“An incredible feast tonight,” said the first guest. His name was Hrut Magnusson. He had a face too small for his head and a nose that had been broken too many times.
“Yes, I have tasted no better fowl anywhere,” said the second guest. He was called Stein Half-Leg, presumably for his short height. Ulfrik had deduced him as the senior man of the two, both for his less damaged features and the gold armband on his arm. He seemed to always be trying to touch his head to an invisible ceiling.
“Let no man leave my hall with an empty stomach or an empty mug.” Ulfrik winked at Gunnar seated beside him, then ceased the formalities. “But I assume you have not traveled so far to follow Hrolf the Strider to his next meal. So what is your intention, and why do I feel you and Hrolf have already involved me in your plans?”
Ulfrik laughed to ease the bluntness and all joined him, though Stein’s eyes showed no mirth even as he tipped his head back in laughter.
“Ever to the heart of the matter,” Hrolf said, leaning forward across the table. “Of course I’ve brought these men here with a purpose. We could’ve discussed this alone, but I thought you should hear directly from them.”
Hrolf sat back and with an upturned palm invited Stein Half-Leg to speak. Shadows thrown by the hearth and table lamps flowed into the recesses of his eyes and hollows of his cheeks. Stein licked his lips and stifled a glance at his companion, Hrut, before he began. His stubby fingers played with his empty mug as he spoke.
“It’s true we’re not here to follow Hrolf from one feast to the next. We have dared the journey from south of the Seine. Gunnolfsvik. Have you heard of it?”
Ulfrik shrugged. “I watch the north and east. Gunnolfsvik would not be in my line of sight, but it’s familiar.”
“It should be familiar.” Stein stopped rolling his mug and set it with a hard clack on the table. “Gunnolf was with Sigfried at Paris, and he took his men south when the siege failed. He settled a crew of thirty men, and every year he has drawn thirty more. By now we’ve got two hundred crew, along with the lands and farms to support them. Like you, I’ll come to the point. The Franks attacked at the start of raiding season. They surprised us. They’re also a lot better than before, more organized and more of them.”
Hrolf leaned on his elbows and gave Ulfrik a knowing smile. Stein continued.
“They’re beating us. All summer, we’ve been on our back foot. The border is like a shieldwall ready to collapse. We’re trying to negotiate a peace that lets us hold onto what we have. Men have taken wives and started families here. We can’t get back in our ships and sail for easier lands anymore. We don’t expect the Franks to agree, so my father, Gunnolf, has sent me to Hrolf for aid. We need help, men to stick in our lines and leaders to show us how to break the Franks.”
Ulfrik held Stein’s unwavering gaze, finally breaking it by draining the dregs from the bottom or his mug. He then scanned the faces of his allies. Konal, Einar, and Snorri had noncommittal expressions, but Gunnar’s lips twitched with his desire to speak.
“I don’t have the men to send you,” Ulfrik said, pulling back with arms folded. “This border has only been stable for the last three years and I expect the Franks will make a stronger effort against me now that Odo has settled his worries. I’ve captured farmland to the north that needs consolidation. That’s where I’ll put my men if they must go anywhere. I’m sorry, Half-Leg.”
Stein Half-Leg and Hrut Magnusson shared a pained glance before both looked to Hrolf. He too had folded his arms and regarded Ulfrik with an expression of a father irked at his son’s pointless obstinacy, tongue probing his cheek. Ulfrik returned a smile he hoped communicated that his words were true. Someone dropped a stack of wooden plates behind Ulfrik, providing a welcomed relief from the long stares as all turned to the noise. A drunk had knocked over a servant attempting to clean up.
“I will send the men,” Hrolf said. His expression of exasperation did not alter. “Your dedication is admirable, but I’d have thought after our talk you’d understand the benefits of aiding our brothers.”
“I understood. Understanding doesn’t mean agreement.”
Hrolf bristled at the public challenge, eyes narrowing and lips bending into an angry wedge. Gunther One-Eye, standing behind him, slowly shook his head. Ulfrik felt heat on his face as he realized too late he had overstepped himself. Ale may have freed his tongue but it would not excuse embarrassing his oath-holder.
