Snorre turned toward me and put his hand on his sword hilt, but Torvald stepped forward and clamped his hand on Snorre’s wrist, preventing him from drawing.
“I will kill you, boy!” Snorre shouted.
“Silence!” Ragnar roared.
Torvald released Snorre’s arm and pushed him away. Snorre looked at Ragnar.
“Do you see, Lord Ragnar? Did you hear? I have a right to challenge him to a duel.”
“Not here,” Ragnar answered. “Not now. I do not care if you both kill each other after we leave Frankia. But while we are here, our warriors will not fight each other, and will not kill each other. If you cannot abide by that, then take your ship and leave.”
Snorre stared at each of the chieftains in turn, as if hoping someone would contradict Ragnar. No one did. Ivar smirked at him.
“I will not break the peace,” Snorre finally said. “I will stay.” As he turned to leave, he murmured to me, “Your time will come.”
“Snorre,” Hastein said. “What is the name of your ship? And how many men do you lead?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I am just curious. I would like to know what you’ve brought to our army.”
“My ship is the Sea Steed,” Snorre replied. “My crew numbers twenty-six, including me.”
Ivar slapped his hand loudly on the table. “The Sea Steed,” he said. “It is the same Toke I knew in Ireland. That was the name of his ship. Is he here, too?”
Snorre shook his head. “Toke has a larger ship now,” he said. “The Red Eagle.” He looked at me and gave an evil smile. The Red Eagle had been my father’s ship, then Harald’s after my father had died. It was bitter to think of her in Toke’s hands now.
“I captain the Sea Steed for Toke,” Snorre continued. “He is my chieftain. But he did not come on this voyage. He had other matters to attend to.” He inclined his head toward Ivar. “When next I see Toke, I will tell him you spoke of him.” Then he wheeled and strode from the hall.
“Yes, I do remember Toke,” Ivar said. “A big man. Very strong, and with an evil temper, though a good warrior to have with you in a fight. What is this talk of murder?”
“This is not the time or place to discuss it,” Hastein told him. He turned to Ragnar. “Are we through here? May my men leave?”
“Are you going to deal with this one?” Ragnar asked, pointing at me.
“I will deal with him,” Hastein replied.
“Then we are finished.”
In the corridor outside of the great hall, Hastein told Tore, “Go back to the Gull. You will remain on guard duty there until you hear otherwise from me. Torvald, go with him and fetch the cask of ale. From now on, my men will drink only water while on guard duty.”
When they had gone, Hastein turned to me, looking angry. I opened my mouth to explain to him who Snorre was and what he had done, but before I could speak, he snarled at me.
“Had I known you were prone to behave as rashly as you did today, I would not have offered you a place on my crew.”
Hastein’s words hit me as hard as if he had struck me with his fist. Suddenly I saw my behavior as it must have appeared to him—the newest member of his crew engaging in a drunken brawl before the war-king.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I have shamed myself this day and I have embarrassed you. I regret the latter the most.”
Hastein stared at me silently for a long time. I wanted to look away, but I kept my head up and met his gaze.
“It does you credit,” he finally said, “that you do not offer excuses for your conduct. I cannot abide a man who will not admit when he has done wrong.”
I said nothing. There seemed no words to add that would not, at this point, sound like an excuse.
“Tell me more about this Snorre,” Hastein commanded.
“He was Toke’s helmsman and second in command on the Sea Steed.”
“Can you swear he was among the men who attacked and killed Harald and the others?”
“He had to have been,” I answered. “At that time, Toke had only the one ship. And Snorre was with him on it just days before the attack.”
“Hmmm,” Hastein replied. “Well, for now, it is not our concern. Your vengeance must wait. We are at war. But remember this. You seek to claim a great blood-debt, which will be satisfied only by the deaths of many men, including a renowned and dangerous chieftain. You will never achieve it if you lose your head again like you did today.”
“I will not,” I promised him.
