"I will go," Yngvar said. "And speak for my men."
"Now this is not a meeting to petition King Gorm for your gold. Don't embarrass me or you'll be standing watch on the walls for a month."
They waited on Surt to ready for the meeting. They were never invited inside, and the dogs continued to bark. They stood beside the door, watching torches flaring to brightness as the sun slid past the horizon.
"Thanks for stepping in," Yngvar whispered to Thorfast, who smiled and touched his belly.
"I can still only fight with words for now."
"You're supposed to block swords with a shield, not your stomach." Bjorn gave Thorfast a good-natured slap on the back of his shoulder.
"The rest of you return to the barracks and wait," Yngvar said. "Alasdair, stay close in the shadows. I may need to send a message, and you're best for that."
Surt exited the hall and ignored all of them, instead looking up the hill toward the mead hall. "Let's go, Einar."
They walked in silence, and Surt's apparent nerves made Yngvar's own stomach knot. They assembled with other men waiting before a barracks hall. They absently nodded at Yngvar, as if he were not part of their number. He cared little for them. Each man's thoughts were far off, but for different reasons. What was Gorm planning? It must be an invasion and so the men worried for their lives and homes. Warriors sought battle and glory, but when the moment for bloodshed comes, Yngvar learned that most glory-seekers would rather melt back to their fields than truly face a bloody death. It only takes one time seeing men writhing on the ground, holding in their guts and screaming like children to never want to experience it again. Perhaps these men were remembering such a time.
They climbed the rise toward the mead hall. It was lit all around with torches, and guards surrounded the exterior. A lone oak tree had been left atop the hill, probably for its size and majesty. Its dying orange leaves scattered on the slope and the roof of the hall. The doors on the side and front of the hall hung open, yellow light and loud talk pouring from both. Shadows of the meeting members flickered in the open doors.
At the top, Jarl Surt stopped. Yngvar, who was glad to be at the rear of the group, did not immediately see why their party halted before reaching the doors. Then he heard a familiar voice and his heart flipped.
Brandr approached him with Jarl Surt at his side. His face was still puffy from the beating Yngvar had given him. He pointed at Yngvar with his chin.
"This one," he said to Surt. "You do not want him among your number when you go to Jarl Gorm."
Surt now looked at Yngvar as if seeing him for the first time. "Why not?"
Yngvar swallowed hard, his mind screaming at Brandr to keep his secret. Their eyes met, and he saw the anger in his cousin's stare.
"Because he's not who you think he is."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Yngvar's stomach clenched and his hands went cold. Brandr and Surt stared, and the rest of his small group now faced him. Up the slope, the hall was alive with dozens of warriors all gathering for Gorm's long-planned meeting. Gusty laughter flowed down the hill, a startling contrast to the tension enveloping Yngvar. He scanned around for Alasdair, but he was invisible.
"What do you mean he's not who I think he is?" Surt stepped closer, his brilliant blue eyes narrowing.
"He's not the great hero he claims he is," Brandr said. "He did nothing at the fort except to steal all the glory. It was the planning and effort of others that brought victory. He just stood at the front of the real heroes. Don't reward that by taking him to meet King Gorm."
Surt gave Yngvar a hard stare. "Is that true? Do you claim the glory of others for your own? Was it the white-haired boy who did your work? He seemed more capable than you, anyway."
Yngvar shook his head, but Brandr folded his arms. He recognized the stance. It was one Yngvar's father would assume when he felt challenged, yet another family trait that passed through the blood. He knew Brandr was warning him to back off or he would take the challenge higher. He let his stomach loosen and turned away.
Giving a disgusted grunt, Surt turned aside. "I don't need these questions hanging over my head. I wasn't thinking right when I agreed to take you. Go back to your barracks. We'll sort this out another day."
Surt abandoned him and the others in his small group lingered with smug sneers before turning to follow their jarl. Brandr stepped closer, whispering.
