Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  Gils nodded, still scanning the crowds. "Did you contact Vilhjalmer?"

  Aren told him all that had happened. "So it's only a matter of time before they warn their friends waiting here. They are going to accuse me of attempting to take Vilhjalmer captive and could use that as an excuse to execute my father. We have to get back across the river."

  Now all three guards shared fearful glances. "That might be impossible," Gils said. "The borders to our lands are being closed down, and any crossing we make from here will be right into Hrolf's guards. Something seems to have quickened Hrolf's pace."

  As Aren listened, his fist balled up and heat came to his face. Gils noted his anger and picked Aren's sword from the deck. "You'll need this if you expect to fight out of here."

  Taking it in hand, he realized just how little he had practiced with it. Ulfrik thought it shameful that he was not better with the weapons, but unlike his real father, he did not pressure Aren to be who he was not. Ulfrik had always told him his strength was in his mind and not his arms, and such men were both rare and valuable. Though he had warned him being handy with a sword would serve every man, and now he wished he had heeded that wise advice.

  "There were four men sent to find me, and at least seven others we can see here." Aren slipped the baldric over his shoulder and adjusted the sword at his hip. "These are hirdmen come to escort Vilhjalmer home, and so there are at least two times as many more we don't yet see. There's no fighting out of here, and if you're right about crossings into my father's lands, then we are stranded."

  "We can't stay here," Gils said, and the other two guards agreed with him.

  "Not even a moment longer. There is but one road open to us, probably just as perilous as the others. We will travel to Eyrafell where Einar Snorrason will shelter us. He will help me return to my family once this is settled."

  With the decision made, Aren went ahead of his guards so as not to attract attention. Hrolf's men never noticed them, and by sunset they were on the road heading east for Eyrafell. It was their only choice, but Aren wondered if he would ever see his family again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Hakon sat at the high table of his father's hall, chin resting in his hand and heart thudding in his breast. His mother sat beside him, her face hard and inscrutable as if searching a distant horizon and hoping to find land. The morning light filtered through the open doors at the front of the hall, filling the entrance with an impenetrable yellow glare. But for slaves and servants the hall was empty, all the benches and tables cleared to the sides. The hearth was cold and filled with ash, and the black cooking pot hung empty on its trestle.

  "You have done your best," his mother said. Her voice was weary but resolved. Hakon knew she had not slept well, but yet held herself with confidence.

  "How do you stay so strong? Just the thought of facing these men turns my stomach to water."

  Runa smiled, but continued to stare into the morning glare. "Fate dictates our lives. Who are we to worry for it? These men all have a fate that either follows ours or separates from us today. We sacrificed riches to the gods in the darkness before dawn. We begged them for success and luck. You have spoken to these men as a brother and a jarl, and given them the truth. We have done what we may. Now the Three Norns weave what fates they will from the fabric we have given them. Do not fear to face these men, for each will do exactly as he must."

  She at last turned and placed her thin, warm hand upon his. His mother was old now, nearly fifty, and Hakon did not know how much longer he could lean on her. Not many other women lived to this age, and yet still appeared as healthy and young as his mother. She had always been his strength, and though he fought like a wolf in battle, for all other matters he looked to her for guidance.

  "You always have the words I must hear," he said. "Of course you are right, and whatever I must face outside of this hall is what Fate has decided. We did all we could do. I put a good amount of gold into that bag, and I only hope it has persuaded Odin's favor."

  Having seen the One-Eyed All-Father in his youth, Hakon believed he had a special connection to him. He often found when he begged Odin for aid, he would receive it. Why the god listened to him was a question none could answer, but even his father had asked him more than once to implore Odin for luck in battle. Each time Odin favored them with victory.

  Today had to be the same.

  His mother retracted her hand and smiled at him. "You look just like your father did at this age. When I found him in the forest so long ago, I was nothing but a scared slave girl running from death. He was like a golden god, full of young strength and power. Go show that to these men, and they will follow you."

