Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  He hovered at her shoulders. Runa's dark eyes were unfocused and her breathing labored. The old woman felt Runa's sides, pressed around the rust-colored stains of the bandage, then felt her neck. Runa did not even wince, but let the old woman roam all over her body. She peeled back Runa's eyelids the pulled open her mouth. Nothing was left unchecked, and she folded the cloak back over his wife's frail body.

  Her rheumy eyes met his and she shook her head. Her cracked, aged voice was clear. "She has been poisoned."

  Ulfrik's hands went numb and his first impulse was to deny the old woman's assessment.

  "By the gods, I should've guessed," he pushed aside the old woman and knelt beside Runa, who stared vacantly. "What can we do to help her?"

  The old woman shook her head. "I need to know what the poison was. A lot of poisonings look the same." Her wrinkled old hand touched his shoulder. "Jarl Ulfrik, she is far gone now. Cleaning the cut helped slow the poison's spread, but it's been in her blood too long."

  "No," Ulfrik said. His voice was hardly a whisper. "Not like this."

  From the ships behind his own, Ulfrik heard shouting. He continued to hover over his wife, fearing to touch her might plunge her into death. It was not until the shouts repeated on his own ship that he roused.

  "Fire arrows!"

  Ulfrik shot to his feet, just in time to see the third ship in line billow up in a ball of fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The heat of the fire slapped Ulfrik as he stood staring dumbfounded at the ball of fire lighting the night sky. He had never witnessed such a thing, a roiling ball of orange flame climbing the mast then flaming out into the darkness. Burning debris showered down, burnt rigging disintegrated in the fire. People screamed as they windmilled around the deck, many throwing themselves overboard rather than burn to death. The scent of burnt wood and flesh now rolled over him as the wind blew downriver.

  He heard a sharp plop, then realized flaming arrows were screaming out of the night at his ship. They had just turned a bend to discover the shore lined with yellow fires at regular intervals. Shadows moved around the fires, pulling up dots of flame on the tips of their arrows before sending these streaming toward his ships. The bright fire of the burning ship lit the night, but he still could not see what he faced on shore.

  Finn held the tiller loose, staring at the burning ship. The explosion had shocked everyone. Even the enemy on the shore paused at the massive fire. The ship and all the people on it were lost. Yet worse still, the fire spread to Hakon's ship.

  The volley of fire resumed, yellow streaks tearing through the darkness to thud into wood or hiss in the river. He could not understand what had caused the ship to explode. He had never seen anything like it, except for once as a young boy. Again, it had been at the trade center Kaupang where people came from every corner of the world. A man had set up a stack of barrels and with one shot from a flaming arrow he had caused the entire stack to billow up in fire. At the time it has been a beautiful display to warm the night and begin a celebration. Tonight it marked pure terror.

  The casks. He thought of the casks and remembered Finn rubbing his hands on his pants.

  "Your hands!" Ulfrik shouted at Finn, who remained fixated on the massive conflagration. The burning ship listed right, its mast like a burning finger accusing the enemy on the shore. Ulfrik jumped the hold where women cowered over their children, then wove through the rowers who had turned to face the fire. The first flaming arrow to reach his ship drove into the deck at Finn's feet.

  Ulfrik spun Finn around, his face yellow in the burning light. Ulfrik yanked his hands out and rubbed the palms with his thumbs.

  "Your hands are slick with oil," he said. Finn stared at his hands as if they belonged to another man. "Where did you get those casks of ale?"

  "The cart was just sitting with the others waiting to be loaded," he said, still staring at his shiny palms. "I thought we had missed it when we loaded the other cart of ale. Someone told me it was more ale to load, then he left. I--I didn't recognize him."

  "And you didn't smell anything?" Ulfrik said, dropping Finn's hands. "Those casks were filled with oil. It's part of this trap."

  As if to confirm his discovery, another ship down the line burst into fire, a brilliant cloud rolling up from the center of her deck. More shrieks and sparks filled the night.

  "Row, you bastards!" Ulfrik screamed at his crew, then turned to the women in the hold. "Throw the casks overboard. They're filled with oil."

  No one seemed to understand his directions. Ulfrik grabbed Finn's arm and shoved him at the hold. "Show them what to do. I'll take the tiller."

