“I would like that. No man knows what Fate has planned for him,” Ulfrik said.
Then he looped his arm around Finn and headed for the docks where Heidrek’s ships awaited. The road across the oceans back to Frankia would be long and circuitous, but he would travel them in patience. His friends and enemies had counted him dead so long that another year would make scant difference. Though he yearned for his hall and his family, they would have to wait.
At the end of the sea road lay vengeance.
Throst would soon pay in blood.
Chapter 54
“He agreed to meet with you,” Heidrek said as Ulfrik helped him out of the rowboat to the deck. “You’re guaranteed safety.”
“Finn will come with me,” Ulfrik said. “And I’d appreciate a few others.”
“Finn will do,” Heidrek said, eying him with a slight scowl. “Return by midday or I’ll call back the rowboat and pull up anchor. So don’t delay or you’ll be trapped with these people again.”
Ulfrik swallowed at the thought. He had faced death countless times, dodged spears and swords in the chaos of battle, but never had he felt so frightened. Looking across the iron gray sea to the shore, he saw Audhild’s hall and wondered if she still held sway over these people. He feared he was volunteering to step into a trap, but the risks would be worth it to him. He laid one hand on his sword and tightened his resolve. This time I am armed, he thought. Let them try to harm me.
Both he and Finn climbed the rope down the short distance to the boat. The man there was red-cheeked, squint-eyed, and smiled warmly. “Your trip. You row.”
Taking up the oars, Ulfrik rode the waves onto the beach as the red-cheeked man folded his arms and whistled. They ran the boat onto the beach, Finn jumping out to drag it ashore. Ulfrik nodded to Red-Cheeks and started up the slope toward the village.
His hands were like ice and his vision focused on Audhild’s house. No one stirred, though somewhere a hearth chugged smoke over the village. He swallowed again.
“Coming here makes me angry,” Finn said. “These people are the killers of my father.”
Ulfrik did not respond, but continued to walk before stopping at the edge of the village. At last a lone figure of a red-haired man separated from the shadows of Audhild’s hall. He stared across the distance without making a motion, but then he raised a hand in greeting. Ulfrik mirrored the greeting, then started toward Lini. His hand remained close to his sword. Once they stood arm’s distance from each other, neither spoke but sized up the other. Lini had lost the youthful softness of his features and now kept his mouth pressed in a grim line. His hair was braided back but his beard curled out wildly.
“So you lived,” Ulfrik said.
“As did you.”
“Your tone sounds as if you’re disappointed.”
Lini glanced at the sword at his hip then slid his gaze to Finn. “You never lifted your curse. Half the village died from it.”
The two men remained staring at each other in silence, a wind blowing hair into Ulfrik’s eyes. He brushed it aside and decided to press his request rather than dwell on the past. “Thank you for meeting me and guaranteeing safety. Does Audhild know I am here?”
“She’s dead. Hanged herself within the month after you blinded her. Swung from the rafters of her own hall until the stench got someone’s attention.”
“You are better for it. You saw who she really was, clearer than anyone.”
“What have you returned for? People know you are here and are staying away for the sake of peace with Valagnar. But I can’t guarantee some won’t let a desire for vengeance rule them.”
“I won’t be long. Eldrid took something when I was first captured. It is of tremendous importance to me, and I want to search her home. Perhaps I will find my belongings still there.”
Lini nodded and pointed across the village to the general direction of Eldrid’s home. “Her ghost haunts that place. No one dares go near it. Take what you will from it, and be done with us.”
Ulfrik put his hand on Finn’s shoulder and began to leave. He stopped and turned back to Lini. “Thank you for what you tried to do for me.”
He shook his head and waved him off.
Wasting no time, he traversed the village and followed a trail to Eldrid’s hut. It had been built of stone which had stood up to the weather, though white and green lichen splattered the gray rocks. The roof, however, had collapsed in places and laid bare the timbers beneath. Ulfrik hissed at that, hoping what he sought had not been ruined from rain.