"I might've been drunk, but I meant what I said. I'm not going to hide you forever. I've sworn loyalty to Gorm. I owe these Danes my life."
"And I've sworn loyalty to King Hakon, and I owe him my life as does all my crew." Yngvar squared his shoulders to his cousin. "None of us will break that oath."
"You don't need to," Brandr said. "Just go back to Norway. You've seen enough here to give him an idea of Gorm's power. That's all you've promised to do for him, isn't it?"
Brandr cocked an eye, full of both threat and doubt. Yngvar hoped his lies did not show on his face. He was an easy read for anyone who knew him, and being family, Brandr might recognize his falsehood.
"That's all."
"Well, you're done now," Brandr said. "I'm glad you and Bjorn have prospered. It's too bad Fate put us on opposite sides. I hardly got to know you two before we were pulled apart. Take care of my ship and greet my uncles if you ever see them again."
"You could do that yourself, you know."
Brandr smiled and followed Surt's party up the slope and into the hall. Yngvar stood watching, hands balled at his sides.
A whispering noise floated from the shadows nearby. It seemed as if the black wall of a small shack were calling out to him. "Lord, this way."
Yngvar approached and found Alasdair crouched to the ground, his dark cloak pulled over his head. When he looked up, his clear, unblemished face was like a star in the dark. He stood. "What happened, lord?"
"You can't figure it out yourself?" Yngvar shook his head and punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Brandr slandered my name to Surt, and it was enough for him to doubt choosing me for his honor guard. Damn Fate! Why does it have to be like this? If it were anyone but Brandr we could deal with him. But what can I do against my own blood?"
"You could kill him, lord."
Yngvar stepped back. "Gods, Alasdair, aren't you a Christian? Even I would never think it."
"I am Christian," Alasdair said. "But I'm practical as well. If Brandr so chose, he could ensure you and thirty other men are all killed. One life for the lives of many. It was just a suggestion, lord. I know you are a better man than that."
Yngvar rubbed his face as if he could wipe away the conflict and frustration. He was just left with stinging eyes and roughened skin. "He wants us to give up and return to Norway."
"We could do that, lord," Alasdair said. "We've seen a good count of ships and men in the area. I think we have something to report."
"But there's this meeting. What is happening tonight? And we don't have what the king really wants, and nor is it anything that will bring us any standing with him. We will appear no better than petty spies. He could get the same information from fishermen. He believes something is being planned that requires us to get near Gorm. We've come so close now. He's only up that hill, separated from us by a thin wall."
"And about eight guards around those walls, plus all the men inside," Alasdair said.
Yngvar stared at Alasdair. "The hall is not heavily guarded, is it?"
"I'm not sure what is heavy. Two men on each wall is enough to catch anyone sneaking up on that side of hall. Besides, it's in the middle of his fortress. What is he defending from except curiosity seekers?" Alasdair scratched his head and gazed up the slope. "The hall doors are closing. They must be starting."
The mead hall doors now glowed with a yellow outline, and the torches surrounding the hall cast wavering shadows over its walls. The guards stood idly, resting their spears on the wall and chatting with each other. They had no worries so deep inside Jelling, which lay at the heart of
Gorm's strength. They were just present to scare off the curious.
One door remained open, and servants and slaves darted in and out of that door, bearing casks from a stack assembled outside. Yngvar stood straight now, watching the servants at work. He looked to Alasdair, who continued to study the hall.
"It's a shame I cannot listen at the wall," Alasdair said, arms folded. "Maybe I could for a brief moment, but even those lazy guards would eventually turn to find me."
"I think you underestimate yourself," Yngvar said. He pulled on Alasdair's cloak. "I'm glad you wear simple clothes. Without this, you look like a common man. With a few stains, you'd even look like a servant."
Alasdair looked up at him with no expression, then realization spread across his innocent face. "Lord! I would be recognized. Brandr, Surt, even Gorm the Old have seen my face. And the other servants might realize I was not one of them. There are too many ways for this to go wrong."
Yngvar shook his head. "You are a master spy, better at this than me and all the others. You have to get inside, even if it is just to make one pass around the hall to learn what is being discussed."
"But the servants seem to be in a uniform of sorts." Alasdair pointed up the hill.
From this distance, it seemed the men wore gray shirts with brown pants and the woman gray blouses with brown skirts. As they wove in and out, carrying full casks or removing the emptied ones, Yngvar noted none wore anything different.
"Then our first task is to get you a new uniform. Come, we can hide behind that oak tree. That's where they're stacking the empty casks anyway. You watch for the right target and I'll take him down for you."
"But if you kill him, there'll be blood on the shirt, lord."
"Don't try to make excuses. I won't kill a servant for this," Yngvar said, already leading Alasdair up the hill. "You've done this already and it worked. Now do it one last time, and I will have to double the gold that I already owe you. You're making me a poor man, Alasdair, but you are the bravest and most useful of all our crew."
"Lord, you don't owe me gold. But this is a much bigger risk."
Disregarding Alasdair's concerns, Yngvar led them to the deepest shadow of the oak trees. With the wide trunk and small stack of emptied casks, they hid themselves easily. The first four servants to come out of the hall were either grown men or women. The wait seemed like hours, and Yngvar feared the meeting would finish before Alasdair could get inside.
Then a short man exited with an emptied cask over his shoulder. Alasdair waved his hand to dismiss the servant as inappropriate, but Yngvar's patience was done. As the servant turned, Yngvar sprang. He clamped one hand over the servant's mouth and pressed the tip of his dagger to his back. The servant stopped struggling.
He guided the servant behind the tree, then forced him face down in the grass. He motioned Alasdair over and gestured that he should remove the servant's clothes. The man had gone as still as if he had fallen asleep. Once stripped, Yngvar continued to hold the servant down but drew Alasdair close.
"Get changed and slip inside. Hurry before they suspect anything," Yngvar whispered. "Don't linger overlong. I'll wait for you here, and if anything happens I will come for you."
"If I get caught you should warn the others," Alasdair said, already removing his shirt.
Yngvar wanted to argue the point, but with the captured servant under them decided to remain quiet. He hauled the servant off the ground and marched him down the slope. The servant's nude flesh was pale and bright against the darkness. Yngvar searched from house to house until he found rope suitable for binding the servant. The man was so docile Yngvar wondered if he was dumb. He did not question the gods' blessing. The old rope coil was more than enough to restrain the servant, and he cut a strip of his own cloak to blindfold him.
He tried to roughen his voice to disguise it. "If you're wise, you'll not say anything until dawn. Be silent if you value your life."
Remounting the hill, he repositioned behind the oak then found a pile of Alasdair's clothes. He checked the open door and did not see Alasdair within. He could only see parts of the crowd from here and no voice rose above any other. The guards on the wall remained relaxed, one having sunk down to the grass and the other dully picking at his nails. Both huddled inside their cloaks and seemed sleepy. Yngvar could have slain the two of them before either could raise an alarm, such was their inattention.
But he only had to wait for Alasdair. He was truly one of the bravest men Yngvar ever met. He wondered if he could do the same as his young friend. It's one thing to meet a foe in battle and another to try to walk unseen before a foe's eyes. Both take courage of a different kind. As he waited, his hands grew cold and his vision narrowed to only the open door.
The flow of servants had stopped now that the feast was over. A single woman slipped outside, forcing Yngvar to duck behind the tree until she returned. Popping back out again, he saw that the woman had not reentered the hall but now stood outside with another female servant who joined her. The hall itself had grown quieter now. Perhaps Gorm was addressing his men with whatever plans he had.
Sweat flowed down Yngvar's brow, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. He imagined the dozens of scenarios where Alasdair was caught. The women servants did not diminish but instead grew. How was Alasdair going to exit here without having to confront them? The hirdmen might have a favorite servant, but most did not know the faces of the lower-class servants. Most men held out their drinking horns without a second look. But servants all knew each other. Yngvar imagined Alasdair keeping his head down and blending in with the servants, avoiding them as they all worked. However, outside he would come into question when he met them face to face.
The silence dragged on. The hall was still full of people. The servants continued to gossip and giggle in low voices at the door. The guards against the wall were all but asleep now, both sitting on the grass and covered in their cloaks.
"Lord?"
Alasdair's voice was clear behind him, and Yngvar nearly shouted with shock. He whirled around and confronted Alasdair dressed as a servant in a stained gray shirt and brown pants. His expression was mournful.
Brandr stood behind him, his short sword drawn to Alasdair's back.
"I warned you," Brandr said. "I had hoped you'd have not forced me to this."
Yngvar had his dagger. He had not taken his sword, not expecting to be allowed to carry it into the hall. It was an unfair fight, but up close a dagger would be more nimble than even a short sword. The question was how fast he could kill Brandr.
Kill Brandr? This was the man whose death he wept for and whose memory he promised to revere. Now he was preparing to kill him. This was wrong. What had happened to lead him here?
"What are you going to do?" Yngvar asked.
"What I must to protect my king." Brandr's expression remained flat and cold, and his sword glinted in the guttering torchlight.
Then it was decided. Yngvar reached for his dagger, his heart thudding.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the wavering shadows of torchlight, Brandr's face was bathed in dancing yellow light. Yngvar could not read Brandr's eyes in the dark, but his hand reached the hilt of his dagger. Alasdair seemed to brace for death by closing his own eyes tight.
"You don't want to draw that," Brandr said. "Your friend would be dead before you reach me, and I can get you before you're close enough for that dagger to matter. You can't fight me."
Yngvar drew the dagger on principle, and held it low. "You've no idea what tricks I've learned, cousin. Don't be so sure of yourself."
Brandr shook his head. "There are two guards behind me who'll come if I call. Aren't you wondering why it's just me out here with your little spy?"
He lowered the dagger in answer. Everything around him remained the same. The female servants clustered by the open door, waiting to be summoned. The hall was strangely quiet as one man spoke, his voice dull and muffled. Two guards dozed at their post, sitting against the walls
beside their spears.
With a satisfied nod, Brandr pushed Alasdair forward. "I don't know what he heard. But consider this the last act of mercy that our relationship buys you. Swear to me, on your grandfather Ulfrik's name, that you'll leave with first light. I'll help arrange for your ship, but you've got to leave. If you don't, I'll have to expose you to King Gorm."
Yngvar wanted to challenge him, but knew if he and the others were dragged before Gorm then the king would only need remove Yngvar's shirt to confirm his identity. Erik Blood-Axe had marked him for life. Yet swearing upon Grandfather Ulfrik's name was a greater test. To break such an oath would dishonor his grandfather's name. Yet from all the tales his own father recounted about Ulfrik, he would make and break such an oath if it led him to victory.
"I swear it," Yngvar mumbled.
"Look at me and say it louder."
He tilted his head back and met Brandr's eyes, or least where he imagined they were in the dark pools of shadow.
"I swear by my grandfather's name that I will leave with all my crew at first light."
Brandr gave a slow nod. "Be ready and I will see you go."
He turned, crunching across fallen leaves back to the hall. The two guards sitting against the wall raised their heads only a moment to watch him pass. He disappeared around the corner to the front of the hall.
"I'm sorry, lord," Alasdair said, his head lowered and hands hanging limp at his side. "I was caught."
Yngvar placed his arm around Alasdair's shoulder. "You did a fine job. Now change clothes and we will rejoin the others. We will all want to hear what you learned."
After Alasdair changed, they walked back toward the barracks. Guards challenged them, but Yngvar gave them an irritated wave. "We're done at Jarl Gorm's hall. Others will be along soon. Are you going to stop all of them and ask their business?"
Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2) Page 17
