The Red Oath

by Jerry Autieri

  With the rain still lashing the rocks of the hill, the Byzantines needed shelter. Yngvar and the others made way for the few men Sergius could fit around him. He was curious to learn all that had happened, and so they passed the rest of the afternoon telling one amazing story after the next. When it was done, Sergius knew as much of the situation in Pozzallo as any other.

  “Those giants Prince Kalim employs are true monsters. That four could defeat fifteen men, even if they were not regular troops, is amazing.” Sergius stared out at the rain, which had slowed to a steady patter. As predicted, the late afternoon light broke through the clouds as the rain died away.

  “Your arrival is welcomed,” Yngvar said. “But too late, I fear.”

  “At best we should send word to Alexius to surrender. He will eventually, no matter how the battle at Messina goes. Pozzallo is balanced on a knife point. It won’t stand long.”

  “It might stand longer than you think,” Yngvar said. “But I agree. Alexius, however, will not surrender.”

  They remained in silence. Yngvar watched the rainwater run over the edge of the overhang into puddles. The breeze chilled him as it blew into the crevice.

  Then ideas began to form. First an errant thought floated up from the silence. Then these ideas began to connect into plans and he began to see success. All vision and sound fled as he looked into his thoughts. The path ahead seemed so clear, he wondered how he had ever despaired.

  “You’ve that look,” Thorfast said. “That’s the faraway look you get just before you have an idea that risks all our lives.”

  “Lord? It is true. You are thinking deeply on something.” Alasdair, who had sat pensive and silent, now shuffled to Yngvar’s side. “Tell us what you are thinking.”

  “First a question for the Byzantines.” He tapped Sergius by the shoulder as he too stared into the vague glare of the sun battling through thick clouds. “You say Prince Ahmad is busy in the north and these men are not real soldiers. Only Kalim’s hundred or so men are the real force.”

  “That is true. But neither am I saying all those auxiliaries are worthless. Some might be. Others will be decent fighters. Three hundred men armed with sword and shield need to be respected.”

  “That is fine,” Yngvar said. “I have something to discuss with my men. But tell me, are you still loyal to your mission to harass the Arabs in their home territory?”

  Sergius narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “I am, but what are you thinking?”

  “A moment.” Yngvar held up both hands for patience, then gathered the others to him. He spoke Frankish, which excluded Ewald. He had to lean into Gyna for a rough translation. They huddled around Yngvar, who met every eye in turn as he spoke.

  “We now have more than thirty good men. A full raiding ship worth of swords to set against the throats of our enemies. Our dearest enemy, Kalim, is at the foot of this hill surrounded by three hundred soldiers. It seems impossible that we could ever reach him.”

  Heads shook around the circle. Yngvar smiled.

  “But there is our mistake. We cannot reach him and should not even try. He has hid behind his giants, behind his warriors, behind his walls. Yet now he has stepped out before all of those things. And has left his walls undefended.”

  He paused to let his meaning linger unspoken. Thorfast was the first to realize his intention.

  “You want to sack Licata?”

  “Yes. Burn it down. Topple his palace and raid his treasure room. Kill his women and shit on his holy places. All his men are here. Only the barest of guards must remain behind. So we draw him to us, where we sit behind his walls and upon his throne.”

  “Lord, we are only thirty men,” Alasdair said. “Even if Licata were empty it would still be too much for us to burn down alone.”

  “Fire does its own work,” Yngvar said. “And if the people are given a chance to flee rather than fight, they will. Even armed men won’t fight if presented a choice. Once one runs, others will follow. Nothing is more fearful than flame. Nothing encourages flight like death. Besides, their prince has abandoned them without a thought for their defense. Think of the terror that will strike them once they realize their enemies are running through their streets with swords and burning brands.”

  “I like it,” Bjorn said, slapping the rock with his meaty hand. “It was my plan from the start.”

  “It’s fine,” Gyna said, after mumbling a translation to Ewald. “But won’t Kalim just bring three hundred men against us in Licata? We still won’t reach him.”