“But I also have to see beyond my borders and protect all of our brothers.” Ulfrik forced a smile, hating the toadying words falling out of his mouth. “If you send men, how can I help?”
Hrolf relaxed and Gunther One-Eye gave an approving nod. His old friend and benefactor knew better than anyone how to tread around Hrolf’s moods. For as Ulfrik had rose ever closer to his king, he discovered Hrolf’s temper once aroused was hardly ever quenched without violence.
Sweeping his palm across an imagined landscape, Hrolf spoke. “This land has been paid for with our blood, and we are on the brink of losing it to an organized Frankish resistance. There is no greater power in the western Seine, either north or south of it, than me. It is right that Gunnolfsvik seeks aid from me, and once we have secured victory it is also right it unites under my banner. This is how we keep the land out of the hands of our enemies, through combined strength. Ulfrik, you may wonder why I have chosen you for this duty, but you should not. None among all the jarls sworn to me have had your success. The gods are ever on your side, and they will bring you success against the Franks and glory my banner. For you travel in my name, with my authority. While you forge alliances in the south, I will secure the north and our power grows along with those who join us.”
Stein Half-Leg sat up like a dog expecting table scraps. He jumped into the opening. “Your success against the Franks is famous. Everyone knows how you trapped them in your own hall and slew them to a man. You threw an ax to cut off the Frankish baron’s head in a single go.”
“I doubt he was a baron,” Ulfrik said, but Stein did not hear him.
“We need that kind of cunning. Our most cunning warriors are either old or dead. The rest of us have done our share of fighting, but mostly easy raiding. Nothing like what you’ve done. You lead armies to victory. It’s what we need.”
“You only have farmers left to fight?”
“Not at all,” said Hrut Magnusson. “We’ve got a strong core, but our ranks are filled with inexperienced men. Neither Stein nor I have led an organized force against such a concentration of Franks. If Hrolf will send men and you lead them, we will have a chance.”
“And my father, Gunnolf, has promised to swear an oath to Hrolf,” Stein Half-Leg added.
Hrolf raised a brow and smiled at Ulfrik. “And Gunnolfsvik would be placed under your territories to rule in my name.”
Ulfrik turned to his own side. Gunnar, red-faced with drink, nodded vigorously. He only need hear the promise of killing Franks to agree. Einar and Konal were more thoughtful, but in turn each nodded. Only Snorri frowned.
“You think they should be asking you to lead,” Ulfrik asked and drew a few chuckles. Snorri’s smile was as short-lived as the first snowflake of storm.
“Doesn’t feel right, lad. No insults to our guests; it’s not them. Just something in these old bones of mine aches at the thought. Something bad hangs over this. Call it an old man’s hunch. I get to have those at my age, don’t I?”
“You do,” Hrolf said, slapping the table with a new smile on his face. “And never let it be said I don’t understand the wisdom of tired, old men who have hunches. But as we just learned, understanding doesn’t mean agreement.”
Ulfrik shrunk in his seat, realizing Hrolf was not going to forget his misstep.
“Twenty of my best men will go, and if Ulfrik agrees, they will defend him as they would me. Stein, your father must understand that Ulfrik must have complete command of all your forces.” Hrolf pointed a thick finger bearing a silver ring at Stein. “There can be no su
ccess if leadership is divided.”
“Honestly, we’d be glad to have someone like Jarl Ulfrik leading us. We’re struggling as it is.” Stein nearly leapt off his bench to hug Hrolf, but Hrut put a hand on his shoulder.
Ulfrik unfolded his arms, shook his head at Snorri, then turned to Hrolf and Stein. “I pick the twenty men, and I’m back before Yule even if the Franks haven’t broken. The other details of treasure and spoils will have to be worked out. But if I’m leading, I get the leader’s share. Agree to this and you’ll get my help.”
“No arguments from us,” Stein said with a look to Hrut, who also agreed.
“It’s a fair arrangement,” Hrolf said. “Details can come tomorrow, but tonight let’s drink on it.”
Ulfrik called for more ale, rousing a serving girl to fetch a pitcher. Soon she was spilling drink into raised mugs. They drained the ale and banged the mugs down on the board. The malty taste filled Ulfrik’s mouth and nose, and he wiped his beard with the back of his arm. They raised mugs again for another round, all but Snorri who limped down from the high table massaging his wounded leg and shaking his head.
