The Road to Vengeance

by Judson Roberts

  “If my father will not pay a ransom?” she whispered. “Does your captain intend to demand so much that my father will not pay?”

  That was a possibility I had not thought of. “I am certain your father will buy your freedom,” I assured her.

  “What will become of me if he does not?” she asked and looked at me with frightened eyes. “What will you do? What will your captain do?”

  I should have kept my mouth shut. “I have told Jarl Hastein I will not sell you,” I told her.

  “But he is your captain.”

  “You are my prisoner, not his. Your fate is for me to decide.” Me, and the Norns.

  The Gull headed upstream from Ruda while shreds of early morning mist still drifted over the river. An extra passenger I had not expected—Ragnar—was aboard. We rowed hard. Hastein rotated extra crewmen at the oars throughout the day, giving us all periods of rest in turn, while keeping the ship surging steadily ahead.

  “Bend your backs, my men,” he directed us. “It is good for you. We have been idle too long. And Ragnar and I wish to see how swiftly our ships can travel up this river.”

  We saw the first signs of the Frankish army at midday. A ten-man cavalry patrol, its riders silhouetted against the sky across the crest of a hill overlooking the river, sat motionless on their horses. They watched as the Gull passed below them. A single rider turned and rode away while the rest shadowed us as we continued upriver.

  “They want us to know they are there,” Tore said, staring at them over his shoulder as he pulled on his oar. “They want us to know they are watching.”

  As the afternoon wore on, more riders joined the initial patrol, and others took up the pursuit along the opposite bank, until at least thirty mounted warriors followed our passage along each side of the river. Hastein smiled grimly as he watched them, but said nothing. I wondered why he did not stop and deliver our messages to the Franks now.

  We anchored for the night in the middle of the river and continued on upstream early the next morning. In mid-afternoon, as the Gull rounded yet another bend in the river, Hastein called out from the bow, where he and Ragnar had been standing most of the day. “Torvald, there is an island ahead. Slow the pace and take us along its north side.”

  It proved to be two islands, separated by a narrow channel. A small village was situated back from the river’s north bank, just upstream from the gap between the islands. Flocks of sheep grazed along the grassy slopes of a curving ridge that overlooked the village. At the sight of our ship, the frightened shepherds keeping watch over them drove their charges toward the tree line just below the ridge’s crest.

  The thirty or so Frankish cavalrymen who’d been following the progress of the Gull on this side of the river since yesterday rode closer to the riverbank and formed a line between us and the village, ready to fight if necessary.

  “Torvald, hold the ship steady here. Halfdan, come forward to the bow,” Hastein called. At Torvald’s command, the rowers switched to a slow stroke, just enough to maintain the ship’s position in the sluggish current. I relinquished my oar to another member of the crew and joined Hastein and Ragnar in the bow.

  Hastein was tying a large square of white linen to the shaft of a spear. It looked as though it might have been cut from a woman’s under-gown. When he finished, he raised the makeshift flag overhead and began waving it back and forth.

  “Call out to them,” he commanded. “Tell them I wish to speak with the officer who leads them.”

  “Halloo!” I called in Latin to the watching Franks. “Our captain wishes to speak with the officer who commands you.”

  A rider in the center of the line with a red pennant attached to the end of his long spear rode forward almost to the water’s edge. His shield was raised in front of him, and he watched us warily over its top rim.

  “I command these men,” he said. “What is it that you wish?”

  Hastein gave me his instructions in a low voice, and I called across the narrow stretch of water separating the ship from the bank.

  “We have messages from captives who are being held by our army. They concern terms for their release. May we land and deliver the messages to you? We give our word that this day, we have come in peace.”

  “Your ship may pull in to shore,” the Frank said. “But only one man may disembark.”

  I looked at Hastein. He nodded. “You shall go,” he said. “I will tell you what to say.”

  While Torvald swung the ship in against the shore, Hastein explained what he wished me to tell the Frank, and gave me the parchment messages to deliver. As soon as he was done, I trotted aft and retrieved my helm, sword and small-axe from my sea chest. Like the other members of the crew, I was already wearing my mail brynie. Tore unlashed my shield from the shield rack along the ship’s side and handed it to me.

  “Stay close to the river’s edge,” he told me as I headed back toward the front of the ship. “Odd and I will cover you with our bows.”

  The Frankish officer had withdrawn a short distance from the water’s edge and sat waiting atop his horse there with an impatient expression on his face. His men remained arrayed in a line behind him, less than a bowshot away. Before I climbed down from the ship to the bank, I called to him.

  “I am ready to come ashore. Do I have your word that I may do so safely?”

  “You have my word,” he said. Tore and Odd appeared behind me, both carrying strung bows. “And have I yours, that your men will not attack me?”

  “So long as you honor your promise of peace, we will honor ours,” I told him.

  I approached him cautiously, watching his eyes and his hands as I did. He held his shield so it covered him from chin to thigh, and had turned his horse at an angle so I was facing his protected side. He held his spear upright in his right hand, and stared at me with a haughty expression on his face. When I was just three paces away, he flipped the spear suddenly in his hand, so its sharpened head was pointed down. I crouched and swung my shield higher in front of me when he did.