  “His men are no longer his own,” Yngvar said flatly. “He has committed them to a siege. He must remain here, or at least most of his force, or else let Pozzallo recover and prepare. So he will send warriors away in the night, hoping the Byzantines won’t notice. But we shall send word to Alexius of our plans. Once the Arabs go seeking us, our men behind the walls can meet the Arabs on the field. They will deliver the decisive stroke against a distracted foe.”

  “They’d be mad to leave the fortress,” Thorfast said.

  “Not against a disorganized force. Kalim has taken control of the army from this Rashaad al-Bashar. When Kalim leaves to deal with us, Rashaad will try to resume his original plan. So Kalim will take him. It must be so or else Kalim risks his enemy taking Pozzallo in his absence. The Byzantines will be facing men without leaders. Will these Arabs risk their lives when even their pay is in question? These are not loyal men of the Emirate. They sell-swords. They will break like dropped eggs.”

  Head-shaking turned to nods of approval. One of the Franks voiced his agreement, slapping Yngvar’s shoulder.

  “Our brothers will be freed. We will join together once more, then return home in victory. Truly, God is with us.”

  “Yes, the ship,” Thorfast said. “What of that?”

  “Nordbert and Hamar should have been repairing it. I would guess even now they labor to fix it, hoping to somehow reach the sea. I can imagine a night charge where they attempt to carry the ship through Arab lines.”

  “They’d die,” Gyna said. “Can’t fight and shoulder a ship all at once.”

  “True,” Yngvar agreed. “So they wait. And let us not forget One-Eye and his ship. A promise of the open sea will motivate him to be ready for the next opportunity. It will be granted them. This too must be relayed to them. Our men and all who wish to escape can use the chance to reach the shore with their ships. Then sail to Licata and finish Kalim’s power for good.”

  Thorfast laughed. “I’m certain Sergius will agree to lead an attack on Licata. But who will convince Alexius in Pozzallo? It’s going to take more than a message shouted over the wall at midnight. Someone has to get in there.”

  All fell silent at this. Yngvar tried not to look at Alasdair. But who else could he trust? Who else but the man who walked through walls as a ghost and swam the oceans like a dolphin? Yet it would separate them and keep Alasdair from the revenge he richly deserved to take alongside the others. He drew a deep breath.

  “I will go.”

  The words were spoken so clearly, he did not know who had raised his voice.

  But Ewald stared at him, his eyes smoldering with ambition.

  “You? You can’t even speak Norse, never mind Greek.” Yngvar waved off the offer. “It has to be someone who can lay out the plan and have some persuasion over Alexius.”

  “I will go,” Ewald stated again. “I can speak Norse. Not good. I have learned more. I know what you ask. Here I am needed not. But I can be a shadow. I can go to the fort. I will go.”

  “Gods, who would have the patience to listen to that kind of talk?” Thorfast said. Yet to Yngvar’s surprise, the young Saxon gave him a hurt look.

  “I try. I am smart. I will be a king. One day you will remember.”

  “All right,” Gyna said, barring Ewald with her arm. “He can’t go without me. Besides, my knee is hurt. I’m better sitting behind the walls rather than traveling overland.”

  “Hey,” Bjorn said. “You can’t l
eave me. We just got back together. I will not allow it.”

  Knowing how Bjorn’s so-called order would end, seeing Gyna’s face turning red, Yngvar held up both hands and raised his voice.

  “Neither one of you can speak to Alexius. I am afraid there is only one person I can ask to do this.”

  Alasdair had kept his head down, but raised it when all eyes fell to him.

  “Of course, lord. I will go. I want to see Valgerd again. That is more important to me than having revenge on Kalim. You will take it for me, lord. I have every confidence.”

  “I will go,” Ewald repeated, the stern line of his mouth unwavering.

  Yet before the argument could erupt again, shouts came from outside the crevice. Sergius had slipped out from beneath the overhang to greet his men. A crowd of them all bunched around one person Yngvar could not see.

  “Looks like the scout has returned,” he said.

