Dragons from the Sea

by Judson Roberts

  “Who are you?” the woman asked. “Are you a deserter from the army? Are you an outlaw?”

  Her questions startled me. She thought I was an outlaw? I looked down at myself. Perhaps it was not surprising. My clothes, my face, my hair were all filthy from my days of travel and sleeping on the ground. My hands were spattered with the blood of the man I had killed with my axe. I wondered if my face was, too. I must have looked like a desperate fugitive, someone who’d been living in the wild.

  “I am a Dane,” I said.

  “Sweet Mother of God,” she murmured, making the sign of a cross over her heart. “Mother of Jesus, be with me now, for I am surely lost.”

  I was beginning to realize what I had done. I needed to make plans, but I could not force my mind to think. Instead, it kept reliving scenes of what had occurred. I saw the fear in the first Frank’s eyes, heard him cry out for help, and felt my axe smash into his head. It was not the same as shooting arrows from a distance.

  My knees suddenly felt weak, and my legs started to tremble. I staggered forward and sat down on the women’s cloak.

  Genevieve backed away, looking alarmed. “What are you doing?” she cried.

  I did not want to admit my weakness. “I am hungry,” I told her. I picked up the loaf of bread, tore a piece off, and stuffed it in my mouth. It was freshly baked, and tasted delicious. I picked up the cheese and took a bite out of it, too.

  “He attacked us, he killed Hugh, he killed Leonidas, all for food,” Genevieve murmured. I looked up at her. Her eyes were unfocused. I do not think she even realized she’d spoken aloud.

  This woman talked too much. I needed her to be quiet. I needed to clear my head and think.

  “I attacked no one,” I said. “I was just watching from the trees. Your man attacked me. They all did. I take no blame for their deaths.”

  “You are a Northman,” she said, as though that was an answer to my statement. “You are a pirate and a murderer.”

  This discussion was pointless. Fortunately, the food had made me feel better. My legs, at least, had regained their strength. I stood up, walked over to the fire, and cut a sausage from the spit. As I ate it, I surveyed the scene of this disaster.

  Two men lay dead, and a third was wounded. He was still sitting on the ground, watching me warily. The woman called Clothilde was still unconscious.

  I turned to Genevieve, then pointed at the unconscious woman with my half-eaten sausage.

  “Wake her up,” I said.

  Genevieve took a few steps backward, putting more distance between us. She looked down at Clothilde, then glanced behind her at the road. Surely she would not be so foolish as to try to run.

  “What do you want with us? Just take our food and leave.”

  Her voice was quivering with fear. What she suggested was tempting. I wished I could just go. I could not afford to, though. Someone would pass this way before long. I was surprised it had not happened already. I could leave no one to tell the Frankish warriors what to hunt for. I could not even leave the dead. The cart would be found—it was too large to hide. But let what had happened to these people be a mystery to the Franks. Solving it would buy me precious time.

  I picked my arrow up off the ground—the one that had bounced off Leonidas’ shield—then stepped over to where his body lay. Genevieve was staring at me, horrified.

  “Do not watch this,” I told her. I feared she, too, would faint. I did not need another unconscious woman to deal with. I pointed to where Clothilde still lay sprawled on the ground. “I told you to wake her. Do as I say, and you will not be harmed. But if you disobey me…” I left the threat hanging in the air. Let her imagination and fear complete it.

  Genevieve turned and scurried over to Clothilde. She knelt beside her and began shaking her by the shoulders.

  “Clothilde,” she said. “You must wake up.” The fallen woman groaned, but did not open her eyes.

  The sharpened head of my arrow had passed completely through the young Frank’s neck, severing his spine. His eyes were still open. I thought they had a startled expression. I wondered if he had lived long enough, after the arrow hit him, to be aware of his own death. I pulled my arrow free, wiped it clean on the bottom of his tunic, and returned it to my quiver.

  “Do you intend to kill me?”

  It was the wounded man who spoke.

  “Not unless I have to,” I told him. “What is your name?”