“I hope not,” Hastein replied. “Yet even if you are able to master your own temper, I do not trust Snorre to control his. I want you to stay out of his sight. I do not want you meeting him again. Go back to Wulf’s house and stay there until I summon you. It will cost you to stay away from the rest of the crew, because it will mean you cannot accompany us when it is our turn to use the captured horses to go raiding in the countryside. But it is right that you should pay a price for embarrassing me.”
My heart sank. In truth, I did not mind missing the chance to go on raiding parties. Though I hoped to win some wealth on this campaign, I had no taste for doing so by stealing from poor farmers and folk like Wulf. But I dreaded the thought of once more being cooped up in the merchant’s house.
Perhaps my disappointment showed on my face, or perhaps it was just the dirt and damage showing on my body and clothes, but when I reached Wulf’s house, he took one look at me, and said, “What has happened? You look terrible. Would you like some ale?”
I was sorely tempted, but I told him no.
11 : Into Frankia
My exile to Wulf’s house was cut short after only five days, when Torvald appeared early one morning to summon me.
“Hastein has work for you,” he said. Despite my questions, he would not explain further. “Hastein will tell you all,” was his only answer.
Torvald took me to a large room at one end of the second floor of the count’s palace. It was furnished with a bed, two tables, a number of ornately carved wooden chairs, and several large chests, each big enough for a grown man to hide in. One of Hastein’s sea chests—he had two, and as he was captain, no one protested the amount of space they took up on board the ship—was also there, at the foot of the bed. Two shields, both painted in the three-colored pattern Hastein favored, leaned against a nearby wall.
“Welcome to my quarters,” Hastein said as we entered. He was seated at one of the tables with a wooden platter in front of him. On it was a loaf of bread, a thick block of ivory-colored cheese, and a roasted chicken. One leg had already been ripped off of the chicken and was now in Hastein’s hand.
“Have you eaten?” he asked me, and gestured at the platter with the chicken leg. “Help yourself if you have not.”
I had eaten, but only porridge. In Wulf’s home the night’s fast was not broken with such fine fare. I used my dagger to cut the other leg from the bird.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Cullain,” Hastein called. “Fetch two more cups of ale. I have guests.”
Torvald used his seax to carve off a thick slice of cheese, and sawed the end off the loaf of bread to accompany it.
“I thought you ate before you left to fetch Halfdan,” Hastein said to him.
Torvald shrugged. “I am still hungry.”
Hastein shook his head. “You are always hungry,” he said. Turning back to me, he added, “You should eat your fill, and then some. You will not have food like this, nor ale, where you are going.”
In light of our last parting, I had been pleasantly surprised to be greeted in such friendly fashion by Hastein. His last words had an ominous ring, though. I glanced down at the chicken leg I’d been contentedly enjoying a moment before, and suddenly felt like a pig being fattened for the slaughter.
“Where am I going?” I asked.
“Into Frankia,” he answered. I did not understand. I thought we were already in Frankia.
“Ragnar believes the Frankish king may finally have mustere
d his army and be on the move,” he continued. “A number of our raiding parties have seen solitary riders following them, probably Frankish scouts. And one raiding party has failed to return to Ruda. Twenty men and their horses are missing.
“The Franks’ mounted troops are a force to be reckoned with. They are heavily armed and armored, and they ride as though they were born on horseback. If large units of Frankish cavalry are moving against us, it is time to change our tactics. Our raiders will stand no chance against them.”
It was gratifying for Hastein to explain all of this to me, but I still did not understand my role in it. “But where am I going?” I asked again.
“We are sending out eight scouts to try and locate the Frankish army. You will be one of them,” Hastein replied. “You will each travel alone, and on foot. Ragnar and I believe that way you will have the greatest chance of avoiding detection by Frankish patrols.”