  They crawled into the cool, damp air. Puddles of rainwater splashed under their feet as they drew to the edges of the group. Yngvar shouldered his way through. One of the scouts had captured an Arab. A wiry, rain-soaked man in a gray robe and white head cover, now splattered with mud, knelt on the ground.

  Yngvar’s stomach clenched. He hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Saleet.”

  23

  The overwhelming desire to kill swept through Yngvar’s ice-cold heart. Kneeling in the mud, alone at the top of a rocky hill, surrounded by his captors, sat Saleet. He must die. His blood must be spilled and sent flowing down the rocks like the rain water that streamed away. His head must be hacked from his shoulders. His body must be laid open from crotch to throat. Ravens must eat his flesh and worms gnaw his bones.

  Saleet had been the one to inflict all this misery. Along with Jamil the Moor and Prince Kalim, Saleet was one of the three men Yngvar swore to kill.

  And he was right here.

  Once the others recognized him, the killing lust overflowed.

  “Cut out his heart,” Thorfast yelled.

  “I’ll have his head,” Bjorn shouted.

  “Bastard won’t slip away again,” Gyna said. “He’s caught.”

  “Lord, we need to know what he knows.”

  Alasdair’s voice seemed vague and distant. A red haze clouded Yngvar’s eyes and a red haze covered his sight. His palms burned for the touch of his sword hilt.

  But Alasdair was correct.

  Bjorn waded through the crowd, separating them like a glacier breaking sea ice. He towered over the tiny, wiry form of Saleet. When the enormous shadow covered him, he looked up.

  He screamed in terror, though Bjorn did no more than loom over him with hands on his hips. Saleet scrabbled backward. Yet his Byzantine captor blocked him. His dark eyes were wide with terror.

  “Please, no! I have news. News!”

  Yngvar blinked. “He speaks Greek?”

  “Apparently so, lord. Though what can a liar like him say of any worth?”

  Alasdair also forced his path into the Byzantines ahead of Yngvar. He stood beside the giant man, becoming like a child next to his bulk. But he knelt down before the Arab.

  “You remember me?”

  Saleet stopped crawling back. His heels had dug ruts into the mud to expose the hard rock beneath. They filled with fresh rainwater.

  “You know this one?” Sergius asked Yngvar. “You and your friends seem eager for violence.”

  “He is why we have suffered. He is one man I swore to kill.”

  Hearing this, Saleet screamed again. Alasdair lowered his head in frustration, and Yngvar felt embarrassed. Alasdair apparently had his own designs and Yngvar had interfered. He tucked his head down and let Alasdair continue.

  “You are in a dangerous position,” Alasdair continued in Greek. “You must tell us all you know about Prince Kalim. Or you will never die but live in pain forever. I promise. Speak and if you are worth something, you will live.”

  Yngvar did not think it much of a plan, at least not more than what he would have done. Yet Alasdair was small and seemingly innocent. Perhaps this image would make the promise seem more real than if Yngvar had lied.

  For Saleet would not live beyond his news.

  “Yes, I will speak. Your Greek is excellent. You will spare me, lord? If I tell you all?”

  “He is my prisoner,” Sergius said, kneeling beside Alasdair. “I will determine his fate. I can promise, I have no mercy for your people.”

  Saleet cried out again as if he had been struck. Yet he simply remained in his muddy puddle.

  Alasdair turned to Sergius and stood. “We have a claim on him stronger than yours. Let me deal with him first, and if he is not fair with me then you shall have him to do as you will.”

  Sergius shrugged. He turned away, but offered a wry smile to Yngvar.

  Saleet scrambled to Alasdair’s feet and grabbed his pants.

  “If you would free me, I would tell you more than you could guess. I know much. But I am nothing now. All my masters have abandoned me, lord. I am worth nothing to you.”

  “We did find him fleeing the camp,” said the scout who stood behind him. “He had a sack of food, wineskin, and a heavy purse of gold. But he’s a poor and hungry man now.”

  The other Byzantines laughed. Saleet bowed his head. Alasdair again knelt and lifted him gently by the shoulders.

  “Why have you been abandoned? Tell us everything.”

  Saleet looked to Sergius, who scowled for good measure. He then turned to Yngvar, who folded his arms in impatience.