“If it’s haunted, I’m staying out here.” Finn stepped back from the yawing black entrance, the door fallen from its hinges. “What are we doing here?”
“Planning for the future. Watch outside while I search.”
Stepping inside, an owl screeched then furiously shot through a hole in the roof. Ulfrik jumped back in shock and heard Finn gasp outside. He paused while his heart thudded, then began to chuckle. “I flushed out the ghost. It’s safe to come in now.”
“I’m fine out here,” Finn called back.
Where the roof had let in rain, everything was ruined. The bed was covered in rotten blankets and a mattress that had exploded wool stuffing from its seams. A table had collapsed and plates and jugs were in shards around it. Piles of rotting thatch lent a grassy scent to the stench of mold and the air did not move despite the openings in the house. Her cooking pot still hung over the hearth, bright orange rust clinging to the trestle that held it up. He began to poke around, first carefully, then with greater desperation. After Finn had checked on his progress a third time, he pulled out a small chest hidden underneath the fallen thatch.
Dragging it to the center of the floor he opened it to reveal a sealskin pack within. This he gingerly removed, then untied. He wore a pair of leather gloves for safety, then withdrew the clay jars from inside the bag. The cover of one had come free and spilled a dull green powder on everything. He held his breath as he set out three other jars, their lids tied with gut string. Undoing each one he revealed powders of different colors. The red one stung his nose just at opening it, and he quickly resealed it. At last he found a jar that held a fine powder the color of hearth ash.
This one he set aside, then removed one glove. The clammy smell of it already told him he had found what he sought, but he dipped his finger into it and raised the clinging powder to his tongue. A cold numbness spread into his mouth and the bitter taste was unmistakable.
“I knew you had more of this, you miserable hag,” he whispered to himself.
He tied the jar, which was only half filled, then placed it in his own seal skin pouch which he had padded with cloth wads, finally tying it closed.
“Stay fresh for me,” he said to the package as he slid it into his own bag. He kicked over the other powders, leaving only the burning powder untouched.
Outside the air was fresh and clean. Finn looked at him expectantly.
“I found what I needed. The gods have seen my plan and they are pleased. Revenge will be sweet, when it finally comes.”
Chapter 55
The scent of Frankia was of pine and river mud. Ulfrik stood on the deck of Heidrek’s trading ship and inhaled. The balmy summer air pressed his face as he closed his eyes to listen to the birdsong from the surrounding forest. Oars gently splashed the water and men spoke in low voices behind him. He felt someone at his side, then looked to find Finn had joined him at the rail. His freckle-splashed face was bright with awe. Ulfrik had built up this land in the lad’s imagination that he wondered if seeing it would disappoint. Now, more than year after setting out from Iceland, they were on the brown waters of the Seine.
“This is nothing like I’ve ever seen,” Finn said. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve not even placed foot on its shore,” Ulfrik said. “Don’t judge yet.”
They had passed through the forts at the mouth of the Seine, paying fees for safe passage inland. He was eager for news, but did not want to arouse suspicion
s through overly curious questions. During their stop, he had learned Hrolf collected these fees and so was still in power at least as far inland as Rouen. His lands seemed to still be intact. He had asked for news of Throst, but no one knew that name.
He and Finn rested on the rails until they were called back for their shift of the oars. Heidrek was anxious and pacing with his hands behind his back as he always did when thinking. Over the year, he and Heidrek had learned to respect each other. Ulfrik and Finn proved their usefulness when Orkney pirates had dared an open attack. Their bravery had saved Heidrek’s cargo and likely his life. Heidrek had proved more than a fair employer and Ulfrik named him a friend. Some of the crew had been difficult company, but most were agreeable men who loved the open sea and the freedom it offered. No one stayed with Heidrek who did not wish it. He kept no slaves and paid a high wage.
At last Heidrek ceased pacing and came to Ulfrik at his oar. “You are certain this Throst fellow will treat a merchant with respect?”
“As certain as I can be. Reputation is everything in these lands, and he would not ruin his by stealing from us. That’s only fair if he can catch us on the open sea.”