  "I can never imagine you a slave," Hakon said, then stood. He checked his sword, straightened his clean blue cloak, then ran his fingers over his hair.

  He paused at the doors, turned back to see his mother sitting at the high table in a frame of golden light. From this distance she lost all age and all weariness, and again became the shield maiden men had once celebrated.

  "You must come with me, Mother. The men will take heart as I do to see your strength."

  At first she did not stir, then she rose and joined him at the door. She gave a gentle, small smile to him and gestured he should step outside.

  The fresh morning air of summer smelled of wet grass and the cool air braced him. He turned from the eastern sun to the fields north of the hall. He averted his eyes until the last moment, not wanting to see only a handful of hirdmen and bondi left to his command. But as he lifted his eyes, he gasped with shock.

  Rank upon rank of armored men stood silently awaiting him. His father had commanded two hundred hirdmen, the professional warriors at the core of his force, and could summon half as many bondi from the surrounding farms to fill his rank with spears and swords. As far as Hakon could count, not one was missing from the gathering. There were more men than ships to carry them into banishment. Hakon opened his mouth to speak but no words exited.

  Runa appeared behind him, but said nothing. Instead she touched Hakon's shoulder and prompted him to stand before these warriors. At the front rank Ulfrik's standard of black elk antlers on a green flag waved in the breeze. Finn held the pole, his freckled face wide with a smile.

  Hakon stood before the ranks, his mother next to him. With this many loyal men, he felt nothing could prevent them from rescuing his father. He shook his head in amazement. At last he spoke.

  "I have no words. Your loyalty is as fierce as your strength. You are invincible. You are the sons of Odin."

  "We honor our oaths," Finn shouted, and the men behind him joined, raising their rough voices to the sky. "We go with Jarl Ulfrik, for where he treads victory and glory follow!"

  After the shouting subsided, Hakon looked to his mother who simply raised her brow. "You don't want to say anything to these men."

  "They know me only as Ulfrik's wife. You are their jarl now, so command them."

  Hakon licked his lips and met as many eyes as he could, and the grim faces of hardened warriors stared back. "We must expect victory but plan for the worst. Be prepared to leave on a moment's notice. Finn Langson returned last night and reported warriors massing at our borders. If we cannot persuade Hrolf to relax his sentence, then we will have no choice but to seek new land. Again, for those who wish to stay there will be no shame and Jarl Hrolf will take you. But for those who remain, I can only praise your honor and assure you the gods will see how you have chosen and judge you worthy of Valhalla."

  The men shouted approval or stamped their feet. Hakon raised his hand for silence, then continued. "Go now and prepare yourselves. Prepare your families. There will be hardships to face, but none that men such as you cannot defeat. Be ready to answer the call to glory and know you have the admiration and gratitude of your jarl. Your loyalty will never be forgotten."

  After more shouting and back-slapping, the assembly broke into smaller groups that lingered and eventually wandered off in all directions. F
inn joined with Hakon and Runa, a wide grin on his freckled-face.

  "That's a speech worthy of your father," he said. "I doubt any man would shame himself by running away now."

  "No matter what they say today," Runa said, all reticence vanished, "many will shift loyalties if Hrolf continues to push us into homelessness."

  "We don't have enough space on the ships to carry all of them anyway," Hakon said, his laugh dying under his mother's glare.

  "Those men on the borders are keeping away any aid we might receive," Runa said, then folded her arms. "And they cut us off from Einar. Are you certain you had no sign of his approach? He was not rebuffed at the borders?"

  Finn shook his head. "I found nothing of Einar nor the men originally sent to tell him of his father's death. I doubt he ever got the news, but just returned to Eyrafell. If he knew his father had died and was awaiting a proper burial, then nothing would have prevented him."

  Runa nodded, then searched the horizon again like a sailor seeking land. Hakon hated the pensive expression, for he knew his mother feared more than she said. Neither Aren nor Gunnar had returned, and no word had come from Hrolf. The dearth of news worked on all of their nerves, but his mother's took the worst of it. No one hated inaction more than her, but in this situation nothing else could be done without risking Ulfrik's safety.