  “Lord, I am just a pawn in the schemes of the powerful. I know I have wronged you in the past. But that was Jamil the Moor’s fault. He promised me wealth and riches if I did as he asked. He had been a noble and I could not help but be persuaded by him. I warned that God would punish him for leading you to defile a holy place. But Jamil was evil and would not heed me.”

  “And Jamil is dead,” Alasdair said. He still held Saleet and patted his shoulders. “Let us not think about the past. Today we have a common enemy, it would seem. Tell me about the prince.”

  “He is terrible, lord! He kills his slaves for the merest reasons. He torments his advisors and administrators. He hides behind his giant guards and commands by his father’s name. It was the prince who sold you to slavery. I had no hand in any of it.”

  “I know all these things,” Alasdair said. “What does he plan? What of his men? Are they loyal or fearful? These are the things I must know.”

  Saleet nodded hard enough Yngvar thought his head would roll from his shoulders. But the wiry Arab did not hesitate to answer.

  “He fears his name and status. He seeks to inherit the Emirate from his father. But his brother, Prince Ahmad, will certainly be chosen for the honor. He is strong, far stronger than Prince Kalim. Even now he—is busy.”

  Yngvar smirked as Saleet tried to brush aside his fumble. Ahmad was busy tearing apart the Byzantine defenses in preparation for a final defeat of an ancient foe. Sergius and his men stood straighter at the unspoken brag. Saleet continued, lowering his eyes.

  “I am cousin to both princes. But I’ve been loyal to Ahmad always. Yet I trusted the wrong man, and now Prince Kalim wants me dead. So I have fled before he could kill me.”

  Alasdair nodded. “This Rashaad al-Bashar brought soldiers under Prince Ahmad’s name. Does Kalim truly command all those men down there?”

  “He is a prince. Of course he commands. But they are not good men, lord. They are here for an easy victory. They were promised Pozzallo would topple in one push. They have no heart to fight. Though Prince Kalim’s men are loyal to the emir and his sons. They are the most dangerous.”

  Alasdair slipped his arm around Saleet in sympathy. For all the angry faces surrounding them, it seemed both were alone in a private room. Yngvar had a new appreciation for Alasdair. He showed yet another side Yngvar would never have guessed existed. But then his father had been a clan chief, and so that noble blood must flow through him still.


  “What is Kalim going to do next? Tell me honestly, and you will be freed.”

  Saleet suddenly pulled back from Alasdair. The hopeful glow of his face darkened.

  “You will not honor your word,” he said. “This is a trick. I will not speak more.”

  Yngvar and Sergius both stepped forward, but Alasdair held up his hand without looking back. Instead, he took Saleet by his chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

  “I am trying to help you. But if you will not cooperate, then I will hand you to these men. Must I explain what they will do to you? And why remain loyal to those who wronged you? Wouldn’t it be best to have freedom and revenge?”

  Saleet swallowed then nodded. Alasdair released Saleet’s delicate chin with a push. He patted at his mud-splattered robe then spoke.

  “Prince Kalim has captured one of your women. Golden-haired with eyes like ice.”

  “Valgerd?” Alasdair whispered. “How was she captured?”

  “I don’t know,” Saleet said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “But the prince will torture her for information then behead her. He plans to lead you out of the hills by sticking her head on a spear. He expects you will come for revenge and to retrieve her corpse, which he will leave to rot beneath her head. Then he will capture you. This is what I’ve been told.”

  Alasdair had grown still and quiet. He gazed into nothing, no doubt imagining the horrid scene just described. Yngvar had to take over now. He drew Alasdair aside. He stumbled and would have fallen had Yngvar not propped him up.

  Saleet quailed at Yngvar’s appearance. He hid his face behind his arms.

  “He said I would be freed. He gave his word.”

  “Where is this woman held? How do you know these plans in such detail?”

  “Rashaad told me, before he sent me off with food and money to find Prince Ahmad. She will be tied to a tent pole near the prince. There are no cages for captives. This is the truth. Please, I know no more. Let me go, please.”