Chapter 6
With twenty warriors selected and gathered on the north bank of the Seine, Ulfrik prepared for departure. The late summer dawn had turned the sky pink, setting golden sparkles on the brown water of the river. Stein Half-Leg’s longship leaned on the small strip of muddy bank. Ulfrik’s nostrils flared looking at the faded red of the sail and the patchwork shades of wood strakes. He was thankful only river travel awaited, for one gale at sea would send the ship down to Ran’s bed beneath the waves.
“We make the sacrifice now,” Ulfrik said to Einar, who stood by his side. With a whistle and snap from Einar, a Frankish slave boy led forward a ram. Runa followed with a bowl of silver, which she handed to Ulfrik. He let his hands touch hers as she released it to him, but her eyes fell away and she returned to her sons. Ulfrik sighed and drew his knife. He directed Einar to hold the ram and the twenty crewmen gathered close.
“Thor Lord of Storms, Meili Lord of the Long Road, see this sacrifice in your names. Grant us fair weather and safe travel. Shelter us from ill-fortune so that we may bring doom to our enemies and glory to your names.” Einar pulled the ram’s head back and Ulfrik sawed open its throat. The beast thrashed and another man grabbed its legs as hot lifeblood splashed into the silver bowl. When the ram sank down in death and the bowl quivered with blood, Ulfrik lifted it overhead. “Our blood is as pure as our sacrifice. Gods grant us your favor.”
He dipped his hand into the hot blood, scooped out handfuls, and splashed all the travelers and the bow of the ship with the offering. Men nodded in satisfaction as Ulfrik completed the blessings. Finished, he handed the bowl to Einar then lifted off a thick chain of gold from his neck. His bloody hand dripped as he twirled the chain overhead, then cast it far into the murky Seine. “Ran, take my gold and spare us from your frightful bed. Be pleased with our offering.”
With the sacrifice complete, men began to load their gear aboard the ship. Stein and Hrut organized the effort, finding places for the extra twenty men. They had arrived with only eight crew, and stuffing twenty more aboard was desperate work. Ulfrik had considered taking his own ship, but chose to keep them at Gunnar’s disposal. Longships were the fastest travel down the Seine and he did not want to deny Ravndal any if they were needed during his absence.
Studying the men he would soon command, he deemed them lax and undisciplined. Already he had reined in a half dozen urges to shout them into form. Hrolf had assigned this burden when he was expecting to spend time in his own hall. His frustration at that could easily be dumped on the new men, and so he held his tongue. Hrolf has left him little choice in this matter, and Ulfrik’s review of options all resulted in openly defying his oath-holder. Yet Hrolf was as famous for his pragmatism as well as his prowess. Offering Gunnolfsvik as part of Ulfrik’s holdings made the mission far sweeter. It was outside of his borders and he expected challenges in keeping the local jarl in line. However, the increase in tribute would be welcomed along with the glory of holding more land. Further, a holding south of the Seine offered both protection and a staging ground for battle with the Franks. After a night of deliberation, he had settled his doubts. Success in Gunnolfsvik was best for him and his dependents.
“You shouldn’t be taking an old man with you,” Gunnar said, hiking his thumb at Einar as he approached them.
“If he’s old,” Ulfrik asked, “then what am I?”
“A fool for not taking me,” Gunnar answered. He laughed as he threw both arms wide for his father. His stump hand was wrapped in clean cloth, and it caused Gunnar no shame or shyness. It had been Ulfrik’s great fear that the loss of his hand would make him timid, but instead it seemed to have emboldened him. Father and son embraced on the banks.
“Mother’s still angry with you for leaving so soon,” Gunnar whispered as they slapped each other’s backs. “Try to say something nice before you leave her. No more fighting, eh?”
They stepped apart, Gunnar with his face red for admonishing his father and Ulfrik feeling heat in his own cheeks. Gunnar was referencing the colossal argument that followed Ulfrik’s announcement of his journey. He was certain even Hrolf had heard it through the walls of his private guest room at the front of the hall. He met Gunnar’s eyes and nodded.
