“Alexius does not let me know the reports,” he said, but then turned to Lucas the Byzantine.
“But I’m now one of the officers, if you can believe it. There’s not even a regular soldier anymore. Well, the sharpest-eyed men seem to think there was some commotion and an assembly. But nothing more. They have begun constructing trenches. They know we don’t have enough arrows to waste chasing them off, and they’re out of effective range. That’s it.”
“And what of the mood among the Byzantines?”
Alasdair glanced to the two who slept. He switched too Norse.
“I believe Alexius’s aide will act tonight. He has behaved strangely. I even lost sight of him for a while this afternoon.”
“Eat well,” Valgerd said. She placed a tray on a small table with a mug of watery wine, a small lump of cheese, and three small fish that smelled of pepper. “This is a bit better than what they wanted to feed you.”
“But we haven’t forgotten how you fed us,” Lucas said, winking. “We believe you, Yngvar. All the former slaves will follow you when the time comes. We will not betray you.”
“Just one more night,” Yngvar said. “I’m certain by tomorrow Prince Kalim will be running back to Licata and his men strung out behind him.”
They left him when the two snoozing Byzantines looked up again, this time with less patience. Yngvar ate in silence, licking his fingers and lips to absorb the taste of pepper. It was a strange flavor that burned slightly. The taste reminded him of what the killers has used to blind him when they had murdered Staurakius. Who knew it could be used to flavor food? This land was full of strange things.
The day passed slowly. Soldiers guarded him always, but most cared little for the task. Each one had a face that told of defeat, and they looked to their own thoughts in silence or else slept while they should have guarded him.
Alexius arrived that evening, bringing Yngvar a bowl of vegetable soup that had tasted like water and salt.
“By your reckoning, Licata should be under attack now,” he said. “The Arabs have been busy digging trenches as if they expect to be here a year.”
“How are they laying out the trenches?” Yngvar asked, not because he had any special insight to offer. He had nothing else to say. But Alexius gave him a strange look.
“Well, they only dig on one side, and then toward the gates. It seems more like a run to shelter them on their way to the gates. But they have no ram or anything besides their ladders.”
Yngvar nodded. “Well, they are not trained men, as I have told you. The real warriors will be called away to Licata soon. Perhaps even tonight.”
Alexius snorted. “Word may travel fast, but it does not travel like the wind. No matter. We have no other choice but to sit here. We cannot retreat, at least not anywhere on land.”
“Messina must happen soon,” Yngvar said. “And our lives are decided with it.”
“You mean my life. You will sail away once Kalim is dead. You needn’t worry about Messina.”
“Captain, do you really believe I have betrayed you?”
Alexius did not answer, but left for the door. He paused before leaving, glancing at the soldiers who rested on their bunks set around the wide room. Then he looked to Yngvar.
“I want to believe you. Common sense warns me to be cautious. But make no mistake, Norseman. No matter what I believe about you I do not like you. If I find any reason to prove my doubts, I will kill you.”
27
Gyna sat on the hard bed and rested her back against the cold stone wall. The air was humid and smelled of rotting straw that had not been cleaned from the earth floor. Ewald and Alasdair sat together across the small room. Alasdair whispered whereas Ewald seemed only able to shout the Norse phrases he had learned. She forced herself not to smile. The two looked like children planning a prank, but Gyna was determined to remain angry at everything.
She could spend a whole day enumerating her complaints. This entire adventure had been disastrous from the start. Its finish was shaping up to be even worse. She felt it in the ceaseless throb of her knee.
Running her fingers along the splint, she wished for a magic touch to pull the pain from it. If she remained still and lying flat it was bearable. But that last run through the Arab camp had been harder on her than she let on to anyone else.
She had barely won her fight against those guards that had supposedly captured her. In better days she would have spilled their guts without a thought. To the others, it probably seemed she had done as much. But none knew how close those Arabs had come to finishing her.
