Banners of the Northmen

by Jerry Autieri

  With winter drawing nearer every day, the sun lingered in twilight. Despite the years spent here, she had never accustomed herself to the midnight sun of summer and the endless half-light of winter. A thin blue light filtered into the hall from the open smoke hole, combining with the hearth fire and oil lamps fluttering in their bowls around the hall. The fishy scent of the oil filled her nose, but would soon disappear after she accustomed to it. Rather than unpin her cloak, she gathered it at her neck and stared at the cleared section of the hall where the man she had rescued now lay by the wall.

  His bright yellow hair stood out against the dark wool blankets piled on him. Since his rescue he had shivered from the cold and slept night and day, crying out in his nightmares of a ship going down at sea. The heartfelt terror in his voice elicited Runa's sympathy. She had endured a storm at sea once, and she and Gunnar had nearly been washed overboard. It was that dreadful trip to find help for Ulfrik, where Toki had nearly been killed and Njall, Thrand's brother, had drowned. She shuddered and put the thought aside.

  Kneeling beside the man, she placed her cool hand on his forehead. Sweat moistened her palm and she smiled. "You are no longer cold, nor too hot. You are awake?"

  The man's hazel eyes blinked open and struggled to focus, but finally fixed on her. The swelling on his lip had decreased, but they had become as black as coal. Cuts and bruises marred his skin, and lumps disfigured the strong shape of his face. Yet Runa recognized the youthful handsomeness beneath the damage. Even in his disheveled state, he had the face of man accustomed to command. Something in the lines between his brows and the clean trim of his beard marked him for a leader. Forming a weak smile, he spoke in a hoarse voice.

  "My Valkyrie has come for me at last. I am thirsty."

  Runa smiled. He certainly was used to command, but she wanted him to understand who ruled this hall. "Wait a little longer. Drink may not be what you need yet. The healer must see you first and decide."

  He frowned, but it faded as if holding it consumed too much energy. "I am Konal Ketilsson, from Ireland. Your name is Runa?"

  "So Konal Ketilsson, you have been awake longer than we thought. And what else have you learned in that time?"

  "That you don't take me for an enemy, and your son Gunnar shares your kind heart."

  Runa stood, disliking the deception and the intimacy this man seemed to presume. She struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice, though she heard a rise in its pitch. "My son felt it was his duty to sit with you during your recovery. Tell me, Konal Ketilsson, where is your real home? Irish monks live in these islands, and they sound nothing like you."

  "I went to Ireland as a boy, but my family is from Rogaland in Norway." He raised his head slightly, his brow cocked. "Are you calling for the healer? I am thirsty."

  Folding her arms, she sighed. "Elin, bring a mug of water."

  After gulping the water, he lay back down and thanked Runa. "My ship was swamped at sea and overturned. A storm from nowhere overtook us. Two other ships sailed with mine. The winds blew us apart into the darkness. The gods sent me a broken section of deck, and I clung to it even as the splintered wood tore my hands. The water was terribly cold. So cold."

  Konal drifted into silence and closed his eyes. Runa relaxed her stance, imaging the dark waters foaming madly in the blackness. She had seen it herself, and dreaded the ocean ever since. Konal had suffered her worst fears, but Fate had spared him. She knelt to retrieve the mug. "Rest now, and don't think more on it. You are under a roof now."

  "The gods may have allowed me life, but in my sleep they show me the faces of my crew and fill my dreams with their screams. I wonder if rest will ever be possible again."

  Patting his shoulder gently, she stood up. "I have seen my share of terrors, and can tell you the horror fades. The gods will eventually tire of tormenting your sleep."

  "There are no men in this hall." His eyes flicked open, so sudden and accusatory that Runa put a hand to her neck in surprise.

  "My husband is the jarl, and took the men on raids." Recovering from the surprise of his keen observation, she straightened herself and forced confidence into the volume of her voice. "They will return soon."

  Konal stared at her, a slight smile on his blackened lips confusing Runa. Did he suspect the lie? She began to leave, but he called her name again.

  "Your husband left his sax with you, and you wear it always. I fear the gods have placed me in a different kind of stormy sea."