  "Gunnar has returned," she said. Hakon roused from his gloomy thoughts to see a line of men approaching from the north. Groups from the assembly had stopped to talk with Gunnar's men, no doubt sharing news.

  "If he is returning, then he must not have his priest," Hakon said. He shared a nervous glance with Finn. "Let him greet us in the hall. If his news is bad, I don't want others to read it from our reactions."

  Runa nodded and all three returned to the hall to await Gunnar. Hakon seated himself at the high table with Runa, and Finn sat beneath them on a bench at the side. He seemed to meld into the shadows, only his white face showing. The wait dragged on in tense silence, and the servants sat uneasily with the somber mood, searching between Runa and Hakon for a command. At last the doors opened and Gunnar was framed in the morning light, a lone black shadow.

  He strode inside, turning his head side to side as if expecting an audience. He walked with the arrogance of first-born royalty, something Hakon wished he could emulate. His mother had always been after him to sit up straighter and hold his head higher like his older brother. Even after losing his hand, he had not bowed his head nor let it keep him from the shield wall. He had to fight from the rear, for he could not lock a shield, but any man who challenged his ability learned how much he had practiced. For years it was all he did. Now even as he returned clearly in defeat, he stood beneath them with his chin back.

  "If you think to sit up there and have me kneel to you, you'll have to break my legs to do it," Gunnar said to Hakon, his smile never wavering.

  "No foolishness," Runa snapped. "You've returned alone. Tell us what you have done."

  Gunnar's smile vanished. "Father Lambert has been hidden in Rouen. We found another priest who knew nothing else of use. We could never get to Rouen and so we turned back. Hrolf's men are patrolling your borders, so I went to my own home first then came here. There are fewer patrols around my lands."

  Hakon watched his brother deliver his news and he wished Aren were here. He would be able to determine if Gunnar was withholding something from them, and guess at what it would be. Hakon just harbored an uneasy feeling that the story was incomplete.

  "So you just left the other priest with his villagers?" Runa asked, voicing Hakon's concerns. "You did not kill witnesses or take hostages, but simply turned back?"

  "The important thing is the number of warriors on our borders," Gunnar said. "They don't all appear to be Hrolf's men, which means they may be either bandits come looking to pick at us as we leave or men wanting to stake a claim to the land. We have to be ready to leave now."

  "But Aren has not returned," Hakon said. "And we've heard no news from Hrolf."

  "News from Hrolf are the men at the border," Gunnar said. His face now darkened and he pointed at him. "If you're playing at jarl, then gather all the treasure and men you can and start moving toward the river for a quick escape. That is what must be done. I'm returning to my family to do the same."

  He stalked from the hall, ignoring Runa who called after him. He left the doors standing open, as if the hall wore an expression of shock.

  "Shall I go after him?" Hakon asked.

  "No, he has done something wrong that he will not admit." Runa removed her head cover and ran her fingers through the tight curls of her hair. "We best do as he advises. Our situation will only worsen now."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ulfrik lay sleepless on the bed, staring into the midnight darkness above him. He had counted more than a week's passage for his confinement to this one-room home, but now he struggled to remember which day was dawning. Was it day eight or nine? He should have marked the time on the wood frame of the bed, or on the simple table and bench he had been provided. He did not believe he would be held long. So much for trusting Hrolf to make the right choice.

  Sighing, he flipped to his side on the goose-feather mattress. Hrolf had at least provided the most comfortable prison he had ever been confined to. He picked at goose feathers peaking through the cloth, teasing one out and letting it float to the dirt floor. Day or night, he had nothing to do but think. He had come to anticipate the arrival of meals, for the servants and guards would speak with him. Now they would say nothing, just as children stop petting a favorite pig before the slaughter.