All due to her knee. She could not bend and flex as she normally would. The pain pulled at her attention and even a slight distraction could mean a quick end to battle. Besides, surprise had ever been her tactic in battle. She could never square up against strong men and batter away at them like Bjorn or Yngvar. She was more like Alasdair, using speed and surprise to defeat her foes. Her knee denied her this.
The men who had visited this calamity on her were both dead now. While she hated Kalim for sponsoring their evil, Jamil and Saleet were the ones to pay. So her vengeance had been completed. Unlike Yngvar, she did not have a crew of dead men riding on her shoulders and demanding revenge.
Yet revenge had not satisfied her. Why were they herded into these small rooms, kept apart from each other, and treated like traitors? Why was Yngvar a hostage when he was the only hope for these fools to escape their own stupidity?
These questions burned at her heart and dissolved her patience for the Byzantines. They were as bad as the Arabs. She had sympathy for neither side and hoped they would both drag each other into the mist worlds of the dishonored dead. The day could not come soon enough.
The tower door opened and broke her from her thoughts. Valgerd slipped in. She carried a basket of bread and cheese. Gyna hoped there was meat at the bottom of it. In her other hand, she carried a clay jug that sloshed wine over its rim. Both Ewald and Alasdair stood to aid her in setting these down by the small table where an iron lamp lit the small room.
“Well, what news do you have?” Gyna asked. “Has Yngvar lost his mind waiting for his plans to work?”
Valgerd laughed. It was girlish and carefree. Both qualities aggravated Gyna even more. But Alasdair loved her and she had been a friend to Gyna and the others. So she simply folded her arms.
“He’ll be sleeping soon. And all is well so far. There is no other news. The men coming off their shifts on the walls say the Arabs are quiet.”
“It’s fine to use our men to man their walls, but we’ve got to be the Byzantine’s hostages.” Gyna blew her hair from her eyes. “Do they trust us or not?”
“Trust is not the issue,” Alasdair said, removing bread and cheese from the basket. “They need every able man to resist. Tonight, I will go watch over Lord Yngvar. I think some of these Byzantines might be foolish enough to try something underhanded.”
“Then we should all go,” Gyna said. She shifted and put her feet to the dirt floor. Her knee clicked and bright pain shot through it. But once she exercised it, the pain would lessen. No one had to know otherwise.
“Auntie, you should rest that knee,” Ewald said. “And you loosened those bindings, didn’t you.”
Her face burned. “When did you become my mother? And stop calling me auntie.”
“Auntie, unless you want to make it worse, save your knee for when we need to move fast.”
Alasdair gulped his wine. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then squeezed Valgerd’s shoulder.
“Thank you for the food. But I should start my watch now. Remain here, and be safe.”
She turned aside with a blush.
“Gods, if you two want to fuck I’ll just look away. Don’t let me stop you.” Gyna shifted back onto the bed, smiling at the red rising on Alasdair’s cheeks.
“When will you rest?” Valgerd asked, ignoring Gyna and Ewald’s chuckling.
“I have rested all afternoon. I will be sharp when the time c
omes. Tonight, I guard Lord Yngvar.”
He parted with a kiss to Valgerd’s forehead. Gyna was happy for the little man. He had been Yngvar’s servant too long. Calling him lord and treating him like he was a hero from an ancient song. Certainly Yngvar was brave, daring, and usually solved all the problems he created. If the gods did not love him as he often claimed, they at least found him entertaining enough to keep alive. But Alasdair’s adoration of Yngvar was excessive. Maybe Valgerd would cure him of it.
Such idle thoughts consumed Gyna’s night. They ate. There was no meat, but she did not complain. She and Ewald talked about what they would do when Kalim was dead and their ship filled with treasure.
“I’ll return home to take leadership from my uncle,” he said.
The poor boy’s dreams might as well remain unbroken, she thought. He looked just like his father had, and a fair bit like Gyna’s sister. Both were royal in their own way, though she had hated her sister all her life. But death had made her someone to miss. Strange how that works. She left Ewald’s fantasies alone.
