His outburst silenced the men. Ulfrik folded his arms and studied the slave, who quivered and shrunk as if expecting a blow. His bearing, however frightened he appeared, belied something else, another layer to his tale not yet revealed.
"And so your story to me is you are worthless? Well, I guess I was wrong about you. There's another way you can serve me. Winter is coming and the gods have been cruel to us these years. Since you can't bring us gold, then you can bring us favor with the gods."
Humbert grew still, his hands slowly dropping to his sides. Ulfrik relished knocking down the slave's arrogance.
"Men, secure him. At dawn we will strangle him in Odin's name by the sacred stone."
Without delay, the two closest men seized him with wicked delight. Humbert howled as if already in his death throes.
"Wait! I have a secret! Let me tell you about the gold!" Thrashing between the two laughing men, he pleaded to Ulfrik.
"Hold on, then. You have a secret? What a surprise." Ulfrik smiled at Snorri, who returned a satisfied wink.
"Yes, Humbert knows the bishop's secret treasure." He glanced around the room, nodding and eyes full of hope. "This is why the bishop betrayed Humbert. Because I caught the bishop taking heathen gold, late in the night from foreign men who want to control the bishop. He took ancient gold to make himself rich and hid it where Humbert knows. The bishop learned I discovered him. He cannot kill Humbert, not with his own hand, for God would call it a great sin to kill a priest. So he tricked Humbert with a promise to share the gold."
The men holding Humbert let him go as he gained confidence in his tale. His face fattened with delight and Ulfrik leaned forward in interest.
"He put a sack on Humbert's head." He mimicked a sack drawn over an imaginary head. "Then he hit Humbert and tied me down. To the Northmen I was given, and was made a slave for so long. Humbert does not know how long."
He surveyed the now attentive group, his mouth bent in solemn despair.
"Nice story," Ulfrik said, arms still folded and head leaned back. "But how is this helping your situation?"
"Because Humbert can show you the gold." His tone implied the words, "you fool," and his eyes flashed irritation. "You take Humbert to Paris and help me get revenge. Humbert shows you the hidden treasure. Understand?"
"I thought Northmen can't enter Paris?" Ulfrik stood, shaking his head. "You're just delaying for your life. You go to Odin at dawn."
"No! It is true!" Humbert crashed to his knees. "Humbert knows the secret ways, the ways to the abbey and the bishop. If Humbert lies, you can kill me there. Please, believe me."
Tears began to stream from his eyes and his lips quavered as he folded his hands. Ulfrik regarded him. The tale might be genuine, but the conniving of the Christian priests was famous. He could no longer verify it with Humbert's former owners, all long dead. He also did not have much heart for human sacrifice, believing instead the gods valued lives of strong men slain in fair combat over wormy slaves throttled while bound. His tongue prodded his cheek as Humbert whimpered at his feet. Eyes fell on him for a decision.
"Stop crying and stand like a man. I'll consider your story. In the meantime, be a better slave or I'll forget about Paris and your ancient gold."
Humbert stood, wiping away tears with the back of his arm. "You will not regret helping Humbert."
Ulfrik wanted to laugh, but in the dark places of Humbert's eyes he glimpsed a coldness that instead made him turn in disgust.
CHAPTER THREE
Down the slope and across the indigo dark fields, the golden lights of Nye Grenner's hall blinked. A cool breeze swished the grass in waves hardly visible in the half-light of night. Thrand leaned in the doorway of his house, a horn of dark beer in his trembling hand. The faintest traces of laughter reached him, causing his frown to deepen. A sheep bumped him from behind, the dumb animal wandering to the open door. He goaded it back inside with his foot to rejoin the six other sheep crowded into his home. With winter approaching, he needed their warmth indoors.
"If that's all the drink you have, then I'll be going." Thrand's friend, Kolbyr, spoke from within the house.