  The Frank gave an unpleasant laugh. “Do not be afraid, Northman,” he said. “I gave you my word you will be safe.” He stabbed the spear’s point into the ground so its shaft stood upright beside him, then released it and held his now-empty hand out toward me. “Where are the messages you spoke of?”

  I pulled the folded parchments from where I’d tucked them in my belt and extended them up to him. He stared into my eyes for a moment with a gaze he seemed to think was fierce and intimidating, then snatched the papers from my hand.

  “There are three,” I explained. “One was written by the Bishop of Ruda—of Rouen—and concerns the priests we have captured, and your temples and monasteries. Can you see that it is delivered to the high priests of your church?”

  The Frank nodded. “I will give it to my commander. He will see that all of the messages reach whomever they need to,” he said.

  “The second message is a list of all other prisoners we hold,” I continued. “We are giving it to you so your leaders can decide if they wish to pay ransom to free any of these folk.” Hastein had explained to me that he had directed Cullain to prepare this list. Those named on it were mostly soldiers and a few lesser members of the nobility we had taken at Ruda or in raids on villas in the countryside. “They may have no one who is willing to pay for their release,” he’d said. “But we will try.”

  “The last parchment,” I continued, “was written by the daughter of one of your leaders, Count Robert. Her name is Genevieve.”

  The Frank’s eyes flared and he sucked in his breath with a low gasp. “I know the lady’s name, Northman,” he growled. “She is my sister. My name is Drogo. I am the eldest son of Count Robert.”

  “Then you and your father will be glad to receive her message and learn that she is well,” I told him.

  “Do not presume, Northman, to tell me of my own feelings, or those of my father.” He unfolded each of the three parchments in turn and scanned them quickly until he i
dentified the letter written by Genevieve, which he read completely. When his face turned a dark, angry red, I suspected he had just read the threat Hastein had insisted be included in Genevieve’s message.

  “There is no ransom specified in my sister’s letter,” he said.

  “Nor in the other messages,” I added. “The amounts of the ransoms are to be negotiated. Our army’s leaders wish to meet with your father, Count Robert, the high priests of your church, and any other of your leaders with authority to agree on terms. Ten days hence, your leaders should come prepared to negotiate and prepared to pay. They will need to bring silver. Much silver. After the amounts of the ransoms have been agreed upon and paid, we will release our prisoners to you.”

  “And until then? The prisoners?”

  “They will remain safe in Ruda—in Rouen—until then.”

  “Ten days hence? That is not much time to secure enough silver to pay ransoms for so many.”

  “Yours is a rich land, and a rich people,” I replied. “I am sure you will manage.” Hastein was certain they could, at any rate.

  “When and where,” the Frank asked, “do your leaders wish to meet for this negotiation?”

  “Downstream from here,” I told the Frank. “Earlier this day, our ship passed a point where a long, straight stretch of the river ended. Do you know the place I speak of?” The Seine so rarely ran straight, Hastein thought it should be an easy place to identify. He was right.

  The Frank nodded. “I know it.”

  “In the first bend of the river, just upstream from that straight run, there is an island. On the river’s north bank, opposite the island, the land is low and flat and mostly open. Ten days from now we will come to that island with five ships. Our ships, the warriors they carry, and the prisoners will all remain on the island during the negotiations—unless there is treachery, that is. Then you can be assured our warriors will cross to the shore. We will land just five men on the north bank, opposite the island. They will be the leaders of our army, and me. I will be there to speak for them.”

  “Ah yes,” the Frank said, with a sneer. “You will translate for your leaders. It is quite amazing to see a Northman who speaks the language of civilized men. Your own tongue sounds like the growling of dogs. Which, all things considered, is appropriate.”

  Ignoring his insult, I continued.

  “We will meet and parley at the water’s edge. No more than five of your leaders shall come. The rest of your men—however many your leaders choose to bring—must remain at a distance. None of the ten who meet to parley—Frank or Dane—shall wear armor or bear weapons of any kind.”

  “I will deliver your message,” the Frank said. “We will be there. And I suppose that after we have paid the ransoms to free your prisoners, you will all flee down the Seine to the sea, and sail back to the dung heap you came from? You Northmen are fierce when you attack farmers and undefended villages and priests. But you will not stand and fight against our army, will you? That is not to your liking.”

  This Frank was someone I could enjoy killing. “I was not aware,” I told him, “that the walls of Ruda were defended by farmers and priests. The Franks I killed, when our army took the town, all bore arms and wore armor, and looked to be warriors. Though in truth, judging from the way they fought, perhaps they were not. And their leader certainly fled the town without a fight. He, too, was a count, like your father. Perhaps he is of your family?”

  The Frank jerked his spear free from the ground and began backing his horse away. “Get back to your ship, Northman,” he barked. “You have delivered your messages. I see no reason to allow you to remain upon our soil any longer.”

  I inclined my head in a mocking bow—keeping my eyes on the Frank the entire time—and began backing away. After a few steps I turned, showing him my back—all the while hoping that Tore and Odd would keep it safe—and began walking toward the ship.

