The Red Oath

by Jerry Autieri

  The scout was sent to deliver the time and place for a meeting, which was at the tree line out of sight from the main Arab camp. It was farther than Yngvar would have liked, but to meet in the open would invite the other Arabs to investigate. The scout returned with the terms accepted and then Yngvar simply waited until the appointed time.

  The gates opened to allow him out. Alasdair, Ewald, and Gyna slipped out with him. Bjorn, Thorfast, and the rest of the decoys would come after.

  Walking through the open field of grass, he remembered how he had run across this area twice before. First was escaping in the night after raiding Pozzallo. The next time was deserting the Byzantines to sail off in a stolen fishing boat. This time would be different. He was not deceiving the Byzantines, and in fact counted on their aid. Fate was strange.

  The late-day sun struggled behind thick clouds that threatened rain yet delivered nothing but humidity. The grass was brown, dead with the coming of winter. Yet had Yngvar arrived in Sicily only now, he would be convinced it was high summer and not approaching Yuletide.

  Prince Kalim was nowhere to be seen as he closed in on the palm trees that formed a thick grove of shadows. Nor did Yngvar see Alasdair and the others. If this Saxon, Ewald, was Alasdair’s match then Yngvar counted himself fortunate. The boy was learning proper speech, and if he lived he might be a worthy ally. How much better if he really became a Saxon king? Yngvar smiled at the thought as he filled into the corridor of trees. He was relaxed and loose. He carried his swords and rested his hand on the hilt and hooked his other thumb through the baldric. The rest of this plot rested with Fate.

  He turned toward the shuffle and crunch of debris. Prince Kalim and his thin, narrow-headed interpreter approached. The prince wore plain robes of dull blue and yellow, with a faded white head cover. His predatory, dark face was instantly recognized. Yngvar could never forget the visage of a man he hated with such passion.

  “We come unarmed,” the interpreter said. “Yet you rest your hand on a sword. We will not come closer until you put down your weapon.”

  “I’ll put it down in your dead bodies,” Yngvar said. “I trust you less than I trust a shark in bloody water.”

  The interpreter whispered to Kalim, who impatiently shook his head. The prince appeared alone to Yngvar’s eyes. But of course he had men seeded all around. Why wouldn’t he?

  To his left, he thought he caught a short motion. It must be Alasdair and the rest moving into position. He hoped to see Bjorn stumbling along soon.

  “Very well,” Kalim said through his interpreter. “You know why I have asked you here. We are bitter enemies. You offend God and me with your lives. Yet I am now in a dire position without any allies of my own. We share a common enemy.”

  Kalim paused to let his interpreter finish, and looked meaningfully toward the distant Arab force making their camp outside Pozzallo.

  “Isn’t that your brother’s army?” Yngvar pretended to glance toward the direction of the Arabs. But he was looking for a sign of Alasdair and the rest. They were true to Gyna’s promise. All of them had become as bushes amid the scrub and debris clustered around the small palm grove.

  “It is my brother,” Kalim said. “And worse still, my brother and my treacherous cousin, Saleet. He betrayed me.”

  The prince’s face darkened and he spat out what must have been curses and crude epithets, for the interpreter waited these out.

  “Saleet is with them and not you?” Yngvar laughed. “This is a story I must hear.”

  “This is not story time.” The prince’s bared teeth shined white in the shadowy darkness. “My brother has come to steal the glory of Pozzallo’s fall and deny me credit for my long years of work. He sat and watched as I weakened Pozzallo’s defenses for him. He sent an envoy to lull me into inaction. Then Saleet told the envoy and the envoy told my brother. And now he and his soldiers come like a pack of hyenas to steal the lion’s kill.”

  Yngvar did not understand the comparison, but got the meaning.

  “So you propose we work together to fight off your brother and you’ll then attack us? You have a strange idea of what it is to make a bargain. There is no benefit in this arrangement to me.”

  The prince leaned his head back as if he had never heard of anything more preposterous. He muttered with his interpreter. Yngvar scanned the trees.