  “Gunthard,” he replied.

  “Do as I tell you, Gunthard, and you will live. Do not try to escape, and do not attack me again.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” he asked. “What are you going to do with Lady Genevieve and Clothilde?”

  “We are going into the forest,” I replied. “All of us. The living, the dead, and the horses. If we are discovered, more will die. Perhaps you will be one of them. Perhaps the women.”

  The last was a bluff. I would not kill defenseless women. But he did not need to know that.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  First, I had to draw my arrow from his shoulder. He was a brave man, and did not cry out at the pain. Fortunately, because I’d had to snap off so quick a shot, I hadn’t pulled my bow to full draw. The arrowhead had hit the bone in his shoulder, but had stopped there instead of breaking it and continuing on through. He was losing blood, though.

  He helped me unhitch the two horses from the cart, and we draped a dead body over each. I lashed them down tightly with rope I found in the cart, then made lead ropes and tied one to each horse’s reins.

  By this time, Gunthard was looking pale, and the sleeve of his tunic was soaked with blood. I sighed, exasperated at the delay. He could not wait to have the wound bandaged. Drawing my dagger, I cut the sleeve from his tunic and slit it open at the shoulder, exposing the wound.

  “Go over to the women,” I told him. “Get them to bandage you while I finish.”

  Genevieve was still trying to rouse Clothilde. The big woman was uttering soft moans regularly now, but still had not opened her eyes. There was no time for this. I strode over to them, pulled the stopper from my waterskin, and dumped water over her face. She sat up suddenly, opened her eyes, and began screaming when she saw me.

  “Help me! Genevieve! Gunthard!”

  “Calm her!” I snapped to Genevieve. “Or at least silence her. If you do not, I will.”

  “Hush, Clothilde,” she said in a frightened voice. “Do not anger him. He is a Northman. He will kill you. He will kill us all.”

  The screaming stopped. There are some advantages to a bloodthirsty reputation.

  “My baby,” Clothilde whimpered.

  I looked toward the cart in dismay. “Is there a child in there?” I asked Genevieve.

  “It is in her belly,” Genevieve replied. I glared at her and at Clothilde. I did not need this.

  “Get her up and ready to travel,” I snapped. “And put a bandage on his wound. Bind it tightly so it will stop the bleeding. Hurry. We must leave soon.”

  I stuffed the rest of the half-eaten cheese and bread into my food pouch. A quick search of the cart revealed two full waterskins and a pottery jug with a cork stopper in its neck. I opened it and sniffed. It was wine. I placed all three into the women’s large food basket and added the sausages. There were other cloth-wrapped parcels in the basket, hopefully more food, but I did not take time to investigate them. I lashed the basket to the saddle of one of the riding horses, then led both around to where the two cart horses—now serving as pack animals, bearing the dead—were standing patiently.

  There was little more to do. I kicked the fire apart, scattering the coals, picked up the shield and the dead men’s swords, and lashed them onto the packhorses. Blood stained the ground where the two men had died. I scattered loose dirt and leaves over it. If the Franks brought a skilled tracker, he would not be fooled for long. But it would take time to bring a tracker here.

  I walked over to where my three prisoners were sitting. G
enevieve and Clothilde had wrapped a strip of white cloth—torn from the bottom of Clothilde’s under-shift—around Gunthard’s shoulder. Bright red blood was already starting to seep through.

  “Stand up,” I commanded. “We are leaving.”

  I brought one of the horses over and handed the reins to Gunthard. “You two will ride on this horse,” I told him, nodding at Clothilde. To her I added, “You ride behind him. He is weak from his wound, and will get weaker. Do not let him fall off the horse.”

  The Frankish saddles had no stirrups. Gunthard tried to climb onto the horse’s back, but was too weak. I stepped forward and crouched beside him.

  “Put your foot on my knee,” I said. When he did, I straightened, heaving up on his belt while he pulled on the saddle with his good arm, and between us we managed to swing him up onto the horse’s back. He swayed for a moment, then nodded down at me.