"No more for you, you leech. I used my silver to buy this cask for myself. A reward for my troubles." Thrand shoved off the door frame, spit in the direction of the hall, then turned to face Kolbyr. He fixed his friend with his good eye. Men called him Thrand the Looker for his lazy eye, and he had a habit of relying on the good eye to focus. Two fish oil lamps filled the single-room house with wan but clear light. Kolbyr sat at his table, two sheep idly chewing at hay strewn beneath his feet. He was a young man just short of being handsome. A newcomer to Nye Grenner, he was no doubt a fugitive from trouble. He served in Ulfrik's crew with reasonable dedication, though Thrand knew Kolbyr could offer more. After the death of Thrand's brother, Njal, he had no family or friends. Kolbyr was the only man who would drink with him.
"I've got silver too," Kolbyr said, touching his belt pouch as if to ensure he had not lost it. "But it's not as much as yours. Ulfrik likes you for some reason."
"Likes me! Ha!" Thrand pulled the door shut against the night and shambled to the table, wading through his sheep. "He feels sorry for me. Takes pity on me! Like I need it."
Kolbyr raised his eyebrows and guzzled from his mug. The dismissive gesture riled Thrand.
"I risked my life for his family. My brother went to the sea grave for them. But what did it get me? Ruin! Look at this piss hole! Where are my flocks?" He pointed at his sheep. "This is no flock, not even close."
"You drank your flocks," Kolbyr said, dropping his mug on the table with a dull thud. His eyes were clear ice and his hair an enviable blond. Thrand could never exactly place what detracted from his looks, but he suspected his words made him less fair. "Are you listening to me?"
"I don't need to listen to your shit," Thrand said, draining the last of his beer. He placed the horn upside down on the table.
"But you should, since I'm the only one talking to you anymore. You've convinced everyone else to avoid you."
"Well, I'm not keeping you here, am I? Go fall off a cliff, plenty of 'em around."
Kolbyr laughed, pulling the pouch of silver off his belt. He shook the contents onto the table, sharp triangles of silver hacked into bits from plates and rings clinked together on the wood. He stirred the pile with his finger, spinning off flashes of lamplight. "How much do you think Lord Ulfrik holds out for himself? We all risked our lives the same, but he took a slave and a ship, along with a share of silver."
Drunk as he was, Kolbyr's words sobered him. His friend's chill gaze met his from under his brow, finger still pushing bits of silver.
"I know, but he is the jarl. Aren't they all the same? More for them and less for everyone else. He's no better than the rest."
"No need to get so nervous. I was just asking the question."
Thrand sat upright, shocked he had appeared nervous. Kolbyr swept his pile of silver to the table edge and then back into the pouch. Thrand scanned his cramped house, a wreck of disorganization and half-broken relics of an old life. He had fought for Nye Grenner, fought for its people and its jarl, and sacrificed his own brother in its service. Now he was alone, and Jarl Ulfrik would rather he not live here at all.
Kolbyr's pile of silver was not much larger than his own. But had Kolbyr made the same sacrifices? Had he lost family, given up his life in service? Of course he had not, and Thrand felt his stomach tighten at the thought. All he had offered up, all he had lost, and he received maybe three or four scraps of silver more than a man who had not even nicked his skin in service to the same lord. Thrand did not consider himself a great thinker, but this did not make sense to him. If treasure was tight, then Kolbyr should have received much less.
"How can he hoard more?" The question slipped out of Thrand's mouth before he could consider it. "We all saw what was taken."
"I mean, could he have more treasure from before that he's not sharing? The man is holding out, is my guess. B
ut like you said, all jarls do." Kolbyr stood, staggered a few steps, then belched. "I'll be going."
Thrand remained at the table, his fists clenched and his mouth pulled down. Kolbyr pushed past him, bumping through the sheep to the door. When it creaked open, Thrand called him to stop.
"What if Lord Ulfrik is holding out? Do you think you deserve more?"
Staring ahead into the stone bowl of the oil lamp. The grass wick began to gutter against the decreasing oil. A sheep bleated into the silence.
"Maybe I do," Kolbyr admitted. "I came here to get rich. Isn't that why you followed Ulfrik, too?"
Thrand let Kolbyr exit, but did not move to bar the door. He slouched over the table, fists clenched, frown deepening, and the light of his lamp burning out.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Hold it strong," Ulfrik said. Though Gunnar stood taller than other boys his age, he still vanished behind the round wooden shield he braced before him. Ulfrik could no longer afford the luxury of creating a shield in a boy's scale, not with the scarcity of wood. So Gunnar practiced with a grown man's shield.
Ulfrik watched his son dig in his heels and drop his waist. Snorri worked next to him, tugging him down farther and kicking Gunnar's feet wider. "That's more like it, lad. Make yourself a rock by pushing yourself into the earth. Protect yourself and the man at your side and the man behind you will hold you up. That's how the shield wall works."
Gunnar nodded understanding. At nine years, he was already training to be a warrior. Many more years would pass before he could stand in a shield wall, but Ulfrik knew the value of a long apprenticeship. For more than any other reason, he wanted Snorri to pass on his wisdom directly to the next generation. Ulfrik guessed Gunnar would be his only son to learn from the old breed, men who understood glory and honor, men like Snorri and Ulfrik's father. Hakon's illness would prevent him from standing in a shield wall, and the pain of that thought bit at Ulfrik's mind as he watched Gunnar preparing.
Clouds scudded past, carried by the wind, and the scent of Runa's cooking blew across his nose. In the distance, people wandered among buildings attending their daily chores. The happy scene should have raised Ulfrik's spirit, but instead he waited for Snorri to finish his instruction, feeling disheartened. No matter how he tried to distract himself, in idle moments his thoughts wrapped around the seidkona's derision and the worries of coming winter.
"We're ready," Snorri called across the brief distance. Hunkering behind Gunnar, he placed his hands on his back. Gunnar peered out from behind his shield.
"Let's hear your war voice," Ulfrik said as he prepared himself for the run. "Your grandfather was called the Bellower, so do him honor. A strong war shout can stop a man as good as a shield wall."
Gunnar lowered his shield and screeched his war cry. Ulfrik suppressed his laugh, and noticed people in the distance glance toward them. The shrill sound needed age to deepen and fill it out.
"Come get us, you goat turd!" Snorri added his own challenge. "Or go back to sucking your mother's tits!"
Galvanized by Snorri's taunt, he started his jog. Gunnar fearfully snapped behind his shield, and both Ulfrik and Snorri trembled at restraining their laughter. He gained speed as he approached Gunnar, then pulling before him, Ulfrik hopped up and slammed his foot on Gunnar's shield.
His son grunted and shoved into the blow, but the force drove him to the ground and Snorri stumbled backward. Catching his foot on something, he collapsed as well. Now Ulfrik's laughter exploded. "Easiest battle I ever fought, one kick to breach a shield wall."
Snorri rolled on the grass laughing, while Gunnar threw his shield aside. "Not fair! You didn't give me time to brace."
"Any more time and Snorri would've died of old age. Now stand up and we'll try again."
Gunnar sprang to his feet and retrieved his shield. Then Ulfrik heard his name shouted in the distance. His stomach tightened, and he shared a worried glance with Snorri who still sat in the grass. He faced the caller.
Running across the field, a man waved his arms overhead and shouted. As he neared, Ulfrik recognized him as Darby, a shepherd for his flock. "Lord Ulfrik, raiders! Raiders!"
"Gunnar, raise the alarm at the hall." Ulfrik removed the shield from his son's grip, who looked up at him with wide eyes. "Run, now!"
Ulfrik ran to close the gap with Darby, Snorri following fast behind. As they met, he saw Darby's face and shirt smeared with blood. A quick glance across the horizon revealed no smoke or other sign of destruction.
"Raiders," Darby said, stumbling the final distance. He leaned on his knees, fat drops of blood running from his head and plopping to the grass. "They stole your flock, about two-thirds of it."
"Are they headed over land or sailing away?" Ulfrik grabbed Darby's shoulders, then lifted his face to examine the wound. He had been gashed above his left brow. "Did you fight them?"
"No, lord," Darby's eyes fell aside. "Too many, and they struck me in the head. I was dazed for a long while. They must've thought me dead."
"Better you didn't fight, lad," Snorri said, patting Darby's shoulder. "You did well to warn us."
"Have they just gone? We could catch them, if we are swift."
"I ran as fast as I could, lord. They know the land, using the paths up the northern cliffs. It will take time to herd the sheep down to their ship. You could catch them still."
