Banners of the Northmen

by Jerry Autieri

  He spoke to her and stroked her hair, but the words made no sense. Again she would be defenseless and alone, and enemies would encircle her. Nye Grenner would look to her for strength where she had little, and protection where she could offer even less. Nothing could change this. Fate, the Three Norns, had woven their threads and created the pattern of her life.

  "When must you leave?" Her question was interjected with sniffles, and salty tears flowed over her lips. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his shirt. She placed her hand over it, wondering how long she had to feel it throb before he sailed off to find his destiny.

  "We have a month to make the journey. I've already given Gunther my word, and he sails today with our news. We go to Denmark first, to meet the main fleet. We will set out in two weeks."

  She nodded, and more tears pressed from her closed eyes. He rested his chin atop her head, and squeezed tighter. "I have not forgotten the treasure of my family, Wife. I do this for us. I promise to return by summer, and bring two hundred men at my back to finish off those northern turds. Do not fear."

  Runa shivered in the final throes of her sobs. Gunther's men continued to shout and laugh in the distance, and rain began to peck wetness onto her face as a new storm cloud floated overhead. She drew in a deep breath of salt air and the comforting scent of her husband. No matter what he said, she did fear. She feared to the core of her heart.

  Gunther's two ships already lurched and rocked on the foamy water of the fjord. Ulfrik faced the huge war leader, hard rocks of the beach poking his feet as if urging him away. Extending an arm to Gunther, the two men clasped arms. A sureness was set in Gunther's good eye, and his rough hand squeezed Ulfrik's forearm.

  "Was good to see you again, Ulfrik. I'll carry word to Hrolf, and he will be pleased that you've answered his call."

  Gulls screeched overhead as waves broke and hissed behind Gunther. Ulfrik smiled and returned the squeeze. The malty taste of ale guzzled in a final round of good-byes only an hour ago still clung to his mouth. Runa had left him more conflicted on his choice, and words fled him at this parting. He could still choose not to go, even after Gunther departed. No one would seek him out again, and his life would forever be tied to these islands.

  Withdrawing his arm, Gunther turned to his men and with a wave of his hand they started boarding his ship. The rest of Ulfrik's hirdmen had escorted their guests to the shore, and now stood in awkward silence behind him. Snorri spoke, filling the unseemly gap.

  "We'll meet you in Denmark, no worries for that. But Frankia better be all you've promised."

  Gunther put a hand over his gut and bent back in laughter. "I love to tell tales, old friend, but I promise you I've not exaggerated the riches. Christians are strong there, and where their priests go so goes the wealth. We'll peel back their city walls like scales off a salmon, and the flesh inside will be just as delicious. Believe me, even with one eye I can see that much!"

  Polite laughter met Gunther's claims, though he doubled over laughing at his own words. The gregariousness of such a fearsome warrior drew a smile to Ulfrik's face, and he shook his head to clear it.

  "Fair winds for you, One-Eye. We will drink together in Frankia, atop a pile of gold."

  "So we will, and that reminds me." He patted around his waist until he plucked a leather pouch from his belt. "I've been a poor guest. I drank your ale and ate your meat, but brought no gift. I am a shameful man, too focused on this adventure to remember my manners. Take this instead."

  He extended the pouch; brown and care-worn, it bulged with sharp points. Ulfrik knew it was packed with hack-silver and probably some gold. Gunther dangled it by its tie.

  "I did no more than the honor due you, One-Eye. Such generosity is unnecessary." He spoke the words but his eyes never left the pouch. He needed silver enough to practically taste its metallic tang. The bag twisted in the cold autumn breeze.

  "A guest must bring his host a gift, especially when he invites a hundred other friends along."

  Jiggling the pouch by the tie, Ulfrik still hesitated. The gift was one more bind to Gunther and Hrolf, one more knot tied in the connection. When he did not grasp it, Gunther seized his limp arm and yanked it out. He crushed the heavy pouch into Ulfrik's palm. Then he folded up Ulfrik's fingers, drawing close enough for his sweaty musk to fill Ulfrik's nose.