  I turned to Clothilde, and cupped my hands, lacing my fingers together. She looked alarmed and took a step back.

  “Put your foot in my hands,” I snapped. “Now.” She did, and I heaved her up onto the horse behind Gunthard. She was a large woman. If one had to boost her up onto a horse many times during a single day, it would be tiring work.

  I took the reins of the remaining horse and turned to Genevieve. “You will ride with me on this horse,” I told her.

  “I do not wish to ride with you,” she replied.

  I rolled my eyes. What was wrong with this woman? Did she not understand that she was a prisoner?

  “I do not care,” I told her. I cupped my hands, but she backed away.

  I straightened up angrily and glared at her. She was a very small woman. I had not realized until now how little she was. I reached out suddenly, grasped her waist with my hands, and swung her up and onto the saddle, straddling the horse’s back. Her long gown rode up when I did, revealing slender legs. She shrieked and tugged at the fabric, pulling it down to cover herself.

  “Do not touch me!” she shouted. “Do not touch me again!”

  I bent over, picked up my bow from where I’d laid it on the ground, then vaulted up onto the horse behind her. She gasped when I leaned forward against her back and reached my arms around her to take the reins.

  I turned the horse until I was facing Gunthard and Clothilde, then addressed them all in a loud voice.

  “Listen to me, all three of you, and heed my words well. When I tell you to stop, you will stop. When I tell you to ride, you will ride. If I tell you to be silent, you will make no noise. Do not disobey me, and do not anger me. Remember, I am a Northman. If I have to, I will kill you. I will kill you all, starting with your mistress here.”

  Genevieve gasped, and Clothilde closed her eyes and began muttering a prayer. Gunthard just stared at me, looking into my eyes. Perhaps he was wondering if I would really carry out my threat.

  Our trail would not have been difficult to follow. Fortunately, little of the day remained. With luck, even if the Franks discovered the cart before nightfall, they would not have time to bring a tracker to the site before night’s sheltering darkness hid our path.

  We headed north by west. I hoped to cross the river, upstream from the fortified crossing at the bridge, before we stopped to rest.

  After darkness fell, though, it became more and more difficult to take bearings and choose our course. Although the forest canopy overhead was still not fully leafed out, it was thick enough to hide the stars. And as the night progressed and we rode deeper into the forest, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, until at times I could swear it had become a physical thing that brushed lightly across my face and hands as we rode. If I had not tied all of our horses together with the lead ropes I’d made, we would surely have become separated in the dark.

  Because I could see nothing, I eventually let the reins hang limp, and allowed my horse pick its own way among the trunks of the trees. I hoped it would not carry us in a circle back to the road.

  An owl hooted nearby. Genevieve jerked in my arms, and sat upright—over time she had slumped back more and more against my chest, and her head had drooped forward.

  “Where are we?” she whispered, sounding frightened.

  “We are in the forest,” I answered. More than that, I myself did not know.

  Hearing our voices, Clothilde spoke up.

  “Mistress Genevieve, I am worried about Gunthard. He has been unconscious for some time now. And my back and legs—they are hurting so.”

  “Can we not stop?” Genevieve pleaded. “At least briefly, to stretch and rest?”

  The forest seemed thinner here, and the darkness with it. The ground had been rising for some time, and I could dimly see, off to the right, the crest of a hill. A patch of night sky was visible above it. The hill would give me a vantage point from which to watch for pursuers. And in truth, I was tired and sore, too.

  I pointed toward the hilltop and answered Genevieve, but in a voice loud enough for Clothilde to hear, also.

  “We will ride up there. We can stop and rest on top of that hill.”

  As we climbed the slope, a vague shape loomed out of the darkness ahead of us, as if it had suddenly risen up from the ground when we neared. It was taller than a man, and ran across the side of the hill as far as I could see in either direction, barring our progress. At first I thought it was a massive outcropping of rock, forming a cliff around the top of the hill, but when we drew nearer I saw it was a man-made stone wall.

  “What is this place?” Genevieve murmured. This was her land, not mine. Why did she ask me?