The night passed. The lamplight had burned down, showing Ewald curled up in one corner and Valgerd in the other. If they hadn’t been under siege, it might have been a comforting scene to ease her into dreams. She thought of Bjorn and smiled. What a bear of a man. He’d be tearing up Licata by now, raising his red ax to the gods. And so she drifted off to sleep on the only bed in the small tower room.
She awakened to Ewald’s shaking her shoulder.
“Wake up,” he hissed into her ear. “Gods, wake up now.”
Gyna batted her nephew aside. Her eyes were shut with sleep as thick as tar. Opening them was like prying barnacles from a hull.
The smell was wrong. A sour-note of foreign sweat hung in the air.
She bolted upright.
Her hands went cold.
The lamp shined the barest wavering light. But its thin yellow glow was enough to reveal the threat.
Valgerd stared at her with wide eyes. The gleam of a curved, wickedly sharp dagger gleamed at her neck. It was the sort of honed edge Gyna maintained on all her weapons, fine enough to split a blade of grass down its length.
A shadow held Valgerd tight with a black arm around her waist. Two eyes reflected yellow points from the lamp, lending the shadow a demonic countenance. The only flesh Gyna saw was on two strong hands—dark skin of the Arab folk.
“His name is Umar,” Valgerd said carefully. “And he sends Prince Kalim’s greetings.”
The shadow Umar growled more words into her ear. They were not the harsh words of the Arabs but the fluid and complex sounds of Greek. Gyna had at least learned that much in her time here.
“He says that we have a choice to make, and to be quick about it. He either kills me now as revenge for the loss we caused Prince Kalim, or we follow his instructions. In which case he will spare my life.”
Gyna looked to Ewald. Their weapons were near, but they might as well have been at the bottom of the sea. Even at her quickest, Gyna could not reach and draw one before Valgerd was killed.
“What’s his orders?” Gyna asked. Sleep had fled her like a murder of frightened crows. Her eyes were wide and her pulse throbbed. She set her feet on the ground, testing this shadow called Umar. He remained poised to kill Valgerd with a flick of his wrist.
After a brief exchange, Valgerd swallowed then translated.
“Let him kill me,” she said. “Then kill him.”
“I can’t do that,” Gyna said. “Tell me what he wants.”
“He wants you to open the gates. That would mean an end to everyone here.”
Whether Umar understood the exchange, he still shook her and pushed the dagger tighter against Valgerd’s white neck. He spat out angry sounds.
“Auntie, we are to open the gates? We’d be traitors.”
“Tell him we’ll do it,” Gyna said. She grabbed Ewald’s arm to rise out of bed. Her knee ground and pinched, but the brace held it steady. Fear had drummed away all pain.
Valgerd glared at her.
“We need time to figure this out,” Gyna said, impatience rising to her voice. “Just agree for us.”
Gyna looked to the two points of yellow staring back at her and nodded vigorously. She motioned that he should lead the way and hoped he understood.
Umar the Shadow allowed a curt nod. Valgerd hopefully translated for her.
“Auntie, if I had a throwing ax I could hit his head. I swear it. I’ve never lost a competition.”
“Well, if I could call lightning from the sky we’d have no worries. But I can’t, and you don’t have an ax. So grab our swords and let’s go.”
Ewald frowned but said nothing as he grabbed their swords.
Umar grunted at them, pulling back on Valgerd’s neck so she cried out.
“He doesn’t want you armed,” she said.
Ewald reluctantly let the swords rest against the wall once more. But Gyna’s fingers found the dagger hidden at her right hip beneath her pants. She was never without a dagger.
“You will condemn everyone to death,” Valgerd said. “My life is not worth all the others. I don’t want to live with their deaths on my head.”
“It won’t be on your head,” Gyna said. “It’ll be on mine. We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”
Gyna waited for Umar to leave, but he simply stood as a black shadow. Of course, he would go behind them. She had hoped otherwise, but this was no fool. She and Ewald snuck out.