“Why did you choose me?” I asked. What I wondered, but did not say, was whether my selection was further punishment for embarrassing Hastein by my conduct. It sounded to me like this mission might be a way for Hastein to rid himself of an unwanted member of his crew. I did not relish the thought of wandering alone through this foreign land, where everyone I met would be my enemy—and likely wishing to kill me.
“You told me that after Toke attacked the farm on the Limfjord and killed your brother, Harald, and his men, you eluded the men who hunted you and even turned the tables and killed them. If you could do that, you, more than most men, have a chance to find the Frankish army and live to tell us where they are. Our army is blind, and Ragnar and I need to know where our enemies are.”
If I could do that? Did Hastein now doubt what I’d told him? Was this a test to see if I could truly accomplish what I’d claimed to have done?
“What of Wulf and his family?” I asked.
“They will be safe—safe enough. The town is calm now, and most of our men are encamped on the island.”
We left that same morning, heading upriver in two ships. Ivar’s, the Bear, carried four scouts for the left bank of the river. I was on the Gull with the other three men selected to scout the right bank. One of them was Einar.
“I am glad to finally see you again,” he told me when he came aboard. “Hrodgar asked me to give you his greetings, too. We have looked for you since the fleet came to Ruda, but it was as though you had disappeared from the army. When I heard they were asking for warriors to go out scouting for the Franks’ army, I hoped you would volunteer.”
I was glad to see Einar, too. I wished we could scout together.
“You volunteered to be a scout?” I asked.
“Of course,” Einar answered. “We all did. Much honor will be won by whoever finds the Frankish army.”
Unless, I thought, the Frankish army finds the scout.
“I have important news for you,” Einar continued. “I saw one of Toke’s men just two days ago on the island where our army is camped. He is a big man with a scar on his face. His name is…”
“Snorre,” I said. “We have already met.”
Einar’s eyes widened. “I am surprised blood was not shed between you.”
“It was,” I said. “Or almost. He boasted that Toke promised him a rich reward if he brings back proof that I am dead. He wanted to challenge me to a duel, but Ragnar has forbidden dueling while we are in Frankia.”
“There are other ways a man can die besides in a duel,” Einar suggested. “Accidents can happen. Sometimes men even die in their sleep.” I was not sure whether Einar was warning me to take care, or suggesting that we might secretly murder Snorre. From what I’d seen of Einar, he could mean either—or both.
The crew of the Gull rowed up the Seine River for well over half a day before the first scout was put ashore. Hastein insisted that none of the scouts take a turn at the oars.
“Once you are ashore,” he told us, “you will need all of your strength to move fast and cover as much ground as possible. Rest now while you can.”
While the remainder of the crew rowed, I pulled my sea chest to the center of the deck and chose the gear I would take with me. I stuck my dagger and small-axe in my belt, then squatted in front of my chest, staring at its contents and trying to decide what I might need. If I hoped to survive this mission and return, I would need to travel swiftly and unseen. Armor would only slow me down. If a Frankish patrol discovered me, alone and deep within their territory, my leather jerkin, helm, and shield would not be enough to keep me alive. I chose only one quiver—after the battle for Ruda’s gate, I had only enough good arrows left to fill one, anyway. I rolled my thickest cloak lengthwise, tied the ends together, and draped it over my shoulder. A skin filled with water and a worn leather pouch containing dried salted pork from the ship’s stores, plus a loaf of bread and some cheese I’d taken from Wulf’s larder, completed my gear. That, and my bow.
Tore watched me sorting through my sea chest as he rowed.
“You have not taken any plunder yet, have you?” he asked. I shook my head. If my luck continued as it had so far, I was certainly not going to make my fortune on this voyage.
“If you are killed,” he added, “who do you want your possessions to go to?”
It was a question I had not thought to consider. Now that I did, I realized with a pang that I had no one—no family, no close comrades—to leave my few belongings to.
“It does not matter to me,” I answered. “If I am dead, I will not care.”
“You have no one?” Tore asked. “There is no one at all?”
