He sat back and reached into his pouch of gems, the same gems they had hid for so many years. At last he understood why the gods had given them to him. An emerald the size of his thumbnail fell glittering into his palm. He tucked it into the folds of her wrapping.
"You always liked this one best, so keep it. I will use the rest of them to buy ships and men. I will raise my own great army, one to rival anything seen in Frankia. I will return and burn this land flat."
He kissed her forehead, the soft wool fabric cold against his lips. "Farewell, Wife."
Men launched the ship into the water, and once it took to the current, Ulfrik and his family threw flaming torches onto the deck. The fire caught in a whoosh, startling many of the onlookers. In the overcast light, the ship burned bright as it wandered into the main current and the wind billowed the flaming sail. They watched until the ship began to list and sink.
Faster than Ulfrik expected, the flaming ship slipped beneath the surface with a gurgling hiss. Without looking at anyone, he turned from the river and walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Aren and his three escorts arrived at the gates of Eyrafell on a gloomy morning that threatened rain. Sparrows circled the high stockade walls and the dark shapes of men stared down. None hailed them or offered a challenge. Aren considered they were an unimposing group, but still raised his hands to show he came in peace.
"Hail, men of Eyrafell. We wish to enter the walls." He hesitated in shouting his name. Gils, the leader of his escorts, had warned him to take a false name, even though while traversing the interior of Hrolf's land no one seemed aware of the bounty associated with his name.
"We don't get many visitors," called one of the guards. A few other interested faces appeared over the top of the stockade wall. "Who are you and what is your business here?"
Now Aren would discover Einar's loyalties, or at least those of his men. He glanced at Gils, who gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Aren licked his lips. "I am Halfdan Halfdanarson and these are my guards. I come with a message from Ull the Strong for Jarl Einar Snorrason."
The guards disappeared from the wall and Aren waited, his pulse quickening.
"A wise choice," Gils whispered while they waited on the guards.
"It seemed best not to announce our presence, even among friends."
The gates swept open and four spearmen stood inside. They dressed in mail and wore shields on their backs. They used their spears more like walking staffs than weapons, and Aren felt the tension in his belly release. He had not thought to raise the hood of his cloak, and to do so now would invite suspicion. So he kept his head down and entered along with his escorts. Gils had prepared the silver bits for the gate tax they would be expected to pay. Einar likely never saw half the silver collected this way, but Aren guessed he did not care.
As they paused for the collection of the gate tax, the three other guards told them to leave their weapons at the gates. "We'll keep them dry for you. If you want, while you're visiting, we could have Hogni the blacksmith sharpen your blades."
"That would be fine," Gils said on Aren's behalf. They started forward but one of the guards barred Aren with his hand.
"I recognize you. You're--"
"Yes. We held a drinking contest during Sumarmál and you out-drank me three times over. Where do you put it all?" Aren gently lowered the bemused guard's arm as he continued to walk past him. He had visited Einar enough times that his face would be well known. He had been so focused on the journey that he had not planned for the arrival. Until he knew where Einar stood, he could not have his name circulated.
"No, that's not it," the guard began, but again Aren cut him short.
"I can't blame you for not remembering anything after that day. Well, we do have important news for Jarl Einar. I'm sure he would not be pleased to be kept waiting while we remember old times."
The guard stared at him, plainly unsure of what to do. His companions had already walked off with their collected weapons. Before he left he narrowed his eyes at Aren. "Whatever you say, friend. I'm sure you have your reasons for it. Since we are old drinking companions, let me escort you to Jarl Einar's hall."
Again Aren breathed a sigh of relief. As they waited for the escort to confer with his peers, Gils leaned in and whispered. "Luck is with you today. May that continue."
The guard returned with a bemused smile for Aren, then showed them through the narrow tracks of Eyrafell toward the hall set upon a small hill. The tracks were paved with planks, and chickens wandered over them and pecked at the gaps. A dog barked in the distance and the banging and clanking sounds of men at work surrounded him. He had always enjoyed his visits to Eyrafell. It was a living town, full of people all contributing to the greater need of the whole. The sounds and smells reminded him of his childhood home in Ravndal. It lived as nothing more than a faded memory to him, but so many of the homes and fences that defined this place seemed like something out of his youthful remembrances. Threading the winding tracks and hearing the voices in the buildings that flanked them gave Aren a feeling of wellness he had not experienced in the weeks since he left for Rouen. It was good to be among a peaceful, friendly people again.
The great hall of Eyrafell was nothing compared to Aren's father's, but among the halls of other jarls it was large. The building showed its age in the gray, rain-stained wood, but a roof of new thatch gleamed like gold in the pale light. White curls of smoke chugged out of the smoke hole and a savory smell reached them.
While Aren could not identify the scent, it summoned to mind an association with Snorri. He had not considered whether Einar had received the news of his father's death, and knowing he might have to deliver it filled him with dread. Einar was a good man, and his father had been legendary for his age and his wisdom. Aren had heard from his mother that Snorri did not like him in his youth, but as he aged they discovered they had a great affection for each other. The full weight of Snorri's passing had not even hit Aren yet. Now, with the possibility of having to stay with Einar for a while, the hurt of his loss would be all the more keen.