Ulfrik ran for the hall without another word. A blaring horn told him Gunnar had fulfilled his task. The paths along the northern cliffs were steep and treacherous, and hidden from anyone who did not already know where to search. This meant he had time to intercept them at sea, and also meant the raiders were locals. Hit and run foreign pirates would not bypass an unsuspecting village to steal sheep from pastureland. His northern enemies had come to pick at his weakness.
Outside the hall, men already fell into place, dragging shield and spear in their rush to meet the threat. Runa waited outside the hall door with Gunnar, her face a tense picture of fear. She reached for Ulfrik as he neared, as if touching him would dismiss the threat. "What's happening? Gunnar said raiders are coming."
Pausing only long enough to offer Runa a reassuring squeeze, he moved for his men. "Gunnar, fetch my sword and shield. You men, listen! My flocks have been raided, through the north cliff paths. So it's our shit-eating neighbors come to fatten their stores for winter and empty ours."
Angry shouts met his announcement. As Snorri fell in beside him, Ulfrik handed him the wooden shield he had carried from practice. "Darby said they might still be near. So get to the ship and catch these bastards!"
Gunnar emerged, shield and sword wrapped in his arms. Ulfrik accepted these, and nodded at Gunnar. "Go to your mother."
"I want to go with you."
"Go to your mother and protect your brother. Hakon needs you." He had no time to waste on Gunnar's protest or Runa's worry, but bounded downslope with his men. Fortunately, Raven's Talon still sat at dock and had not been carried into the boathouse for winter. The fastest men were already loosening her moorings and preparing to sail. Streaking down the slope, he dashed across the dock and leapt the rails.
Snorri barely made it aboard as the ship slipped free, men using oars to launch the ship. "Gods, lad! Did you plan on leaving me?"
Ulfrik ignored him, straining his eyes along the horizon. He guessed his thieves were relatives of his old enemy, Hardar. His cousins had slipped back north after Ulfrik's victory, but had returned often enough to be a continual threat. The raiders would have to sneak from the fjord and take a northern route along the cliffs. Ulfrik only had to follow, and if the gods loved him he could catch the raiders as they passed out of the fjord.
Men rowed as hard as they dared, conserving strength for the fight they anticipated. Though the stolen sheep belonged to Ulfrik, reduction of flocks hurt them all equally. The sheep were more valuable than jewels and gold, especially in winter.
The wind fought them, but Ulfrik roared into it as if he could blow it back. He threatened, curse
d, and cajoled every back at the oars. Even Snorri rowed, muscles bulging as if he were a man twenty years younger. No one wanted the raiders to escape.
"Ship ahead!" someone shouted. Ulfrik craned to see beyond the prow, spying a wide ship in the gray distance. Over the wind and the slash and spray of the sea, he heard the bleating of captured sheep.
"Row harder, men! It's a fat ship, slower than ours. Keep at it, and bring me to those scum!"
The ship was an impractical choice for a hit and run raid, though Ulfrik understood the need for size to hold his flock. Their mistake had been in not killing Darby, for now they would be caught. Ulfrik bit his lower lip in anticipation of capturing the ship and throwing its crew into the sea.
Waves pressed both ships toward the cliffs and rocks, making progress arduous and dangerous. Both sides knew the waters, and where the major threats lay. Along the route, the looming brown cliffs were cut with deep crevasses and inlets. Waves crashed and jetted spray into the air with thunderous roars. One such inlet lay ahead, though rocks made a wave-break before it. Almost the same moment Ulfrik cast his eyes at the dark purple slit in the cliffs, a thin knife of a ship launched out of it.
He slammed on the tiller, forcing a groan from the hull as Raven's Talon strained to bank away from the second ship.
"Ambush!" he yelled. "Get down!"
Swearing as he collapsed to the deck, first he heard arrows plunking into the planking then heard a howl as a shaft found flesh. Covering his head with both hands, his world darkened as the arrows fell. Being attuned to his ship, he sensed the current take command of its course. Even as arrows streaked across the gap, he leapt up to seize the tiller and steer against the waves ceaselessly forcing them to the cliffs.
Men huddled against the gunwales, sheltering from the arrows. One man squirmed on the deck, curled against his pain and gripping his pierced shoulder. Blood smeared the deck beneath him.
Banners of the Northmen Page 3