  If he had not worked so long with Alasdair, he might have missed the small wave from behind a group of palm trunks. He had gotten behind Kalim without issue. Yet he seemed to be indicating a count of something. He held out four fingers, then raised his hand up as if measuring something tall. Kalim’s huge bodyguards must be close. Yet for such enormous men he could not see them from this vantage point.

  Smiling, Yngvar glanced over his other shoulder to see if Bjorn had led the others into view. But the prince called his attention back before he could.

  “If you help me drive off my brother, then I will allow you and all the survivors to leave peacefully. I am giving you back your lives. I will pray that God forgives me, but I will allow Him to judge you rather than myself. You and all the Byzantines may leave. I will claim the fortress and so have achieved what I have long sought. You will free yourselves from certain death. You cannot win here. My father, the emir, knows about the Byzantine’s fleet. They are being led to their doom. Take my offer, Norseman. You will not find a better one.”

  The air turned cold and Yngvar put his hand to his chest. The Byzantines were being led to defeat. There could be no hope for him and the others to escape if the fortresses all fell now. His ship was still being repaired. They would all be trapped.

  But perhaps Kalim was bluffing. Yngvar narrowed his eyes at him.

  Then Alasdair, Gyna, and Ewald burst from hiding.

  Gyna’s blood-chilling shriek caused everyone to turn to her. She had a long dagger raised overhead as she charged. Her other hand was outstretched like a talon. She swooped for Kalim, who suddenly seemed a mouse to Gyna’s hawk.

  Alasdair and Ewald also dashed out with longswords drawn. But they interposed themselves between the prince and his interpreter and the four huge bodyguards leaping from behind the trees.

  They were like two children about to be trampled by a herd of champion stallions.

  Flat-footed, Yngvar fumbled to draw his own sword. As he tugged the blade from the sheath, he looked behind for support from Thorfast and Bjorn. But his glimpse between the palm trunks showed only open grassland.

  To his credit, the prince pulled a curved dagger from his belt. But he stumbled. The interpreter leapt in front of Gyna, spoiling her charge. She should have plowed the man aside and continued through. Instead her knee buckled and she fell over to crunch into the dead grass with a scream of pain.

  The four bodyguards were far faster than Yngvar would have expected. Both Alasdair and Ewald did not flinch at their charge. But both seemed to vanish into the massive silhouettes as their enemies charged toward them. Each one wielded a curved sword of dull iron that looked like it could chop a horse in half with a single blow.

  Kalim’s eyes were white with fear. He was screaming something, but his interpreter had toppled after stopping Gyna’s charge. He held his ribs as if he had been stabbed.

  “Surrender,” Yngvar shouted. “You are trapped.”

  He had freed his sword and now dashed for the prince. Kalim held his dagger as if ready to stab, but he seemed unsure of where to put it.

  Gyna got to her knees, groaning and cursing.

  “You shit! Look what you did to my knee! I’m going to carve out your liver.”

  They bodyguards plowed past Alasdair and Ewald, scattering both aside. Ewald managed a vicious hack to the buttock of one before he collapsed. But the wound, if there was any, did not slow the giant.

  Yngvar reached the prince. He struck down with his longsword, pinning the prince’s blue robe to the ground. Gyna lunged from her knees, landing atop the prince.

  “Die, you bastard!”

  Her dagger
flashed as it streaked down.

  The prince screamed.

  Yngvar caught Gyna’s arm and halted the dagger a finger’s breadth from Kalim’s neck.

  “We need him alive,” he hissed.

  With the force of her blow dissipated, he twisted Gyna aside. Kalim slashed with his own dagger like a child swishing a toy sword at warriors drilling in a distant field.

  With Kalim and Gyna piled atop him, Yngvar struggled to pull the prince closer. The giants were bearing down on them. The interpreter had gained his footing then hiked up his robe as he ran screaming back toward his camp.

  “Get Kalim under control,” Yngvar shouted at Gyna.

  She wrapped her arms around the prince’s dagger arm and hauled it down. The prince scrambled and fought, but Yngvar gathered him up. He drew his sword edge to Kalim’s throat.

  The prince smelled like flowers. Yngvar nearly wanted to vomit.