They were let into the hall, where their escort left them with the hall's door guards. He gave Aren a sly look, then said to his fellow guards, "Here's Halfdan Halfdanarson and his companions. They come with news from Ull the Strong. I'm sure whatever he has to tell Jarl Einar must be important."
Aren inclined his head at the escort, and then waited to be announced to Einar. After long moments where Aren felt every passerby recognized him, the doors reopened and the guard called them inside. The darkness of the hall blinded Aren while his vision adjusted. He picked his way carefully into the main hall, where servant women tended a large iron pot that was lost in smoke from the fire. The hall was milky white with the haze, but Aren still clearly saw the giant shape of Einar at the far end of the hall. He had two other men in conversation with him.
"Halfdan Halfdanarson from Ull the Strong," announced the guard. Heads all turned toward Aren and his three companions, and they all knelt out of respect. Aren made certain to give a blank expression to Einar, who now peered down at them.
A faint ripple of surprise came over Einar's round face, manifesting in a slightly raised brow. He sat back on his bench and waved his guard away. "Thank you. I have been expecting this news. All of you, leave us."
The men at Einar's side huffed at the disturbance, and both glared at Aren. They seemed familiar, but Aren could not place them. The other servants and hirdmen left, leaving only a slave to attend to Einar's needs. When the hall had cleared, Einar finally let his smile break.
"Halfdan Halfdanarson? Did you just make up that name on the spot?"
"It was all that came to mind."
Einar stepped from the high table to embrace Aren in welcome. The giant man had once been his father's standard bearer, and later became a mighty jarl in his own right. He was old now, in his forties, but time had barely frosted his beard with gray and only touched his hair at the temples. His strengt
h was undiminished by age, and he crushed Aren between his strong arms.
They stepped apart, and Einar's smile vanished. "I was only just at your father's hall weeks ago, but now you arrive unannounced under a false name. Whatever your news, it must be grave."
Aren had rehearsed his delivery of the news dozens of times since he had fled Rouen. In each imagined scene he had been articulate and bold, not timid and voiceless which is how he felt under Einar's questioning gaze.
"Have you heard no news in Eyrafell?"
Einar motioned them all to sit at a nearby table. Mugs of half-finished ale sat where hirdmen had left them. Einar cleared them aside with one muscular arm, then shook his head. "If anything, it has been too quiet. Seeing we are at peace now, I thought it was a favorable sign."
"Anything but that," Aren said. He shared a glance with Gils, who for lack of anyone else had become Aren's support since their flight from Rouen. "There is no easy way to begin all the stories. I will start with what concerns you directly. Your father took ill shortly after you left him with us. At first it was nothing serious, but he worsened. We sent a messenger to call you back, but it seems you were never contacted. Your father died about two weeks ago. We were all at his side. He wanted you to know how proud he was of you."
Einar's expression remained blank, as if Aren spoke a foreign language and he awaited interpretation. For an instant Aren feared he had done something wrong and Einar would blame him, but the giant man only blinked.
"It is hard news to hear," Aren said. "My father was greatly saddened, and he had Snorri laid to rest in a temporary grave until you could be contacted."
"Of course," Einar said, his voice a whisper. "He was old, but strong. If I had known it was his time, I'd have not left him."
"No one knows the time of a man's passing," Aren said, sounding now more like the voice he had rehearsed. "There was nothing for you to do. You will see him again in the feasting hall of heroes. I don't mean to be disrespectful, for you know how I loved your father, but this is only the beginning of the bad news. Worse must still be told."
Einar's eyes widened and he swallowed. Aren took a breath and delivered all the news of Gunnar's priest problem, the murder of the bishop, and his father's banishment. He told him of the attempt to frame him for a plot against Vilhjalmer and his escape to his hall. When all had been told, Aren himself could scarcely believe the world had changed so much in so few days.
"I cannot get back home," Aren said. "Hrolf has placed guards at all the best crossing points. For a short time, at least, I ask for shelter with you."
"Of course," Einar said. He appeared dazed, absently touching his beard.
"Don't be so quick to agree. While I want your hospitality, you would be defying Hrolf if you shelter me."
"How would I know what Hrolf demands? He has kept all of this from me." Einar rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. "I doubt he has told anyone for fear of the resistance. The Church wants to force his hand, and to have that witnessed by his jarls would be a shame. There are men who would say your father was not wrong in what he did. If I were threatened in my own hall, I might do the same. Banishment is a heavy price, maybe even worse than death."
"My family will likely leave before I can return to them. Vilhjalmer knows where I am and will send me information as he can. I think it is best for no one to know I am here, so that I can plan to reunite with my father."
Einar nodded. "You have given me much to think on. I will have a servant see to your needs, but I must ask for time alone. Your news was indeed grave."
Aren stood along with Gils and the others. "I thank you for this. I only hope it does not bring you more troubles."
