are?”

  “Too many trees,” Gyna said. She conferred with Ewald in their Saxon tongue. At last Ewald shook his head.

  “I can see nothing more,” Alasdair said. “Though Alexius sent a scout.”

  “And messengers to the north,” Yngvar said. “I wonder if any will reach their destination. It is too much to hope relief will come to us from the other forts. They are all in the same position as us.”

  “The gods want us to fight this on our own,” Bjorn said, his voice full of good humor. “I welcome it. Bring the lot of them. I will make a mountain of heads and piss from the top of it.”

  “Share that spirit with the others,” Yngvar said. “Hard days are ahead of us.”

  Captain Alexius disappeared from the tower top. Yngvar knew he must coordinate whatever plans they would create. He and Alasdair descended the same ladder Thorfast had. At the bottom, he awaited the captain by the tower doors.

  “Kalim is near,” Yngvar said wistfully. “But he might as well be at the top of the world. I cannot reach him.”

  “He must come closer to join the fight,” Alasdair said. “Perhaps you will be able to reach him then.”

  “I have to lead the men in defense. If I were to vanish during the battle, it would go hard with the others. They may think me dead or worse. They might believe I have fled.”

  Alasdair scoffed at the statement. Before he could say more, Alexius exited from the tower with one of his aides, a veteran with angry eyes and a missing ear on his left side. Both stopped in surprise at Yngvar. Neither seeming pleased to meet him.

  “You’ve seen what I’ve seen,” Yngvar said. “So what plan do you have?”

  “Plan? We will hear the Arabs’ terms. They’ll give us some shit choice of surrender to a life of slavery or else die. Heard it all before. They know what we’ll tell them. Just have to go through the ritual. Then they’ll either throw everything at us and take the walls, or just sit us out until we starve.”

  “But we won’t starve,” Yngvar said. “We could break them if they linger too long.”

  Alexius gave a crooked smile.
The veteran at his side laughed over-loud.

  “You Norsemen don’t know anything about sieges. And what did the commander tell you during all those private meetings? Surely he told you every other fort is under siege as well. He wrote it in that journal you gave me. We need help from the outside to break a siege, especially when the Arabs can just rotate men through their lines. We’ve got to sit here all fucking winter. Then what will we do? By that time the other sieges will be done and more Arabs will come.”

  The four of them stared at their feet in silence. When Alexius spoke again, his voice was humbled.

  “The Arabs are done tolerating us. Been a long time coming. Now the day is here at last. Just never thought I’d be the one to die on these walls.”

  Yngvar looked to Alasdair then to the two Byzantines. They were already defeated.

  “Did the commander write about the attack planned at Messina?”

  Alexius looked up, both brows raised.

  “I suppose not. He told me. A huge fleet is headed to Messina even now. Your people are going to make a push to relieve these sieges. There is hope.”

  “Why did he tell you and not me?” Alexius asked, folding his arms.

  “He believed utmost secrecy was needed. He only told me so I would stay on with him until these sieges were relieved. He believed it would crack open Sicily to the Empire once more. You cannot give up, not until you know the outcome of the attack. It must come soon.”

  “We cannot hold out like the big fortresses of Messina or Rometta. Three hundred Arabs will swarm our walls and be done with us.”

  “Just hold up,” Yngvar said, clapping the captain’s shoulders. “At least let your scouts report back. And maybe help will come from the north still. You have prayed to your god and made your best offering?”

  “We have all prayed,” Alexius said. “But most have prayed for forgiveness in preparation for their judgement.”