  The four guards halted. Their massive swords remained poised to strike, but they could not hit Yngvar or Gyna without carving up the prince as well.

  Kalim kicked and shouted hysterical orders to his bodyguards. They lowered their weapons. Each man’s face was devoid of expression. In this way, they were more frightening to Yngvar than if they had been contorted with red-faced rage. These four men were like giant slabs of muscle covered over with blubber and skin. They seemed to have no thoughts of their own, no emotions at all.

  Behind them, Alasdair and Ewald had circled back with their swords readied. Ewald pointed after the fleeing translator, but Alasdair shook his head.

  “We have him,” Yngvar said. “At last, we caught Kalim.”

  His breathing was labored from the intense excitement of holding his enemy so close. He could feel the frantic pulse throbbing in Kalim’s neck, vibrating up the blade. The prince had gone still. Gyna levered his arm so that he cried out and dropped his own dagger.

  “Help me get up,” Yngvar said. “I can’t hold onto him and stand. If he gets free, I’m not sure we’re in position to handle these giants alone.”

  “Where’s Bjorn?” Gyna asked as she helped raise Yngvar along with Kalim.

  “Do you see them anywhere? I told them to delay, but this is too long.”

  Gyna did not answer. He stood up, Kalim sullenly resisting. His four guards stood in a staggered line awaiting command. They were like grotesque dolls waiting for a child to pick them up and give them life. Yngvar could not look at them.

  “All right, we have the prince. Now we need to get away with him.”

  He wrestled Kalim around with Gyna leaning on him and cursing her knee. Alasdair and Ewald fell in behind.

  At last the force approached through the trees.

  But it was not Bjorn and the others.

  They were Arabs.

  18

  Yngvar pulled the sword blade tighter against Kalim’s throat. The prince went slack and fell against Yngvar’s chest. The cloying scent of flowers filled his nose and he wished he could shove the prince away and cut off his head. The scent of blood would defeat that unmanly odor.

  But Kalim was the only thing Yngvar had to preserve himself and the others with him.

  Twenty Arabs strode into the thin grove of palm trees. They wore black robes and head covers over bulky armor. Iron helmets glinted with the diffuse light that fought through the heavy clouds. Each man stalked forward with spears leveled. Round iron bucklers, well used and dull, were strapped to their left arms.

  “I hope Bjorn is behind them,” Gyna said, standing beside Yngvar. “’Cause I didn’t bring my sword and I’m not going to be able to kill all of them with just a dagger. You can’t help me. So Alasdair and my useless nephew have to pick up your slack. You’re going to owe us when this is done.”

  Yngvar gave a slow nod, his eyes scanning across the line of Arabs drawing nearer. Now in the distance he heard horns and shouting.

  “They’re attacking the fortress,” he said. “Bjorn and Thorfast might not have got out in time. Or they had to turn back.”

  Kalim began to speak. Yngvar wrestled him silent, dragging the edge into the prince’s throat.

  “Alasdair, what’s going on back there?”

  “They’ve readied their swords, lord. But I don’t think they mean to attack you.”

  The Arabs fanned out in a semicircle. These must be from the prince’s brother. There was no escape around them. They thinned out that if he were alone, he could easily break through their center and escape. But he had the prince.

  “Stop there,” he shouted in Greek. “I’ve got Prince Kalim here.”

  The lead Arab raised his hand and the others stopped with him. He was a handsome man with royal features and a finely pointed beard. His teeth were brilliantly white and straight as he smiled. He answered in accented Greek.

  “We know you do,” he said. “I’ve come to collect him. You’ve done us a favor.”

  Kalim began to rattle off invective in Arabic. The enemy leader tilted back in laughter, then added his own insults.

  “Enough of that,” Yngvar shouted. “If you don’t want your prince killed, you’ll let me through.”

  “But that is the surprise, is it not?” The lead Arab clapped his fine, unscarred hands together. “We do want him killed. How better for dear Prince Kalim to die than in battle against the Byzantines? You’ve nothing to bargain with us, Norseman. Turn him over to us. I will let you and your friends pass. Though I fear you have chosen the losing side in this battle.”