  "You've a lot of questions for a man who should be asking little and thanking more. Have you never seen a woman wear a sword before?" He shook his head. "Then get used to it; I won't be removing it."

  Averting his eyes, he swallowed. "I apologize. I behave like an ungrateful child."

  "You behave like a man who has no trust in the people who saved his life."

  Konal's bruised face reddened, but his smile remained undiminished. Runa understood his mistrust, yet his openness of it bordered on arrogance.

  "I have seen men saved only to be taken into slavery."

  "And you would be trussed up by now had that been my desire."

  Elin stumbled and pushed a bench over. The sudden crash made Runa and Konal jump. She recovered and apologized to both before returning to her work hauling empty casks outside to be returned to storage. Konal and Runa exchanged glances and laughed.

  "Please sit with me a while longer. I've been on my back for days and want to sit up. Besides, I wish to amend my ill manners, and tell you more of my circumstances."

  Drawing a bench to his side, she sat while Konal struggled to prop himself against the wall. Despite his pain, Runa allowed him to rise on his own. He had a face that did not hide danger, but she did not trust him enough to get too near. After several moments of adjusting position, he settled in and licked his lips. Runa called Elin for more water, which she delivered.

  "My brother's name is Kell and he is my twin. See me and you see him. My sister's husband, Hrut, traveled with us from Ireland. We each commanded a ship with forty-man crews."

  "Large ships," Runa said, adjusting the sax across her lap so it hung at her side. "You are wealthy, then?"

  "My father is wealthy, and he is generous with his sons." He winked, but Runa held her expression flat. Clearing his throat, he continued. "In the storm that wrecked me, even ships so large were like the dry twigs fed to your hearth. Thor saw us on the water, and his anger was fierce. From nowhere clouds gathered and winds roared. You know what happened then."

  Runa nodded. As Konal recounted the storm, he seemed to be looking inside himself, seeing the disaster repeat. How well she knew that torment, though Konal had not told her more than she already knew. "Where were you sailing and why were you risking these waters during the start of winter? You must know Thor detests our winters and rages unexpectedly."

  He shrugged, then sucked his breath as he reacted to a pain in his side. "We were sailing for home, for the reasons you stated. No one wants to be at sea during the winter in these waters."

  "You are in the Faereyar Islands. Did you know that?" Konal paused, a moment of shock showing on his face. "Why would you be here?"

  "Our route took us past these islands, but the storm must have pushed me farther north to your land." He rubbed his side again and fell silent.

  "Konal Ketilsson, you want me to trust you but you fail to answer my questions. Why are you in these waters? Only traders or pirates come this far north. Which are you?"

  He laughed, but his smile faded when he saw Runa did not share the humor. "Some of my father's men had betrayed him and stolen an item of great value. We learned these men had fled to Norway and hunted them there. But we found their hall burned and all the men slain."

  Heat spread through Runa's guts and her breath caught. Konal stared ahead and did not notice her shift in mood. She tried to smooth her voice as she spoke. "And I suppose your treasure was nowhere to be found?" He nodded. "What was the treasure?"

  "A slave," Konal said absently
. He appeared to grow tired and he shimmied down until he lay flat on the floor. "I am more tired than I thought. You were right; I need more rest."

  "Do you think the slave was killed and you did not find him?"

  "No, a battle had taken place and footprints were left behind. Some other raiders got to them and sailed off. I doubt we can find the slave again, though my father will want us to continue the search."

  "That's much effort for a slave."

  Konal grunted and closed his eyes. "My brother is alive. I feel his life as he must feel my own. So he will search for me, and find me. Then the hunt for our treasure will start anew. Forgive me, but recounting all of this has tired me."

  "Then rest," she stood, pushing the bench back to the table. "Your brother would be a fool to seek you in winter, not unless Thor loves him above all others. You will be well cared for while you wait for him."

  Konal chuckled at the joke. "The gods would not love my brother more than me. Thank you for your kindness. I owe my life to you, and will repay you. For now, I fear I can only be a burden."