His questions made me think of Harald and my mother, and how much I missed them. I shook my head and turned away so Tore could not see my face. When I did, I saw Einar, seated with his back against the mast, sharpening the head of one of his arrows with a whetstone.
“Give them to him,” I said, pointing at Einar. “If he returns and I do not, give my possessions to him. He is my friend.” The closest thing to a true friend that I had, anyway.
One by one, the scouts were put ashore, till only I remained. Hastein was taking me far deeper into the Frankish countryside than the others.
Dusk was approaching. As the Gull glided upstream, she passed more and more frequently through long stretches of deep shadow, cast by stands of trees along the river’s bank.
“This will do,” Hastein finally said. Torvald steered the ship out into the middle of the river, then ordered the rowers on the steer-board side to back oars, while the port-side rowers pulled forward. The Gull slowly pivoted in place. When she was facing downstream, Torvald steered her over to the bank. Two men leaped ashore with ropes and tied her fast.
Hastein approached. “We are deep within the Frankish heartland here,” he said. “I purposely chose you to search this area for the Frankish army. The danger will be greatest here, and help farthest away. I believe you, more than any of the other scouts, are most likely to survive and return.”
If Hastein’s words were intended to cheer me because of the honor he paid me, they missed their mark. I would rather have felt less honored, but more likely to live.
“Two days from now, Ivar and I will be back on the river,” he continued, “searching for our scouts. We will stay on the river for five days, unless Frankish forces harry us and force us back to Ruda. If all goes well, you will have up to seven days to search for the Frankish army and make your way back here. But if you do not reach the river before we return to Ruda on the seventh day, or if we are driven away before that time, you will be on your own.”
Before darkness fully cloaked the land, I went ashore and climbed the tallest of the nearby trees to view the ground I would be crossing. The branches were just beginning to bud into leaves—spring was awakening the land here in Frankia. Beyond the river, the countryside was mostly open, grassy plain, dotted with scattered clumps of trees and brush. Far in the distance, almost to the horizon, I could see a long band of solid darkness that marked, I suspected, a line of trees—perhaps the edge of a fo
rest.
After I lowered myself through the tree’s branches back to the ground, Hastein and I walked together to where the growth along the river ended and the edge of the plain began. Night was approaching swiftly now. A breeze had sprung up, and the high grass ahead of me swayed and rustled. If anyone was watching from afar, when I left the shelter of the trees hopefully the darkness would hide me and I would appear to be nothing more than another windblown shadow rippling through the grass across the plain.
“Good speed and good fortune,” Hastein said. “And may Ragnar’s words be true.”
I frowned. “What words?”
“That a fylgja guides you and protects your path.”
I left the woods and moved out at an easy trot across the plain. The grass, thigh-high at its deepest, was brown and brittle from the winter, but new shoots, fresh and green, were beginning to sprout from the earth and provided a soft cushion underfoot.
A rising half-moon painted the plain with its pale light, giving the countryside a strangely dead and colorless appearance. High clouds blew rapidly across the sky, their shadows causing the gently rolling plain around me to shift from dark to light as the moon was alternately hidden then revealed.
I knew the pace I’d set covered distance rapidly. After a time, I paused to rest and looked back. I could no longer see the line of trees bordering the river that hid the Gull. I was all alone now in the heart of Frankia, and I felt it. I drank a swallow of water, and set off again at a faster trot. I did not want to be caught on this open plain in daylight.
It was past midnight when I smelled fire. The breeze, blowing from my left now, carried a faint but distinct odor of wood smoke mixed with the bitter stench of burned flesh.
It was the latter smell that caused me to change my course. Where there was death, perhaps there would be signs of the Frankish army. I turned and headed into the wind, following the smell.
The harsh odor grew stronger as I traveled, until finally, ahead of me, I could see a dark wall of shadow against the sky marking a line of trees. There was a gap in the tree line directly ahead of me. Indistinct shapes were scattered across the ground there. The acrid stench was coming from them.
Dragons from the Sea Page 16