Then Einar froze in place and shook his head as if disgusted. "Those men who I spoke with at the high table earlier, did they get a good look at you?"
"They glared at me as if I had pissed on their boots."
Einar laced his hands behind his head. "We already have worries. They are visitors from Mord's hall, and I wager they are leaving with news of your arrival even as we speak."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ulfrik now faced the open sea, standing on the beaches of Neustria with his four ships hauled onto the strand. A line of people threaded from the ships toward the tree line, where a path led back to a seaside village. They were farmers and their families, carrying their belongings on their backs and herding the remains of their meager flocks.
"Is it wise to let them go?" Gunnar asked. His sons, Finn, and other hirdmen stood behind Ulfrik as he watched the waves crash onto the beach. He missed the open sea for its salty flavor and cold winds. It rolled away endlessly, forever uncaring of men and their troubles. On it a destiny could be found or lost, depending on the whims of Fate.
"I will not drag them along with me," Ulfrik said. "If they claim I am unlucky and that this journey is cursed, then how can I deny them? It has not been a promising start, has it?"
No one spoke, but Gunnar renewed his questioning. "What of their oaths? Men cannot walk away from their promises, or what would happen to the world?"
Ulfrik laughed, a dry and bitter sound. "Men have broken oaths and yet the world endures. I have broken many. I'm breaking one now by standing on this beach and planning my revenge."
"We will need men to carry out that revenge," Finn said. Ulfrik turned to his young friend, his freckled face uncommonly serious.
"We need men willing to fight for no better reason than a desire for gold and glory. Those people leaving would fight willingly for their homes, but not for my revenge. For that, their reluctance would be my undoing." He paused and looked his sons in their eyes.
"I must shed the mantle of a jarl and return to my roots. I came to this land as a raider, and so must I return to it. For that, I need a new kind of men. My hird is strong and loyal, but they are not enough. So while it seems I am losing what I most need, it is not so. I am as a snake, shedding its old skin for the new. Let these people go back to Hrolf. I gladly release them from their oaths, but they are also no longer under my protection. When I return, if Fate wills it, I will find these people again and they will regret their decisions."
Ulfrik turned again to the sea and let his words sit with his sons. It was high tide, and they would have to launch back to the sea before it ended. He had only burned his wife the night before, and now stood with a world of new choices to make. Sleep had eluded him and he felt weary beyond measure. His left leg throbbed from the moisture in the air, and a dozen other old wounds pained him. How much more could his body withstand? He was prepared to find out.
"That's the last of the oathbreakers," said one of the hirdmen. "We convinced the smith to remain with us."
A thin smile reached Ulfrik's lips. "I hope he was convinced without fear of injury. There are many other smiths in the world, and we cannot carry a forge on a ship."
"He has no family ties to this land," said the hirdman. "Someone has to maintain our war gear."
Ulfrik now faced the remainder of his men. "Whatever bondi have remained, I will make them part of my hird. Let there be no man who stood by me today feel as though his loyalty was not recognized."
Approving nods circulated among the men who remained. Both Gunnar and Hakon stood apart, with arms folded and sour expressions. Gunnar's eye was still swollen and Hakon's lip scabby and fat. Ulfrik realized a rift had widened between the two. Something had always existed between them. Years ago when Ulfrik was presumed dead, Gunnar's quick departure had angered Hakon, at least that was the story Runa had told him. His sons never spoke of it in front of him. The two had found a tentative peace, but the death of their mother had shattered it. He could not have that divisiveness in his family.
"I have a new plan," Ulfrik said. "But it requires us to rebuild our strength and then surpass it. If there is any man who doubts I can do this, speak now. I will settle your fears."
No one stirred, though he noted a half dozen of his hirdmen sneak glances to their sides. Ulfrik folded his arms
behind his back and began to pace.
"All of my hirdmen will be awarded a share of silver for your loyalty today. For tomorrow, I promise you we will carry away the hoarded wealth of Mord Guntherson and his father, Gunther One-Eye. We will do better than this. We will extract from Hrolf a ransom worthy of the Count of Rouen, and if he fails to pay it we will do to him all that he inflicted upon the Franks."
Even his sons frowned in confusion, and a murmur circulated among the rearmost of his hirdmen.
"You have seen what wealth I carried from hall. It sits upon my ship, and you guard it with your lives. It is ours, after all. But there is my own wealth that I have kept since many of you were yet to be born." He held up a pouch heavy with jewels. "Here is the wealth of a king's gift to another king. Long ago, the King of the Franks sent the King of Wessex a gift of gold and jewels. Both kings are long dead, but the treasure they would have shared has remained with me. These jewels will buy us ships and men in the numbers we need to do as I have promised."
Every eye went to the pouch that he held before them. Even his sons, who had only known about the jewels in recent years, looked greedily upon it. Ulfrik suspected more than one among his hird might be tempted to steal them, so rather than display the gems, he put the pouch back on his belt. "Such wealth is the seeds of the future, and so I keep it close."
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