  Finn jumped down into the hold, while Ulfrik stepped onto the rail. Even in his old age his voice was powerful and strong. If ever he needed to be heard, now was such a time. He cupped a hand to his mouth as he shouted at Hakon's ship. "The kegs are filled with oil. Throw them overboard."

  Hakon appeared in the prow, then waved before disappearing again. Within a moment Ulfrik saw casks flying over the rails of Hakon's ship.

  The hail of arrows had petered out, and Ulfrik wondered at it. He saw his ships of fighting men had swept ahead to the fires and had chased off the archers. The enemy were few for the amount of damage they had wrought. The burning ships and the wind were doing the rest of the enemy's work.

  "Keep rowing," Ulfrik shouted. Finn and the people in the hold were throwing casks overboard. "Put space between the ships."

  The night echoed with dying shrieks, frantic rowing, and the awful ripple of burning wood. His own ship had black scars of fire arrows that had not hit the casks. He noted how all the burnt shafts clustered around his hold and the mast. Some arrows would break the casks and others would set the oil aflame. The plan was simple genius, and had succeeded. Were it not his own ships and people being destroyed, he would have admired the ploy.

  His ship lurched ahead while those strung out behind avoided the two burning ships. The fire on Hakon's ship appeared under control, though pockets of flame still flickered along its length. The first ship to have caught fire was already on its side, crew and cargo dumped into the cold, unforgiving waters and dragged down to the muck to die. If anyone knew how to swim, it would only be a handful of people. Ulfrik himself had never learned, nor had any of his family. To fall into the water was death.

  "Jarl Ulfrik! Hurry!" The women at the prow waved both hands overhead, their bodies outlined in wavering orange light. Ulfrik's heart sank and he abandoned the tiller to dash the length of the ship.

  The women cleared away. Runa had kicked free of the cloak Ulfrik had given her, and the bandages on her torso showed fresh red through the dried blood. She had both hands at her neck, more like claws than hands. Her skin had turned dark blue and her eyes were wide with fear. She twisted and gasped as if drowning.

  "No! Someone help her." He dropped to his knees and scooped her into his arm. Her breath was short and desperate in his ear as he clutched her to himself. "Stop it!"

  "I ... am ..." Runa's voice was weak, nearly lost for the terrified screams of the women surrounding her. "Dying."

  He set her down gently, his body trembling and weak, and tried to offer her a smile. He collected her twisted hands from her throat and gathered them in his own. "Don't speak. Save your strength."

  She closed her eyes, gasping like a dogfish. "You gave me ... a good life. I ..."

  "Runa, no. Hold on. We will get ashore and I will find something to cure this poison."

  "... love my sons. I ... love you. I wish ..." More gasping punctuated her words. "To stay longer, but ... it's my time."

  Runa's breathing became shorter, and he realized she would not survive. "I wanted you to be proud of me, to be a jarl's wife covered in gold and jewels. Without you I have no purpose. What will I fight for? What will I live for?"

  Her eyes snapped open and she gulped like a drowning woman unable to surface. She withdrew a hand and grabbed him by the shoulder, then squeezed out her answer.

 
"Vengeance."

  Her hand dropped, eyes lingering on his. Her flesh was the color of a bruise with ugly veins standing out on her neck and face. Ulfrik watched the light flee from her eyes, and the final breath wheezed from lungs that had failed.

  He sat back, his body numb. The women around him cried into their hands. Runa stared at nothing, and Ulfrik gently shut her eyes before drawing his cloak over her body.

  Without a tear shed, he stood and turned to face his crew. Everyone held still, white fear written in their expressions. Behind them his ships burned like wild asters of fire in the night. Both of his fists balled up and he roared with the thunderous might of Thor's hammer.

  "Mord!"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Ulfrik did not remember anything after Runa's death. Dawn had broken and he now stood on the northern bank of the Seine with five ships hauled up on the narrow stretch of land. People had disembarked and they milled about the grass that gave way to a thin line of poplar trees masking the horizon. He heard weeping and moaning, varied with cries of pain. A cool wind blew over him and he made to pull his cloak tighter, but he was not wearing one.

  He remembered covering Runa's body with it. That was his last memory until he woke from a walking nightmare on the shore of the Seine.

