Sigurd nodded, somewhat relieved. If Harald and Hrólfr were close, it wouldn’t matter that Sigurd’s enemies were across the sea. “Very good, Alaric,” Sigurd said, clasping the man’s hand. The man nodded, shaking his hand, and then made his way back up the ladder to the tower. Sigurd got back in the boat and they pushed away to continue upstream. As Sigurd approached the bow, Gabe asked him a question.
“We have to talk to Hrólfr,” Sigurd said. “He’s the local chieftain. The jarl.”
“Rolf?” Gabe said, mangling the pronunciation. He said something that Sigurd didn’t understand, ending his sentence with something that sounded like Rollo.
Sigurd frowned. “Göngu-Hrólfr,” he said, using the appellation by which Hrólfr was sometimes known.
Gabe nodded excitedly. He held his arms out at his sides, as if mimicking a very large man.
Sigurd’s brow furrowed. Did the foreigners somehow know of Hrólfr? Had they been to this area before? He nodded. “He’s a very big man. They call him Göngu—walker—because he’s too big for his horse.”
Gabe nodded and spoke briefly with the others, Reyes and O’Brien. Whatever Gabe told them, they didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm. This wasn’t the first time Sigurd had noticed Gabe getting excited over some detail about Norse politics that was of little interest to the others. It was as if he had visited this area once as a child, and was excited to find that some things were still as he remembered. But that couldn’t be it; Hrólfr had only ascended to his current position as ruler of the Seine Valley in the past few years.
Gabe turned to him again and asked him another question. He pointed to the land beyond the riverbanks. Sigurd understood he was asking where they would be setting up camp.
“We need a permanent base,” