"In barrels?" Yngvar asked. "You and Gamle seem to think that's where I fit best."
"Stop complaining. It's all I could arrange. Get in."
Brandr lifted Alasdair into one barrel as if he weighed nothing. Yngvar then got onto the cart and lifted the Saxon into his own barrel. The rest of them jumped inside one. Brandr remained outside, throwing lids on each.
"You're coming?" Yngvar asked.
"Well, I'm not staying to answer for this mess. I think Gamle is going to want to skin someone tonight, and I don't want to be that man. I'll sit up with the driver. No one is looking for me."
Then Yngvar disappeared into a dark world of wood. It smelled like fish, and his knees were in his face. The barrels rocked as the driver started them along the track. From there, he simply closed his eyes and prayed that he would escape. Now that he had a moment to reflect, he nearly pissed himself with terror.
The gods did love him. He had bit Gamle's nose off out of spite, knowing it would only worsen his torture. But the gods rewarded him for the brash act. They spoke sense to his cousin and sent him to join the fight. In less time than it takes to put on his boots, Yngvar's life had changed from doomed to charmed.
The cart stopped at what must have been the gates. Voices were indistinct and jumbled. He waited with eyes pressed tight, and nearly shouted with joy when the cart rocked back into motion.
They trundled along for the hours it would take to reach shore at this leisurely pace. The cart rolled to a stop, and after more mumbling, Yngvar heard the barrel lids popping open. He forced his out and stood on his own.
Brandr was helping the others out. The driver stood at the side of the road, gazing toward Jelling. A copse of trees blocked any view from the walls. Despite how long it seemed they had traveled, they had not come far.
"We go on foot from here," Brandr said. "They'll realize how we got out soon enough and we don't want to be in those barrels when they do."
"Take that barrel with the injured one," the driver said. "Don't want his blood proving he was in my cart."
They rolled the barrel off. The hurt Saxon sat on the ground while his friends tried to bind his leg. He gave Yngvar a weak smile.
"My legs worse than yours, yes?"
Yngvar laughed. "Yes, somehow, yours got the worst of it."
The coast was still far, and after wounding Gamle as he had, the entirety of it would be covered with warriors within the hour. The sun slipped away, providing the gods' final boon to him in the form of darkness. The rest of their escape would have to come from Yngvar's own wits and will.
He looked toward the fjord. "Let's not waste time. We've got to hope the others have not sailed off."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
They used the rest of the gathering darkness to find refuge among the stands of trees. Yngvar had never loved the woods so much as he did this night. His pulse still throbbed in his neck and both his legs itched where Thorkel had cut away his pants. To be gathered into the branches and ferns of woodland tangle was like the comforting embrace of a mother. Yet he knew the sense of safety was false.
After branding Gamle, he expected nothing less than an all-night search for him. Perhaps he still believed they hid within Jelling. But Gamle was not a fool and would redouble efforts within and without the walls of the town.
The wounded Saxon grunted as his companions set him down in the bole of a tree. They heaped leaves and branches on him for both warmth and cover. Yngvar did the same for Alasdair.
"I'm glad we got to you in time, lord."
"No one is more glad than me. I promise I will walk everywhere I go for the rest of my life."
Brandr chuckled, then motioned Yngvar to his own place against a tree.
"We hide here tonight. The sky is clear so it will be bitterly cold. We should take watches." Brandr paused and glanced at the Saxons. "I take it we have new friends?"
"They hate Gorm more than we--I do. We might need them in a fight."
Brandr nodded and sat himself beside Yngvar. He started to gather leaves and sticks over his legs.
They sat in silence for long moments. Yngvar thought of ways to broach the topic with his cousin. Just a few nights ago they were brawling over their opposed alliances. Now they both hid from the same jarl.
"If I hadn't been drunk, you'd have never caught me with that hook," Brandr said. "If I'd been in my right mind I'd have pounded you down like a fencepost in a muddy field."
"But that's not what happened," Yngvar said. "I flattened you. You're getting old and slow. Plus I don't think Gorm keeps his men in shape for battle. You sit behind walls and drink. Then some young and fast warrior like me comes along and drags you out into the open. You see what comes of that."
Silence resumed. The night sounds of the woods filled the darkness, snapping branches and the rustle of underbrush.
"I think you're wrong," Brandr said. "When we get out of this mess, we'll settle that bet. You and me, between the hazel branches until one of us can't stand or yields. You'll be crying for your da after the first punch."
"It's more likely you'll be asking me to give back the teeth I knock out of your mouth. I'm looking forward to the day."
Brandr chuckled as he finished gathering woodland debris over himself.
"I'll keep my eyes open for a while yet. When sleep threatens I'll wake you to take over. I don't trust the Saxons with my life. If trouble came, I wonder if they wouldn't leave us behind for Gorm."
Yngvar felt he should say something in their defense, but Brandr had the truth of it. Now that the camaraderie of sharing a prison cell had passed, so might their cooperation. Even though they had Alasdair, they were effectively outnumbered by the Saxons in battle.
"Why did you come back for me?"
The question sat between them in the darkness. A rustle nearby caught Yngvar's attention. In idle times he might've worried for elves, but tonight he worried only for spearmen searching the dark. Nothing came of it and he turned back to Brandr, whose silhouette seemed bent in thought.
"Ever since you told me your plans I've been worrying for this day. I thought I had found a new life, one away from the shadow of my father and my grandfather. I thought the gods had granted me my secret wish, though I never once voiced it to them."
"You did not want to return to Frankia?" Yngvar's voice barely rose, but against the silent evening it sounded like a scream.
"Did you? You had even more choice than me, but instead decided on a new land and lord. I have lived almost all my life as my father's son. I wanted to be my own man. It's not that I didn't love him or respect everything he and our grandfather had achieved. I just hoped to achieve my own goals."
"But I was not even going to be allowed to marry the girl I love," Yngvar said. "My father picked some ugly cow for me to wed and strengthen his ties to the other jarls. I would never even have done half of what you did. To go back now would just put me in the same place. I have to go back rich and independent, not as Hakon's son."
"You have said the same as me." Brandr stretched his legs and the cover of debris crackled. "So I cannot help but see myself in you. When Gorm allowed his grandson to torment you, it was the same as doing it to me.
"At first I had hoped to scare you off and leave me to my new life. But as soon as you were caught outside of Gorm's hall, I knew that dream was done. I would have to aid you somehow. You were going to drag me from this new land back to where I belong. I couldn't let you suffer and die while I stood by doing nothing. It hurt me to realize the gods had not put me here as a gift of a new life for me. I was put here to help you. Fate has worked its plan this day."
Yngvar had not considered this. Of course, the Fates planned a man's life from the moment he sucked his first breath until the day he expelled his last. Yet he had not seen the weave of Fate's work so clearly as he did now. Perhaps this night he was saved only for the same purpose as Brandr.
"Thank you for doing so," Yngvar said. "Even if it was Fate that led to this moment,
I am glad to have my cousin back. We were not close because of a squabble between our fathers. But let us set that aside for all future days. I owe you my life."
"I have a question, Lord Brandr." Alasdair's voice snapped Yngvar's head around. He could only see a faint gray patch of his face in the darkness.
"I don't know who 'Lord Brandr' is, but I assume your question is for me?"
"Yes, lord, when you captured me it seemed you were very proud of yourself. Before you put me into the pit, you seemed to press me against your belt so that I might grab the key you kept there. Was that on purpose?"
Brandr laughed. "I knew if I could catch you and give you the key, then the two of you could escape. I was on my way to encourage it after arranging the wagon out of town. Then Gamle made everything more urgent."
They passed the rest of the evening as planned. Yngvar took his watch until the dawn came. Alasdair and the Saxons enjoyed a full night of sleep. Nothing but thoughts came to Yngvar for his watch. He was glad for Brandr's reconciliation, but it could not spare them from their situation.
When the first birds stirred in the branches, Yngvar woke everyone. The Saxons were groggy as if they had no care in the world. Their injured leader even settled back to sleep while the others collected themselves.
"I spent my watch thinking of our next steps," Yngvar said. Brandr and Alasdair both gathered to him, while the Saxons tried to wake their leader.
"I don't believe Thorfast and Bjorn would have abandoned us. I know that all common sense says they should have fled north as I told them. It has been days since that night, and they would be low on provisions by now. But I can hear the two of them shouting down the crew. Thorfast could talk a shark out of its teeth. So I know he convinced them to stay longer."
"Bjorn has our family's stubbornness," Brandr said. "And your friend is loyal beyond a normal man's limits. I believe what you say. The trick is in finding them before being caught ourselves."
"Exactly. I was in a similar position not long ago trying to flee Erik Blood-Axe. Only luck carried me alive from that night. To signal them from the shore is madness. We will draw our enemies as well. The only other thing we can do is to go to sea ourselves and search for them."
"A captured ship, lord?" Alasdair asked while wiping the dirt from his pants.
"There are dozens of fishing boats and crews along this fjord. We need only take one and force them to search for our ship. Once we do, we will flee north. Hopefully ahead of Gamle, who knows we are going north as well. He cannot guess otherwise nor can we do otherwise. Provisions are too low. Right now our advantage is in the ongoing confusion of what happened last night and Gamle's own condition. He is hurt, perhaps so badly he cannot lead. Gorm may give orders, but he is not as bloodthirsty as Gamle. That could aid us."
The Saxon leader was now awake and his companions had built a makeshift stretcher for him out of branches and their shirts. One man could drag him over open ground, and two might carry him a short distance out of the woods. Yngvar doubted its durability.
"We stay with you," the leader said, smiling brightly. "I not slow you. Don't worry."
"We're sailing for Norway," Yngvar said. "If you come with us, you find your own way home."
The leader shrugged. "Find new friends there?"
Yngvar nodded, though he wondered what King Hakon might make of these three. If nothing else, they would fill the ranks of his warriors.
They exited the woods cautiously. Alasdair scouted the area ahead, not for any great skill but more for his small size. He kept low and vanished from sight in the tall, brown grass. He returned shortly with reports of a clear way ahead.
They were too late for most fishing crews, who had already gone out before dawn to their fishing spots and traps. They eked a slow trail along the north coast of the fjord, heading to where Yngvar had asked everyone to meet in what felt a lifetime ago.
Rather than continue to search for fishing ships that had not launched, they decided to linger on the outskirts of a small stand of houses for the fishermen to return. The settlement consisted of two houses and a shed with a pen. Women traveled between these buildings on their chores, oblivious to the group of men hiding over a crest and awaiting the return of their husbands and sons.
Fortunately, fishermen returned in midmorning with their catches. The ship seemed large enough for their purposes.
"Wait until they are unloading their catch," Yngvar said. "Then we will approach them. Otherwise, they might turn back out to sea and alert everyone."
So while the fishermen were busy tying off their boat to a mooring post and spreading out their nets, the shadows of Yngvar and his crew fell across them.
"Good morning, friends," Yngvar said, smiling as politely as he could. "We have a favor to ask of you. We need a boat, and this looks perfect for us."
Five men worked this boat. The one Yngvar addressed was white-haired and brown-skinned. Two were barely men of thirteen or fourteen years. The other two were sturdy workers, and one of them reached for a spear as their gray-haired leader slowly straightened.
"Boat ain't for sale or for borrowing."
"You misunderstand me," Yngvar said. "Brandr, pay the man for the use of his ship and a little extra for his silence. Now which one of you can sail it back once we're done?"
Brandr scattered hack-silver onto the beach. Yngvar did not see how much, but anything was better than murder and theft. He gave these poor folks a choice to make the right decision, but his palms itched to draw his sword and take the easiest path to his goal.
The old man and his crew stared at each other. One of the younger men raised his hand. "I can do it."
"Not him," the old man said.
But Yngvar was in no mind to debate. He and the two Saxons dragged the rest of the crew out of the ship and shoved them onto the shore. They easily snatched the single spear the fishermen carried. Alasdair and Brandr roughly tossed most of their meager catch onto the beach then shoved off.
They rowed out to the other fishing ships. Enough distance between them made one crew look like another, at least to Yngvar's eyes. Brandr steered them down the fjord and around the northern bend to find the open sea.
"Last time I sailed you to this place, you hid then returned to Jelling," Brandr said.
"Not this time," he said.
Their hostage sat sullenly in the prow of the fishing ship. The open sea was not a place for such a vessel, and Yngvar saw the worry in the young man's face. He must have expected them to flee to open water.
By night they had not yet encountered Thorfast and the others. So they made their camp on a lonely beach where they could conceal both themselves and their fishing boat. The next morning they renewed their search.
By midmorning they found the ship. Brandr was the first to spot it.
"I'd recognize my old ship anywhere," he said, leaning over the rails and pointing. "If that isn't it, then I'll be drowned for good this time."
The ship was in the middle distance, sliding out from behind a small, rocky island that supported a few trees. Yngvar and everyone else but their hostage began to shout and wave. Yet as it cleared the rocky island, everyone fell silent.
Three other longships followed, their red and white striped sails full and their oars beating the waves. Gamle's ships were in pursuit and closing fast. Yngvar's heart sank to his belly.
"We must get to them," he said.
"And then what?" Brandr asked. "How do we board their ship with three others chasing it?"
Yngvar had no answer. He squinted into the bright light of the day and shook his head.
"I will come up with something by the time we get there. But we are not fleeing when my crew has risked so much for me. We will try even if it means we all die together."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sea spray cut over the hull of the small fishing ship. Yngvar rowed until his shoulders burned. Their hostage had been forced to row to conserve the strength of the others. His white, naked back was i
n front of Yngvar now, sleek with sweat as he hauled the oars. Only four oars and a small sail powered the ship. To Yngvar's relief, their target ship was closing the gap.
They sailed with the sun at their backs, meaning Thorfast would struggle to pick them out against the glare. Yngvar had no banner to raise or any other way to identify himself. He would have to try to get alongside them while they fled.
"If they ignore us we will never catch up," Brandr shouted over the rush of wind and sea.
"I have a way to get their attention," Yngvar said between strokes of the oar. "Hey, Saxons, do you want revenge on your captors?"
Their injured leader was the only one to understand Norse. He sat among a pile of nets and stared at Yngvar. He repeated himself.
"Kill Danes?"
"Yeah, we kill many. Bring us to them!"
"There's the plan, Brandr." His cousin stared at him with eyes wide and mouth open. Yngvar laughed then put down his oar. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Everyone try to get their attention."
Yngvar stretched his arms overhead and shouted. Everyone else did as well, including the Saxons and their hostage fisherman. While approaching head-on, he could not gauge the distance between Thorfast and his pursuers. Brandr had steered them into the path of Thorfast's ship, but it did not seem ready to slow down.
"That crazy bastard is going to ram us?" Brandr asked. "He'll sink us both. My ship wasn't meant for ramming."
"I don't think he sees us, lord," Alasdair said. "No one is in the prow and everyone's head is down."
Brandr steered them aside, avoiding the collision with Thorfast's speeding ship. He kept them close to the side, so that as the ships passed they could yell across the bows. Yngvar started shouting as soon as the ship closed. He saw heads down and backs bent against oars. Anyone looking up was staring back at their pursuers. He flailed his hands and shouted along with the others.
The dark hull plowed waves into the small fishing vessel's hull, rocking the ship so that Yngvar had to grab a rail or else fall overboard.
Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2) Page 22