  The sky above was still blanketed in clouds but no rain came. It was as if the sky held its tears just has Ulfrik did. What good were tears? They fill a man's eyes and make his vision blurry. He can neither talk nor think straight when in the grip of tears. So he frowned at the glowing spot where the morning sun wrestled with clouds, then spit.

  "I've the count of the dead from last night," Finn said from behind. Ulfrik had not heard his approach and did not turn to meet him. Instead he watched the brown water flow past him.

  Finn paused at his side, stared at the water with him, then at last decided to deliver his news. "One hundred thirty-seven dead, including all the people on the two ships we lost. The burning of the two ships did most of the killing. Others either fell overboard in the confusion or arrows took them. There are more wounded, but they will survive."

  Ulfrik nodded. He heard the numbers, recognized that one third of his people had been killed, but he could not summon any emotion. He knew the toll should pain him. Mothers and their children were in that number. Yet it remained only a number. He had no tears for that news either.

  "She was a beautiful woman. Unlike any other," Finn said. "I will miss her."

  They were simple words, but they defined Ulfrik's feelings. He found his hand covering his mouth and his eyes growing hot. Finn patted him on the back and left him to his thoughts. He struggled against his tears, not allowing a single drop lest the dam break and he shame himself before his people. The horrible, blue-veined visage of his dying wife haunted his sight when he closed his eyes. Would he ever see anything else?

  Angry shouting roused him from his gloomy mood. He saw a throng of people up the shore, and others rushed toward them.

  "Your sons," Finn shouted from the edge of the crowd. "They're fighting."

  He bolted up the slope, across the grass to the crowd. At the rear, children hopped trying to see over the shoulders of adults. Ulfrik tore them back, grabbed hold of a burly hirdman and yanked him aside as if he were a sack of feathers. He pressed into the gap and found both Hakon and Gunnar circling each other. Hakon's face glowed bright red and his lip was bloodied and fattened. Gunnar, who had only one hand to punch with, had his eye swollen shut and blood streamed from his nose. Both of them seemed as if they had been dragged through the river from the disheveled state of their clothing.

  "You fucking fool!" Hakon shouted. "All of this is your fault! Mother would be alive if it weren't for you."

  "Crying like a baby won't bring her back!" Gunnar struck with his left, and a mix of cheers and hisses came from the crowd. Gunnar had taught himself to fight with an ax and specially crafted shield, but he never adapted to brawling with one hand. This was painfully evident to Ulfrik when Gunnar's clumsy swing missed.

  Hakon weaved aside and planted a blow into Gunnar's ribs. More shouts went up and Ulfrik suddenly realized people were favoring Hakon over Gunnar. That galvanized him into action.

  Ulfrik leaped into the circle and plowed between the two of them. Hakon bounced back, but the arrival of his father was no deterrent. He charged forward again, fists poised for another blow.

  Ulfrik's fist slammed into the side of Hakon's head, and dropped him like a stone. Sharp pain lanced through his knuckles, but he had instantly silenced the crowd. Only Gunnar laughed. Spinning with a snarl, he drove his fist into the same ribs Hakon had just pummeled. Gunnar's laughter turned to a grunt of pain and he staggered back. Ulfrik was tempted to follow up with another strike, but Gunnar sank to his knees in submission.

  He stood between his sons, chest heaving and legs throbbing from the sprint up the slope, and refused to look at anyone. The entire crowd stood in silence as his two sons crawled to the edge of the circle.

  "Is this what you two think we need? Fighting with each other?" He turned to Hakon, who sat on his knees with his head bowed. "Is this how you'd honor your mother? Or the mothers of children who died last night?"

  Hakon wiped his bloodied lip with the back of his arm. "Of course not."

  "Then stand up and act like a man, not a child." He whirled to face Gunnar. "And you. You've a wife and children. Where are they? Are they safe? Comforted? Too busy throwing punches at your little brother to know? Gods, do I have boys or men for sons?"

  "Morgan and the children are fine," Gunnar said, his voice a whisper.

  "They must be splendid after witnessing two ships full of people burning to death. I'm sure the cries of drowning friends was nothing at all to them. Do the children even know their grandmother has died?" Ulfrik shook his head and turned from him. "Go to your family."

  He looked up at the gathered crowd; hirdmen and craftsmen, farmers and their wives, all stared blankly at him. He turned in a circle to face them, his lip trembling with raw emotion.