Ulfrik laughed at his joke, but Heidrek’s eyes were far away. He turned back to him after a moment of thought. “This makes us even now. My neck is bared for this bastard if you’re found out.”
“Relax, friend. Just make your trade and leave me behind. I will not press my plans until you are away.”
Heidrek nodded and patted Ulfrik’s shoulder. “You don’t want to change your mind? I’ll double your wages to stay.”
The men rowing near him whistled or called out in surprise. “What if I threaten to leave?” asked one.
“You I’ll gladly throw overboard and call it a profit. Keep rowing. I want to be done with this business. I’ve got real trade to do.”
The travel up river went without issue, but soon they were navigating into the tributaries to where Ulfrik last saw Throst. These were Frankish territories, though trading ships were always welcomed as long as they did not hide troops. A new bridge had been constructed where none had been before, and after inspection by a local Frank ruler and paying a bribe, they were allowed to portage around it and continue. The delay cost them a day, which Heidrek cursed and blamed Ulfrik.
They said their farewells and settled payments for services before arriving at Gunnolfsvik. Heidrek slipped in a gold armband, and when Ulfrik balked at this, he pressed it back onto him. “If you truly are the warlord you claim to be, then let this be my first bribe for your favor. I’ve never come this far south, but if you reestablish your rule here, then I may add Frankia to my routes.”
After this, they made a stop for Ulfrik to hide his sword and belongings along the river, all carefully wrapped in the sealskin cloak Gytha had bestowed him. It was now torn and stained white with sea salt, but it still had years of use remaining. Now it would guard his weapon and silver against the elements while he traveled on. Once back aboard, Ulfrik donned his disguise. He wore the plain brown and gray clothes of a traveler. His heavy wool cloak had a cowl that hung down around his eyes. He rubbed dirt onto his face to obscure his features. A well-worn walking stick was now in his hand, and he wore wool gloves to hide the missing finger of his left hand. A rope belt and small travel pack completed his disguise.
Finn was dressed the same as he, though he carried no walking stick but did have a sword hitched to his belt. He fussed with it, trying to get used to the dirty clothes. “Do we have to be so grubby?”
“The road does that to a man. Remember, you must act as if accustomed to leading me. Don’t wander off and leave me stranded, or you’ll raise questions.”
“I won’t,” he said as excitedly as a child at a festival. Ulfrik smiled at his young friend’s irrepressible cheer. Even on such a daring plan he gave no sign of worry.
They watched Gunnolfsvik emerge into view. It was unchanged in the five or more years Ulfrik had been gone. In the distance the Frankish tower was a purple rectangle over the treetops at the horizon.
“Are you nervous?” Finn asked.
“Of course. It’s an ill thing to be unworried for battle. Overconfidence breeds deadly mistakes.”
Ulfrik took a final look at the scene then tied the blindfold over his eyes, completing a transformation into a blind traveler and his servant. The loss of his vision except through the bottom of the blindfold was disorienting. Suddenly the rocking of the ship felt more violent and he had to brace the sides. He realized he should have done this earlier to acclimate himself.
He sat at the stern with Finn as he heard Heidrek negotiate with the men of Gunnolfsvik. They spoke Frankish at first, but a Norse speaker eventually filled in and allowed Heidrek’s ships to dock. In his dark world, he sat on the deck and listened to Finn’s prosaic descriptions of docking the ship. He and Finn sat aboard long after Heidrek had went ashore to discuss his business and pass on Ulfrik’s message.
Finn grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. “Some men are coming. Be ready.”
“Halfdan the Blind and Finn Halfdannarson?” The voice was young and bent with a Frankish accent.
Ulfrik bowed. “At your service.”
“Jarl Throst Shield-Biter will receive your news. You two are to be his guests at tonight’s meal. Someone will fetch you. Remain aboard ship till then.”
He bowed again and listened as the footfalls receded across the deck.
“I have to remember to call you Father,” Finn said as he released Ulfrik’s arm.