  "You hesitate when you should not." Gunther's voice was a low grumble. "This is a gift from me, for what I took during my stay. Nothing more. Take what I offer, and use it however you wish. Resupply for the winter; fix your armor; buy women for your crew."

  Men nearby laughed at Gunther's final comment as he stepped back. Ulfrik's face heated and he accepted the pouch. He glanced at Snorri and Toki, then to his other men. He glimpsed Runa as a dark shape lingering at the hall behind all of them.

  "Your generosity is almost as deep as your stomach. My thanks, One-Eye."

  Gunther roared laughter again, then turned to join his men as they pushed his ship out to sea. His hair flowed over the gray wolf pelt draping his shoulders as he trudged into the surf. Men helped him aboard, and he returned to the rails to shout over the breaking waves.

  "We meet one month hence. Toki knows the way. Gods keep your hall safe."

  Ulfrik raised his fist, and Gunther returned the sign of strength. He and his men watched the three ships gather and then steer east out of the fjord for the open sea. His own ships would soon follow the same path.

  "You won't break your word," Toki's statement sounded like a question to Ulfrik.

  "Of course not. The gods are with us. We will return before summer, our hulls brimming with treasure."

  Gunther's ships faded to smudges in the misty horizon. Ulfrik turned to regard his crew, but everyone had drifted back toward the hall leaving him alone at the edge of the surf.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rain battered Thrand's house, and distant thunder rattled the walls. Water spattered onto the floor and furniture from a dozen spots in the roof. The smoke hole cover sagged with gathering water, and a constant stream splashed into a bucket beneath it. The rainwater intensified the rank scent of the sheep packed inside the home. Thrand shouted at their constant bleating, and they clustered tightly at the center of the room. He had been watching the door, listening to the rain, and drinking sour ale from his horn. Finally, it broke open and Kolbyr tumbled in.

  The sheep spun in a circle, startled at the sudden entrance. Kolbyr huddled under a sealskin cloak, and as he tore it away gouts of rainwater dumped to the floor. Thrand laughed at his bedraggled friend.

  "You look like a drowned cat."

  "Where do these storms come from?" Kolbyr plopped his cloak over an empty stool, then wiped the water out of his face. "The night looked clear enough when I set out for your house."

  "Live here a while and you'll learn how fast storms appear. The gods hate this place, Kolbyr, and whenever they notice it they lash it with rain and lightning. Now, warm yourself with good ale." Thrand trained his clear eye on Kolbyr. The ale was the worst he had tasted in years, but he filled a mug for his guest and smacked his lips. "We've got much to discuss tonight, my only friend in this world."

  Kolbyr settled onto his stool, the oil lamp between them painted deep shadows into his face. He accepted the mug and tipped it into his mouth. He pulled it away with a grimace and swallowed hard. "Is it sheep piss?"

  "It'd taste better if it was, but it's not. Now drink up. We have to be quick."

  "You've got a woman sneaking out here in the rain, do you?"

  "With your pretty face, you'd be good enough. Now are you ready to listen or do you have more shit to drop from that hole under your nose?"

  Kolbyr flung his full mug onto Thrand's bed in the corner, then sneered at him. "Sleep in your sheep piss, if you love it so much. Now what have you called me out here to discuss?"

  Thrand dropped his head and scratched his scalp, fighting the urge to strike back at Kolbyr. Yet he needed help, and no one besides Kolbyr could offer i
t.

  "The bed is a nest of lice anyway. I'm better off on the floor." Thunder cracked close enough for the table to vibrate under Thrand's arms; the sheep panicked again but had nowhere to run but in a circle. "We sail for Frankia next week. What do you think of that?"

  "I hear it's warmer, and filled with beautiful women. We'll get to kill and loot the bastards until we're rich. Sounds great."

  "Sounds great until you consider we've heard this from Ulfrik before." He raised his head to regard Kolbyr. Confused lines drew over his face, and Thrand continued. "A few weeks ago, you were sitting on that stool and complaining about your poor share of spoils. Now you've got another one of Ulfrik's stories, and you're feeling great. Does that make sense?"

  "Don't it?" Thrand shrugged. "That one-eyed giant sailed into the fjord with an army and promised us riches if we followed him."