  "Do you all want someone to blame? Don't look to my sons. They have made mistakes. All of us have. But they did not shower us with flaming arrows, nor fill our holds with oil and pitch. We owe that to Mord Guntherson and his black-hearted father, Gunther One-Eye. Oh yes, I see the shock in your faces. But I know the truth of it. Before we set out, I was attacked in my hall and I kept it secret from any who had not witnessed it. Before he died, the killer admitted Mord's plan to kill me. It's not enough we leave this land, he fears my return."

  Ulfrik paused and surveyed the crowd again. Some faces were shocked, others frightened, and still others unmoved. He knew not all the men would follow him after he made his next declaration, yet he did not care.

  "Well he should fear my return, for I swear before all of you, I will destroy Gunther One-Eye and Mord Guntherson. I will drink a toast to my wife from their hollowed skulls. Anyone standing with them shall die. If Hrolf the Strider keeps such snakes at his side, then he is my enemy as well. I will tear the gates from Rouen's walls and gut him before his bitch of a wife. There is no rest for me until the land has forgotten the names of Mord and Gunther."

  No one cheered, nor stirred. The sheer enormity of his revenge appeared to have overwhelmed them. Ulfrik himself wondered at the scope of his quest, yet if Hrolf stood in his way, then he was an enemy. Oaths to Vilhjalmer be damned. He wanted to ask who was with him and to cheer them onto a frenzy of revenge. Yet too many had died and the rest had not yet slipped from Frankia. Mord might have another attack planned, or the ambushers from the prior night might strike again and crush him. No one would feel capable of taking on the Count of Normandy when fighting off skirmishers was a challenge.

  "We will honor the fallen, tend the wounded, then get back upon our ships and reach the open sea by nightfall." He met as many eyes as were willing to meet his, then the circle parted and he exited.

  The rest of the morning passed with him shoring up support of key men. He was alr
eady formulating new plans for revenge, and he would need his best hirdmen to stay true to him. Fortunately, he had not lost many of his hird, but mostly his bondi who were the young and able-bodied who filled out his ranks and were not part of his regular guard. He avoided both Hakon and Gunnar, preferring to work everything through Finn. His young friend had done all the hard work of preparing a funeral ship for Runa and a few others who had died of their wounds during the morning. It was Hakon's ship, which had been burned too badly to chance the open seas.

  By afternoon, the ship was filled with dried wood covered with oil and pitch that had not been discarded. The vision of another burning ship was not the best image for his people's morale, but Ulfrik could not stand to bury his wife without honor. A sea burial, even though this was a river, seemed more appropriate. Such a burial was rare for a woman, but Runa had been a shield maiden and had once fought in battle against other men. She deserved the respect owed her.

  Now they stood by the tired, brown waters of the Seine, Ulfrik with his sons and Gunnar's family beside him. Rows of others had formed up along the banks, and despite their losses they still numbered in the hundreds. Runa's body was wrapped entirely in Ulfrik's cloak and her own. He did not want to see the horrible, twisted visage of his wife's poisoned face, nor did he want his family to see it. He preferred to remember the radiance of her smile, the clearness of her soft skin, or her tightly curled, full hair. But more than anything else, he would forever remember her bold spirit, her stubbornness, and her courage.

  Besides Runa, two other bodies were laid out, a man and a woman, both who had caught arrows that eventually killed them. Their families lingered beside Ulfrik's and he nodded to them. All the families carried their dead aboard the ship. Runa was light in Ulfrik's arms. A single tear streaked down his cheek as he laid her on the deck, and he lingered when everyone else cleared.

  "As you asked, I will have revenge for you," he said to the wrapped body. He placed his hands over the lumps where Runa's were bound. "Now you make me wish I had been a farmer, so that I could have spent every day with you. But I don't think you would've settled for such a life." He smiled and patted her hand. "You loved glory as much as I did. We were well suited in that, I think. We were just two children once, who dreamed they were more important than they really were. Somehow, along the way, we made it come true. I promise I will not lose what you built. I understand who I am now. I am not a farmer, nor a jarl, but a conqueror. I was meant for war, and I will bring it to our enemies. When they are crushed, I will find others to fight and bring ever more glory and riches to our family. When I join you in death, you will see what I have done and know it was all in your name. It has always been in your name."