  The prince seemed to understand and began kicking and screaming.

  “Lord!” Alasdair shouted from behind.

  But he did not need Alasdair’s warning. The charge of the four behemoths thudded across the ground.

  Yngvar’s vision flashed white. His ears split with a violent ring. Something cold was against his face. Then he realized he was lying atop a patch of dirt in the scrubby grass growing between the palm trees.

  His sword lay beside him, though his vision was still hazy and rocking.

  A man on the ground is dead. He heard his own voice dispensing this advice to one of his young crewman years ago. Stand up immediately or you will never stand again.

  He lurched to his feet, feeling like he was surfacing from beneath a cold lake.

  Prince Kalim was tucked beneath the arm of one of his giant guards. He kicked and screamed, looking like a pig carried off during a raid. The other three giants had formed a protective wall around him as the Arabs charged at them.

  Gyna kicked Yngvar’s sword to his feet.

  “Behind you!” she shouted. But a spearman cut her short as he drove at her, forcing her to dive away.

  Alasdair and Ewald had rushed forward to engage men of their own. Fortunately, the majority faced the four giants and their massive swords.

  Yngvar ducked to grab his sword. Above him a spear thrust snapped in the air.

  He staggered forward, head still ringing from the blow to the back of his skull. But he kept his footing and whirled to face his attacker.

  The Arab gnashed his teeth and backed up for another strike.

  Yngvar rushed into his space, knowing a spear was useless in close. He batted aside the shaft and struck for the man’s neck.

  This was no untrained fighter. He flowed with Yngvar’s push, letting it carry him aside and away from the threatening blade. He kicked out at Yngvar’s knee, forcing him to back away. The two reset.

  Another spearman joined the first.

  Without a shield, Yngvar felt exposed. He could spare no thought for the others battling to his right. The two spearmen smiled wickedly as Yngvar held his longsword in two hands. He set his stance wide and began slipping back.

  They both struck together, fast jabs with their long spears.

  Yngvar leapt back and pinned his left side to a tree. One spear turned on the trunk. As the man on the right continued through, he grabbed the spear and pulled forward. The Arab’s momentum worked against him and he tripped.

  Now that he was on
the ground, Yngvar spun with his back to the trunk and stabbed down. His sword punctured the leather armor beneath the black robe, driving into the Arab’s kidney.

  He had no time to spare. He slid around the trunk, its rough bark scratching across his back. The other spearman had been frustrated by the trunk, but now spun around with his spear held up by the blade to use it like a dagger.

  But Yngvar hugged the tree as a shield to force the Arab to circle wider to the right. In one side-step, the Arab opened his defense. Yngvar saw his chance.

  His blade caught the Arab in the neck, snapping his head back and dislodging the iron helmet. He crumpled, dropping his spear.

  The pulse in Yngvar’s neck pumped so hard he felt his eyeballs might explode from their sockets. He saw Gyna lying on the ground. Ewald hovered over her, pressing his head close to hers. Alasdair stood over a fallen Arab, finishing him with a lightning thrust of his sword. The Arab’s arm reached out and fell back.

  The rest of the spearmen surrounded Kalim’s four giants. They had formed a box around Kalim at the center. He wept, rolling his hands together as he circled around. He shouted hysterically at his guards.

  Perhaps fifteen Arabs surrounded them. Yet the giants with their slabs of sharp iron in hand gave no expressions. They were all muscle and blubber, each a land whale that could suffer a hundred harpoon strikes before succumbing. The Arabs had numbers. Yngvar judged it an equal match.

  He rushed to Gyna’s side. Ewald had hooked his arms beneath hers and dragged her away from the battle. Alasdair was already at her side.

  “Is it bad?” Yngvar asked, as he crouched beside her. He glanced down but did not see any blood. Gyna’s eyes were closed and she seemed at peace. He had to keep a wary eye at the ring of Arabs closing around Kalim, whose hysterical screams could have echoed around the world.

  “Butted in the head,” Alasdair said. “I saw it.”

  “She sleep,” Ewald said. “Not dead. Stick hit her head.”