“Keep hold of me. Don’t break the act from now until I have finished all I’ve come to do.”
Finn guided him to a rowing bench and helped him sit. Ulfrik smiled. Tonight he would entertain the gods with a good show of bloody vengeance.
Chapter 56
The voice tore through him with the fury of a winter storm. The self-satisfied laughter. The boasts. The haughty commands. Ulfrik felt each of Throst’s words like a knife sawing through his bones. Though deprived of sight, the sweaty smell of bodies, heat, and the loud voices both Northman and Frank painted a vision of a full hall of revelers and Throst seated at the high table. He imagined him with a foot propped on the table, a woman strung across his shoulders feeding him, and gold glittering from every patch of open skin. Such a swine would have no dignity in his ill-gotten power, only vanity and a false air of power.
“The night is getting late, Father.” Finn had maintained his act without fail, filling Ulfrik’s cup and his guiding hands. Now he leaned into Ulfrik, who still sat at the far end of the hall with his cowl drawn. “Will we meet the jarl tonight, do you think?”
“Undoubtedly he knows my message and will be keen to hear it.” Ulfrik disguised his voice with an aged strain. He groped for his cup though he could see it beneath his blindfold. Finn pushed it toward him.
“As you say, Father.”
“We are merely travelers, not merchants, and far less than warriors. He will want to entertain those worthy men before us. Have patience.”
Ulfrik sipped the ale from his cup, careful to drink little but not insult his host.
The surroundings filled him with hate. The Frankish conversations reminded him of the depth of Throst’s treachery not only to him but to his own people. He spent the first part of the evening marshaling his temper and reminding himself he had more than his own life to consider. Finn relied on his plan to carry them to safety, and so he had to stick with it rather than scrap it for a knife to Throst’s neck.
Killing Throst was the easy part of his plans. Ulfrik wanted to learn who had betrayed him, to answer the questions Toki and Yngvar brought to his bedside each night. How did Throst know Ulfrik would be in Gunnolfsvik? Only Hrolf could have known, and only Hrolf had the motivation. In their last meeting he had noted Ulfrik might soon be called a king in his own right. Such a simple remark had gone unnoticed until Ulfrik had been forced to think on the reasons that led him to his fall from the tower. Had he become such a threat
to Hrolf?
Only Throst would have the answers, and so he had to find out before he silenced Throst forever.
By the end of the evening, as he expected, a hirdman found Ulfrik and Finn and asked them to appear at the high table.
Trembling with what he hoped looked like infirmity rather than nerves, Ulfrik leaned on his staff and let Finn gently guide him along the path. He mimicked Eldrid’s mannerisms in hopes he seemed authentic. When he stopped at the high table, he felt a dozen eyes upon him. He was confident his disguise plus the belief in his death would keep his identity hidden.
“Halfdan the Blind and my son, Finn, at your service, Jarl Throst.”
“Be welcomed Halfdan and Finn,” Throst said, his voice rough with drink. “I’ve been sharing news with your friend Heidrek all night, but he says you have a message for me. A secret message of great importance.”
Two or three men chuckled and he heard the arrogance chime in Throst’s voice. Ulfrik’s heart was in his throat now, for many men claimed he had a distinctive and commanding voice. He did all he could to reverse those traits, speaking hoarsely and as if in great effort.
“It is true, my jarl. A message I fear can be shared with none other than you.”
He heard bodies shifting, the creak of benches and of leather. A few men whispered before Throst spoke again. “A cloaked and hooded messenger no less. The mystery only deepens. At least reveal your face to me. I might trust you better.”
Sycophantic laughter chimed as Ulfrik did as directed. His gloved hands reached onto his cowl and he pulled it back. Finn dutifully smoothed Ulfrik’s hair, which was now uncombed, thin and grizzled with gray. He lifted his head as if defying Throst to recognize him.
“That’s better,” Throst said, then swallowed whatever he held in his mouth, likely ale. “So what is your message?”
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 31