“We must signal someone without sounding an alarm,” Ewald said.
“Is this like your throwing ax? At best we might be seen, and if we are, I’m sure Valgerd will die before we can aid her. I have a dagger. If you can distract him, I might be able to take him out. Valgerd might get cut, but at least she won’t lose her head. That knife looks sharp enough to cut stone.”
They stepped into the moonlight. It was no longer a full moon and the sky was troubled with heavy clouds. Yet there was enough light shining on them that they risked discovery.
“He wants you to hold to the shadow,” Valgerd said. “If an alarm is raised, I die.”
“Well tell him we don’t know how to do it,” Gyna said. They paused outside the small tower wall, in the deep shadow cut by the blue moonlight. Umar was dressed in total black, including a face mask. Even his blade had been blackened so that only its edge shined. He clutched Valgerd tight, and glared at Gyna as he listened to the translation.
“He says just to hug the shadows on the way to the gate,” Valgerd said. “He asked if you’re so stupid as to not understand this much.”
“I want him to lead the way, so we can get behind him.”
“He’s not going to yield,” Valgerd said. “And I think he’ll drop me then take one of you in my place. Just follow along.”
Gyna hobbled along the shadows of the wall, along the length of the parade ground walls. They hugged empty buildings. Her brown hair was damp with sweat and her heart throbbed. Nothing had presented itself to her along the short journey. No one had offered a distraction. No makeshift weapon had appeared at her feet. She was alone with her nephew and a hidden dagger.
“Well, here’s the gate tower,” she said, turning back to Umar and Valgerd. They were all pressed against the walls. Above them, tired men with torches stared listlessly into the night. Some of them were Franks, the men who had sailed her to safety.
Was she going to open the gates to their deaths?
“Does he know it’s guarded in there? We can’t just walk inside and take over the winch. There’re only two of us and those men won’t care if you die. Tell him that.”
Valgerd translated. While all but Umar’s eyes were covered, Gyna swore she could see the Arab smiling. Then he whispered something gentle back to Valgerd and adjusted his grip on the dagger against her pulsing throat.
“He says that’s your problem to figure out. If you want me to live, then we will get the gate opened. Otherwise, I will die. I cannot be saved. Kill him.”
> She stared at Valgerd. Her words were at odds with the fear she saw in Valgerd’s shimmering eyes. She did not want to die. She wanted to live with Alasdair. To return to the north with him and to raise a family of red-headed children. Death was noble. It was probably the right choice.
But Gyna could not let her die.
“If we can open the gate,” Ewald said. “Maybe we could close it again after he releases Valgerd.”
Gyna continued to study Umar, who waited patiently. Valgerd stared at her, not understanding the Saxon tongue but nonetheless intuiting Ewald’s words.
“I can feel armor under his robes,” she said. “He is ready for a fight. You are not.”
She turned to Ewald. “Let’s do this. Hopefully Alasdair will come back and find us gone. If he arrives, then we will have our answer. Right now, I can’t think of anything other than to drag this on.”
“He wants your decision now,” she said. “Or I die.”
Gyna nodded and pointed at the tower. “We are going. Tell him we need assurance he will honor his word.”
The assassin hauled back on the dagger and blood ran down Valgerd’s white neck. He clamped his other hand over her mouth.
A scream nearly escaped Gyna as well. Her heart flipped but Umar paused and rattled on in his strange language. No translation was needed. Anything less than instant action and he would finish Valgerd.
Nor had he given her a simple cut. Blood flowed readily from beneath the blade and stained her collar black in the pale moonlight.
“We’re buying time,” Gyna said. “Can you get in there and take the guards? We don’t need to kill them. Just get them down and out of the way?”
“I have no weapon,” Ewald said. “What am I to do?”
“Here, dig up this rock.” Gyna then turned and explained to Valgerd their plan.
“Tell Umar we’re going to use this rock to knock out the guards. The moment that grate goes up, he is to release you. He can open the gates himself and you can run for safety.”
The Red Oath Page 26