  “I do not know,” I answered. Whatever it was, it looked very old, and there was no sign that men lived here now.

  We turned and rode left, circling the hilltop just below the wall. Behind me, Gunthard moaned. As if in response, something rustled through dead leaves on the other side of the wall. My horse’s ears pricked up suddenly, and I could feel its muscles twitching nervously beneath my legs.

  “Did you hear that?” Genevieve whispered. “What was it?”

  “Just an animal. Probably a fox,” I answered, to reassure myself as much as her, for the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. I wondered if ghosts inhabited this ancient place. Perhaps they had smelled Gunthard’s blood.

  We reached a gap in the wall. I hesitated, wondering whether to enter. Within these walls would be shelter, a place to hide. From within I could watch for hunters on our trail, while remaining unseen. But what if there were ghosts?

  I shook my head, disgusted at my own fear. I had never seen a ghost, except in the sleep-world of my dreams. And those I had seen there had never actually harmed me. I had been hunted by men before, though, and I knew the Franks would be hunting me soon. That was a real danger, one that could kill me. I kicked my heels in my horse’s sides and urged him forward through the gap in the wall.

  I awoke to the sound of birds chirping. The sun, high in the sky, was shining on my face. It was almost noon. I had slept much longer than I’d intended.

  I stood up and rubbed my eyes. A few feet away Genevieve sat, her back against the trunk of the small tree I had tied her to, glaring at me with a bleary expression. Behind her, on the other side of the tree, Clothilde was slumped down on her side, snoring noisily. Gunthard was cradled in her arms.

  Before I’d fallen asleep, I had seated the two women against opposite sides of the tree, bound their hands and feet, and looped a rope around their waists and the tree’s trunk. I had not bothered to bind Gunthard. He had not regained consciousness even when I’d dragged him down from the horse and stretched him out along the ground. Clothilde had insisted I position him so his head could be pillowed by her lap. He had lost much blood. Whatever skills Genevieve possessed, bandaging wounds was apparently not among them.

  Seeing that I had awakened, Genevieve spoke.

  “These ropes are too tight. I can no longer feel my feet. And I need to get up.”

  It was easy to picture her as one who owned slaves. She was used to giving orders
, and having them obeyed without question. I stood up and began walking over to where I’d tethered the horses in the shelter of the stone wall. The basket of food was there, still lashed to one of the saddles.

  “Please,” she said, desperation in her voice now. “I need to get up. I cannot wait much longer.”

  I turned back toward her, suddenly understanding.

  “Do you need to relieve yourself?” I asked. She blushed, looked down, and nodded.

  “Do not go far,” I told her, as she stood up unsteadily on numb feet, after I had untied her bonds. “Stay where I can see you.”

  “You are going to watch?” she asked, a shocked expression on her face.

  Now I felt embarrassed. “No,” I said curtly, and turned away.

  I busied myself by searching the contents of the food basket. Besides the two waterskins, the bottle of wine, and the sausages I’d added to its contents, it contained four more cheeses—one soft, like the cheese I’d already sampled, and two others that were hard—plus two more loaves of bread, and a half-dozen apples. The greatest prize, though, was a plump chicken, already roasted, wrapped in cloth and bound with twine. That would not keep. We would eat it now.

  Genevieve approached. Her face looked tired. I guessed she had slept little, if at all. For a fine Frankish lady, sleeping out of doors on the ground was no doubt a new experience. As I looked at her, I realized she was far younger than my original impression had led me to believe. She was probably no older than me.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked nervously.

  “I am not staring,” I told her. “Wake the others. We will eat now.”

  Gunthard looked to be developing a fever, but at least Genevieve and Clothilde were able to wake him. He had little appetite, but eagerly drank from the bottle of wine when I offered it to him. Between the four of us, we finished the chicken, plus the rest of the loaf of bread and round of cheese that had been partially eaten yesterday. Clothilde wanted more. I gave her an apple, but packed the rest of the food back in the basket. I did not know how long it would have to last.