  Runa left him to his sleep, excusing herself from the hall to see what delayed Gunnar's return. Outside in the cold air of the twilight sky, she thought of Humbert with Ulfrik and a strange sensation of joy and dread overcame her. "Be careful, Husband," she muttered. "The gods are at play with you once more."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  November 27, 885 C.E

  Ulfrik had covered the decks of his ships with their sails, forming a makeshift tent. The sun appeared as a bright spot of yellow as it peeked through the clouds. Beneath the sailcloth, the air was rank with blood and sweat. Ulfrik sat on the deck, still in his mail from the day before. A bit of broken arrow shaft remained snared in the sleeve of his mail. Toki stirred beside him, having slept the night unlike Ulfrik. The wounded moaned, and though the sailcloth muted their voices, to Ulfrik each groan was like a shout. He had led these men on a pointless charge with no chance of glory or dignity in death. Instead, they were pounded with stones, pierced with arrows, or shoved off walls.

  "Is it morning so soon?" Toki murmured, then yelped at the pain in his leg. "Gods, that's painful."

  "I'm not sure it's broken," Ulfrik offered him. "At least it will keep you from scaling that wall again today."

  Toki lay quiet, and Ulfrik glanced at him. His gaze was far away, and doubtlessly his mind's eye replayed the horrors of the day before. Ulfrik could not close his own eyes without seeing two men explode like barrels of ale dropped from a wall.

  "How many did we lose?" Toki's voice was small, fearful.

  "Nearly half."

  "Dead?"

  "Many dead, others wish they were. There are still men at the foot of the walls." Ulfrik lowered his head and closed his eyes. Screams echoed in his mind, and he saw the ladder falling straight down with his men clinging to it. "As soon as I can, I will lead a group to find our people. They don't deserve to lie alone out there, unremembered."

  "Snorri is alive?"

  "He carried you away. You don't remember?" Toki shook his head. "It's a blessing you don't remember. Rest a while longer. I've been waiting for you to awaken, to be sure you would. Now I must see Hrolf and learn what happens next."

  Ulfrik scrabbled away, but stopped short by the mast where Humbert was bound. Their eyes met, and a smile flickered on Humbert's lips.

  "Master now understands, yes? Paris is strong. Release Humbert and let him show the secret way before you are killed. A cross of gold as thick as master's leg is hidden not far."

  "Can an army fit through your secret way?" He stared at the slave, and his eyes faltered. Ulfrik snorted at it. "I thought not. I lost half my men yesterday, and I don't know if I have enough left to help you get revenge."

  "The bishop is an old man." Humbert strained against his bonds, emphasizing his words. "Master will kill him easily. Only you need to go."

  "Joscelin fought beside the men on the wall. He will die there, and not likely from my hand. So instead you will trade your secret gold as the price of your freedom. You tell me where it is, and you will be free after I retrieve it. Until then, I will let you off this mast only to eat and shit, but for nothing else." Ulfrik pushed his face into Humbert's, whose smile had vanished. "You better pray I find your gold as thick as my leg. I led good men to their deaths on your promise of wealth. If it's a lie, you will suffer before I send you to your god."

  Without waiting for Humbert's response, he ducked out of the covered ship and into the shallows. The cold water braced him as he sloshed ashore where men were already gathering. The noise of their activity had not ceased all night, and now he saw their handiwork. A giant tower of wood, shielded with leather covers and wooden scaffolding, sat on a base of four wheels next to the catapults. The height was staggering, for it seemed at least as tall as the tower.

  Snorri, Einar, Mord, and Gunther were also admiring the colossal construction. A fire began to fill Ulfrik's belly, and a stream of curses flowed out of him. He drew the attention of his friends, and Gunther called out to him.

  "That's right! We're going to give it to them now that we've got our tower."

  "Now? What about yesterday? We had this fucking beast and didn't use it? Are our lives worth less than a tower of wood?"

  "Sigfrid doesn't like to wait." The voice came from behind, and all wheeled to find Hrolf approaching with two bodyguards flanking him. He wore a bent smile and his deep voice rasped with annoyance. "With so many bodies to throw at the Franks, why wait to build a siege tower?"