  More than shock, disappointment at both himself and Hrolf filled his thoughts. He stared at the dark of the wall next to him, the gray of a discarded cloak on a stool the only relief to the black. He struggled to understand what had happened to turn Hrolf. He had not seen his jarl in the year since the peace began, but in such a short time he seemed to have changed. He was now fearful, desperate to hold what he had grabbed. Yet why did he need fear anything? If King Charles broke his word, all would go back to war. Ulfrik would actually prefer it. Only a year ago, killing a bishop was cause for raucous laughter, congratulations, and a gold armband. Today, it cost him his name and honor.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Ulfrik shot upright, hand vainly searching for a sword that had been confiscated. He waited as still as a cat hunting a mouse, staring into the darkness where dull orange light flickered around the doorjamb. He crawled out of bed, and took up the cloak as a shield and the stool as a weapon. He crouched as the bars on the door lifted away.

  If killers were come to finish him in the night, he would not go meekly.

  The candle was as bright as a bonfire after hours of darkness and Ulfrik could not penetrate the glare. At least two men stood in the small door frame, but only the one holding the candle entered. In the globe of golden light, Ulfrik saw Vilhjalmer staring at him with his face caught between shock and laughter.

  "I don't want to ask what you do in here alone in the dark, but this is a strange sight."

  Ulfrik lowered the stool, but held the cloak in his fist. "I was just preparing a seat for your royal ass. Pardon my lack of hospitality, but my room is bare and I have nothing but water to offer."

  "And a cloak," Vilhjalmer pointed at Ulfrik's hand then set his candle down on the small table.

  "This is for catching any knife that might come at me in the night. You wouldn't have one of those?"

  "Not for you, old friend."

  The two embraced, each slapping the other on the back.

  "You've grown up," Ulfrik said. "You look more like a king every time I see you. I guess it's in your blood."

  Vilhjalmer sat at the table and Ulfrik followed. The fresh candle wavered between them, and Ulfrik folded his arms.

  "It's bad news, isn't it?"

  "Worse than you know," Vilhjalmer said. He turned aside, studying the crowded room and frowning. "Aren went to Rouen to find me, and told me about th
e bishop. I can't blame you for killing him, honestly. I think they are all conniving snakes who no more believe what they preach than I do."

  "He was your mother's cousin."

  "Would knowing that have stopped you from thrashing him?" Ulfrik shook his head, and Vilhjalmer laughed. "That's good. I am here in secret, as you probably guessed from the midnight visit. Aren gave me the news four days ago, but I have delayed contacting you until I finished my arrangements."

  Ulfrik leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

  "You're on the edge of a cliff and about to fall off, but you can't see it from inside this room. My father does not want to do what his new responsibilities require him to do, so he wavers and creates an opening for you."

  "He's being a fool. Is that part of his of new responsibilities?"

  "Those words don't suit you, Ulfrik. You know as well as I that my family is now Frankish nobility, at least in title. There's nothing foolish in defending that authority. But let's talk of important matters. When Aren visited, he wanted my aid in speaking for you. Yet within the hour of finding me, my father's hirdmen tried to capture him. They had been told one of your sons would attempt to take me hostage and barter me for your release."

  "What? That would ruin the agreement for a safe passage. My sons would not be so foolish."

  Vilhjalmer gave him a skeptical look. "You might recant that in a moment. But, yes, Aren is the smartest man I've ever known. He wanted me to persuade Father, and that makes a good deal more sense. He evaded his would-be captors, but he could not go directly home. I'm not sure where he went, but my guess is he traveled to Eyrafell. It only makes sense."

  "What's happening?" Ulfrik let his arms fall to his sides. "Why has Hrolf done nothing to me yet, but is sending men after my sons and preventing them from returning home?"

  "You are being set up to fall, preferably on a sword. Killing the bishop was the lightning strike that set your forest aflame, but someone has been wanting you out of the way for a long time. Those men got their warning not from my father, but one very close to him. Gunther One-Eye."