  Suddenly the Frank spurred his horse forward. At the sound, I spun, raising my shield as I did, and reached for my sword’s hilt. From the corner of my eye I saw Tore and Odd raise their bows.

  The Frank pulled his horse up less than a pace away. I had to step back to avoid being knocked aside by its shoulder. “The sword you wear, Northman,” he demanded, “how came you by it?”

  “I took it from a Frank I killed,” I answered. “I took this mail brynie from him, too. They suit me well, and he was not man enough to keep them. I suspect you know whom I speak of. Your sister told me his name was Leonidas.”

  “I will remember you, Northman,” the Frank said. “And God willing, someday I will kill you.”

  4 : Old Enemies and New Friends

  By the time I walked again down the narrow street leading to Wulf’s house in Ruda, it was the afternoon of the fourth day since we’d departed the town. Hastein had set a more leisurely pace on our return journey, but we still made good time, for we were traveling with the current rather than rowing against it.

  The door to the house was closed, despite the fact that it was a warm, pleasant spring day. As I approached, though, Wulf flung it open and stepped out to greet me.

  “I am glad you have returned,” he exclaimed. “Yesterday men were watching the house.”

  I was weary. Save for my brief encounter with Genevieve’s brother, I had not set foot on solid ground for four days. I pushed past him and carried my sea chest and gear over to the corner of the front room that I had made my own.

  “What are you saying?” I muttered distractedly as I set the chest holding my armor and weapons on the floor and leaned my bow and shield against the wall in the corner. Bertrada was standing beside the hearth, wringing her hands nervously. Genevieve and the children were not in sight, but I could hear her voice coming from the back room.

  “Two men,” Wulf explained. “They were in the street in front of the house yesterday.”

  There were often people in the street. I could not understand Wulf’s agitation. “Do you have any ale?” I asked without much hope.

  “One of them was the man who was here in my home the night Ruda was taken,” Wulf continued. “The man who left, before you killed the other one.”

  Now Wulf had my attention. “Do you mean Stenkil?” I asked.

  “I do not know his name,” Wulf answered. “But I am certain it was the man who was here that night and left. The one who came back the following morning with other men.”

  Surely Stenkil would not be so foolish as to ignore Ragnar’s warning and break the peace in Ruda. But why else would he have come back to Wulf’s home?

  “Did he try to come into your house?” I asked.

  Wulf shook his head.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  Again Wulf shook his head. “No,” he said. “He and the other man just stood in the street in front of the house, watching it and talking together. Bertrada noticed them first and called to me. I went to the door to see who they were. It was as if that was what they wished, for when I did—when they saw that I was looking back at them—the other man smiled and then they both walked away.”

  I frowned. This made no sense. “What did the other man look like?” I asked.

  “He was a big man, tall, with black hair and a black beard. He had a deep scar across his face from here to here,” Wulf said, waving his hand at angle across his own face. “And one of his eyes was solid white.”

  It is never a good thing when your enemies join forces against you. The man Wulf had described was Snorre, Toke’s second in command who had followed me here to Frankia. I was certain of it.

  I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily. “Do you have any ale?” I asked again, distractedly. Wulf nodded and spoke to Bertrada. She went into the back room carrying a cup. She returned a few moments later and handed it to me. I took a sip and realized this was a far better brew than the watery stuff she had served me previously. I suspected Hastein was right. If Wulf would hide his good ale, he probably had a secret store of silver hidden
somewhere, too.

  “You know the other man?” Wulf asked. No doubt the expression on my face when he had described Snorre to me had given that away.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I do. He is an enemy of mine. I have sworn to kill him, and he has sworn to kill me.”

  Genevieve stepped into view in the back room, holding Alise on her shoulder. The child’s eyes were closed. She stared at me for a moment, then turned and moved out of my sight again.

  “I do not think you need worry,” I told Wulf, speaking in Latin so Bertrada and Genevieve could understand, too. “These men’s quarrel is with me alone, not with you. And I do not believe they will dare break the peace while we are here in Ruda. Ragnar, our war-king, has forbidden it. You and your family are safe.”

  I said the words to comfort Wulf, not because I believed them. Snorre had aided Toke in the attack up on the Limfjord that had led to my brother’s death. They had not scrupled then about killing innocent women and children to accomplish their end.

  I hoped Snorre and Stenkil would not do anything foolish now. I did not wish to have to watch my back constantly while we were in Frankia. And if they should attack me and I survived, I did not wish to be brought before Ragnar once again for fighting other warriors in our army.

  Having put the baby down, Genevieve came out of the back room and sat across from me at the table. I noticed she was still wearing her soiled robe, rather than one of the gowns Hastein had given her.

  “Do you know anything more about my ransom?” she asked. “About when it will be paid, and when I will be freed?”

  “We merely delivered the written messages to a Frankish officer,” I explained. “But it has been agreed that there will be a parley between the leaders of our army and leaders of your people. Your father no doubt will be there. The ransoms for you and for all of the prisoners to be freed will be negotiated then. The parley will occur in eight days. That is when the ransoms, including yours, will be paid and you will be freed.” And that is when I shall be free of you—and a much wealthier man, I thought.