  "No! He promised Ulfrik riches, and he gifted Ulfrik with a bag of gold. I saw it myself!"

  "Which eye saw it?"

  "I'll pull your fucking eyes out, you turd, and teach you some manners!" Thrand squelched the impulse to fight by draining his horn and throwing it aside. "Now think again. Whatever you and I take in loot, he'll be sure to claim a share as his own, and whatever his lord awards him won't pass to our hands. But we'll be in the shield walls, our lives at risk just as his, even more so since no one will defend us if we stumble. Does that sound fair?"

  "It's that way everywhere," Kolbyr spread his hands wide. "It's a rare jarl who splits evenly with all. Never heard of one, actually."

  Thrand covered his face with both hands, the scent of dirt and sour ale trapped over his nose. Had he misunderstood Kolbyr's intentions, or was he being cautious? He let his hands fall to the table, the air cool and refreshing where he had covered himself. Rain continued to pelt the house, and the constant splash of water running out of the smoke hole made him feel like urinating.

  "Listen to me, Kolbyr; I've got a secret to share with you." Lightning flashed white through the cracks in the walls and openings, but thunder did not follow. "There's more happening during this adventure than you know. Ulfrik has a secret plan."

  Thunder finally pealed; a warm and distant growl of a retreating storm. Kolbyr sat straighter and leaned across the table. "I'll keep your secret, friend. You know I am trustworthy."

  Thrand smiled, but wondered at the self-proclaimed trustworthiness. Yet he had no one else. "You know that Frankish slave we captured, the priest? He claims to know of treasure hidden in Paris, and if we help him take revenge on his enemies then he'll lead us to it."

  "Why not cut off one finger at a time until he reveals the treasure and skip helping him?"

  "And it may come to that, but it's not the important part. The treasure is a huge cross of ancient gold, hidden in one of the Frank's holy places. Ulfrik plans to follow the slave into Paris, using secret paths, and to steal that cross without his lord knowing." Thrand held his breath, ensuring Kolbyr looked him in the eye. "Nor anyone else."

  Kolbyr leaned back, shadow flowing about his face like black water. The oil lamp guttered and the room twisted in long shadows. Dripping rain water filled the silence until Kolbyr spoke.

  "You're drunk, as usual. Just a moment ago you told me Ulfrik's plans were a waste of time and now you talk about a plot to steal treasure from Paris."

  "I thought the same as you, but Ander cast his rune sticks. The gods have shown us the truth. The slave's story is genuine and the gods favor us with its secret. Ulfrik swore ten of us to secrecy, his closest men. He only did that because he couldn't get the gold alone. Otherwise, he'd tell no one, not for all that treasure."

  "And you're betraying his secret to me for the same reason."

  Thrand stiffened, blinking at Kolbyr who sneered at him. His ale-loosened tongue gave a ready reply. "I underestimated you. You know what I'm asking of you?"

  Kolbyr nodded with a smirk. "But why don't you tell me, in case I'm mistaken. You're in Lord Ulfrik's inner circle, after all, and not me."

  "It's not a test," he said with more anger than intended, though it only made Kolbyr smile wider. "I'm offering you a chance at a treasure that your lord planned to hide from you. He won't even allow you to participate. Splitting it ten ways is hard enough for him, never mind among everyone."

  "And how will you get me into Lord Ulfrik's circle so that I can get a share?"

  "Let me be clearer. Ulfrik has failed me. On every count, total failure. My home collapses over my head. I call five sheep a flock. My brother gave his life so that Ulfrik and Toki could have everything they desired, while I got nothing but a share of pitiful treasure. Now he plans to enrich himself, and spend that treasure on building ships and weapons. And if I even live through this, I'll get an armband and a share not worthy of all I've done for the man.

  "You and I are going to relieve Ulfrik of that treasure. We will split the gold, and each of us will be free to go our own ways. No more will I follow a stingy and short-sighted lord. No more will I have to endure life in a barren land without women or people to call friends. That treasure, we will have it."