  For a moment Ulfrik was appalled, then realized the irony. "Does Sigfrid know what he's doing? We can't repeat yesterday's failure."

  "No, we cannot." Hrolf stopped, nodded to the others, then held open his arms to Ulfrik. "Thanks to you I survived it. Again you have snatched me away from death. My gratitude is endless. Come."

  He gestured that Ulfrik should embrace him. A quick look to his friends revealed Gunther studying his feet while Snorri and Einar beamed. Stepping into Hrolf's embrace, the giant jarl crushed him tightly and slapped his back. A faint stench of vomit emanated from his clothing, probably from all the heaving Hrolf must have suffered after being struck on the head. He pulled back, releasing Ulfrik to fresher air.

  "I know who you are now."

  "Lord?"

  "You are the one the gods have sent to protect me. No one has ever done so much to ensure my life, even while other men fled the field." Ulfrik noted a barely perceptible turn of Hrolf's head toward Gunther. From the periphery of his vision, Ulfrik saw him shift in embarrassment. "It is my fate to achieve greatness, so the futhark have shown me. Each time I have thrown those rune sticks it is the same. There is always the sword of the gods crossing me, protecting me from harm. That sword is you."

  Ulfrik's mouth hung open, and words collided in his mind. He stammered out a lame protest. "It can hardly be me. I live on an island at the top of the world. I am no one, lord."

  "Which further proves to me you are the protecting sword of the gods. My life has been in true peril but a handful of times, yet twice you have been there to save me the final blow. There is no such thing as chance. Fate rules all."

  Exasperated, Ulfrik had no words. He searched for support, but only Mord spoke. "You are a great leader, jarl Ulfrik. I am honored to serve you."

  "Listen to the boy," Hrolf said with a chuckle. "You are a great leader, and I reward greatness. One is for your bravery in holding out to the last, the other is for saving my life." He reached to his arm, searching beneath the sleeve of his mail, then pulled free two gold armbands. One was a plain band while the other was crafted to resemble a serpent biting its tail. Holding them forward, an errant ray of morning sun blazed off the serpent's head. "You will be rich in my service."

  Ulfrik accepted them into his hands like they were delicate pottery. Still warm from Hrolf's arm, he fitted one to each of his biceps as his friends watched. Emotions long held back gurgled up inside. The wealth he desired, the glory, the honor he broug
ht to his family and men were to be found here in Frankia. Even without Humbert's gold, this adventure would allow him to provide a better life for all his people. Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear Hrolf's first words.

  "Are you listening? I said that I name you Hersir. When we are finished here, you will hold part of my lands and the jarls there will be sworn to you."

  "Hersir?" Ulfrik's face warmed at his inarticulate response. Fortunately, Hrolf roared laughter and slapped him on the shoulder.

  "It's much to absorb, and there are details to work out. But for now you have one important duty, and that is to be at my side in battle. Remain with me at all times."

  "As you say, lord." He spoke the promise even as he understood Nye Grenner was now finished. The people would follow him, and benefit from his future wealth and power. However, his simple acceptance of Hrolf's terms had shattered his independence.

  "There are many men without lords after yesterday. I will be sending some to you. You will lead these men in battle today, and those who survive can choose to serve you or find a different lord. In any case, there is much to do yet. I will summon you before the assault so we can discuss strategy." Hrolf gathered his bodyguard and strode off toward the men gathering around Sigfrid's standard flying in the distance. Ulfrik watched him go.

  "Congratulations," Gunther patted Ulfrik's shoulder, though his voice was flat and expression dull. "I told you joining us was the right thing for you. Fate is at work."

  Ulfrik nodded, then met Gunther's eye in surprise. He understood now that the two of them were of equal rank, or at least much closer. Gunther had shamed himself for fleeing, and now he suffered Hrolf's scorn. He wondered if Hrolf's generosity was not inspired by a desire to humble Gunther. Being a tool, even in a roundabout way, sullied the exhilaration Ulfrik experienced at his change in fortunes.

  As Gunther turned away, Snorri and Einar surrounded him, both speaking in a rush of praise. Mord, however, first tried to speak to his father, but was shoved away. He lingered a moment before joining the others.