“You will have complete command while I’m gone, but you’re to leave the Franks alone. Konal will advise you on the hirdmen, and Snorri can help you with nearly anything. Listen to the old man, except when he’s talking to himself. Your mother’s a smart one, too. Lots of wisdom to support you while I’m away.”
“I’ll be fine. You should be careful. Only twenty men with you, that’s hardly enough.”
Ulfrik dismissed Gunnar’s worry with a wave of his bloody hand, then wiped it off with the hem of his cloak. He waited as Einar said good-bye to his wife and daughters, then, once all were aboard the ship, he gathered his other children for their farewells. He had brave words for his sons and gentle assurances for his daughter. At last he came to Runa, who smiled sheepishly.
“It is the memory of that smile that will keep me until I return,” he said, flashing his own smile. Runa covered her mouth, then leaned into Ulfrik. He folded his arms around her and buried her face in his shoulder.
“One day, you will not return. What will I do then?”
“Don’t curse me, woman.”
“Every man dies one day. But men who stand in front of enemy spears die sooner. How many more times before that spear pierces your heart?”
“Fate is everything. It can’t be changed no matter how hard we pray otherwise. If an enemy spear is destined for my heart, it will find me whether I stand in the shieldwall or lie in my bed. I won’t take foolish chances, nor make grand battle plans that risk my life. This is not my war, only my duty. I’ll do it well, then come home.”
“I know.” She pulled back, her eyes glittering with tears. “But Snorri has an ill feeling in his heart.”
“Not so strange for an old man’s heart to feel ill.”
“He saw two black ravens perched atop our hall the day Hrolf came with these two.” Runa swept her hand toward Stein and Hrut’s ship. “They lingered on the roof all day.”
“The gods send us signs as sport, just to see what men will read into them. They must wager on who will create the scariest omens.”
She thumped his chest and clucked her tongue. “You see favorable signs all the time, and you’ve been right. Don’t dismiss the ones that trouble you.”
“That’s it; I’m not troubled.” Runa cocked her head and squinted. Rather than let her vent any more worries, he grabbed her close and kissed her long enough to draw calls from the waiting men. She struggled, then relinquished. When they drew apart, she touched his cheek.
“Be safe, and I will be waiting for you,” she said. “No later than Yule. That’s your promise.”
“One I will never break.” He turned from he
r, winked at Gunnar who gave an approving nod, then finally met Konal and Snorri at the gangplank to the ship.
“No more bad omens,” he said to Snorri. “You’ll drive my wife mad.”
“I see what I see, lad.”
“Fine, but don’t speak what you think, at least not about my doom. Now, watch after my family, old friend.”
“And you watch after my son. He thinks he’s too tall to get his head knocked off.”
They embraced, then he gave his final instructions to Konal. “Burn the ram once we’re launched; share the meat however you want. Make sure Gunnar doesn’t pick a fight with the Franks while I’m away. Gunnar’s in charge, but I’m counting on you to keep his head straight.”
“It’ll be straighter than a plumb line, I swear.” They laughed and embraced, then Ulfrik trotted up the gangplank. Men on shore launched the boat into the water, and, since they traveled against the current, oars extended out the tholes like the legs of a giant water bug. The blades swished into the river and Ulfrik watched his family from the aft.
Seeing Runa gathered with all his children, Snorri and Konal joining their huddled group, he suddenly felt as if he were leaving them forever. Konal placed a hand on Runa’s shoulder as they waved a final time, and Ulfrik’s ship disappeared around a bend in the Seine. He leaned against the gunwales, listening to the oar blades slap the water and thought of Snorri’s two watchful ravens waiting atop his hall.
Chapter 7
The ship nosed toward the riverbank, Hrut aiming for the dark group of figures on the shore. They were ragged and sodden, obvious victims of the raucous thunderstorm of the prior night. Their grim shapes caught an errant glint on patches of exposed mail from the pallid light suffusing the sky. Ulfrik stood by Hrut, hands eager to lay on the tiller. He had been so long landlocked that even a river journey excited his lust for the sea. However, the gathering of men held his attention.
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 3