  His head throbbed from his anger, and Thrand's vision filled with images of Ulfrik laughing and drinking with his friends while he sat unwelcome in a corner. Swimming throughout were other thoughts, where Ulfrik wept for his brother and promised to honor him. Yet the memory vanished and he saw Ulfrik scowling and calling him a drunk. He shook his head. Once cleared, he again saw Kolbyr with arms folded across his chest.

  "Do you have a plan to get away with this? Before I agree, I want to know what I'm getting into."

  "Of course, the details aren't clear, but I have an idea. The two of us cannot do this alone, but no one will aid us from this place. There will be other jarls with their men at Paris. If we can cause trouble between one of them and Ulfrik, we will have a distraction. Then we either get the slave to take us to the treasure or use the distraction to steal off with it."

  "That's another way to tell me you're relying on luck."

  "Not at all! I cannot plan until I see the landscape. Right now I need to know you are with me on this." Thrand waited, his hand sliding beneath the table to grasp the cool, sharkskin-covered handle of the short sword he had laid against the table leg. The rough sharkskin bit into his grip, and he watched Kolbyr's eyes follow his hand down. If he declined, Thrand decided, he could not live.

  Thunder boomed in the distance, and the rain had decreased to a patter. Kolbyr held still, and Thrand's pulse throbbed in his grip. He tasted salty sweat rolling off his lip into his mouth.

  "Put your hand back on the table. I'm in."

  Thrand exhaled with a smile, letting go of his sword and reaching out to shake Kolbyr's hand. "Then we've decided. I knew I had not misjudged you."

  They shook, Thrand impressed at the strong grasp of his young partner. The relief was exuberant, though in his heart he knew Kolbyr would eventually try to kill him for a chance at all the gold. It was the way of such alliances, and Thrand expected he also understood it. For now, they were unified in purpose.

  "There's one final thing we should be clear about," Thrand said. "To be successful, we might have to kill Ulfrik."

  "If he fights, he will die."

  "No, I mean that our plans may be best served if we kill him in his sleep or at another time. You won't have trouble with that, will you?"

  "Not if we are getting all that gold for ourselves. I'll slit his throat myself."

  Both men laughed, and thunder rolled in the distance to seal their pact.

  CHAPTER NINE

  November, 885 CE

  "Finding Gunther among so many people will take all night." Ulfrik and his eighty warriors had waded ashore and now stood on a sandy beach at the meeting place designated a month ago. Locating the fjord had been simple, since Ulfrik guessed every longship in the circle of the world headed to the same place. He had only to follow the others.

  Toki plodded past him, drawing a deep breath through his nose. "Smell the pines? This
is Denmark, home!"

  "Smells like fish and sweat," Snorri quipped. "Gunther will be where the ale flows freest."

  Ulfrik shook his head and ordered his men to follow up the shallow slope. They hefted bags, folded tents, blankets, and war gear and trudged out of the cold wetness of the surf. The scene spreading before Ulfrik summoned memories of the markets in Kaupang. His father had taken him to trade in the market every summer, and each time he had marveled at the throngs of people, the strange languages and accents, the goods and money changing hands, the games and brawls in every corner. It was a spectacle to never be surpassed—until now.

  The fjord was choked with anchored ships, and the beaches were thick with dark hulled vessels of every size. The cloudless purple sky of twilight revealed an array of stars, mirrored by a pinpoint web of orange campfires and bonfires along the shore. Shadows of men formed clusters and lines that rippled and writhed in the firelight. Boisterous voices, laughter, shouts, off-key music, bleating sheep, and even the squeals of children rivaled the breaking waves for rhythm and volume.

  Thousands upon thousands of warriors and many more of their families camped here, and ships still slipped into the fjord as darkness pulled down to the jagged horizon of pine treetops. Surrendering to the futility of locating anyone in such a gathering, Ulfrik dropped his pack into the grass.

  "Let's set our camp here. Einar, take some men and find firewood. Toki, fly my standard and leave it for Gunther to find us."

  Their tasks assigned, Ulfrik settled to the grass and leaned on his pack. One of his men dragged Humbert forward, and roughly shoved him before Ulfrik. His ragged clothing was soaked from wading to the beach, but he had held his red cloak out of the water. Righting himself, casting a hateful glare at his handler, he gathered the dry cloak tighter.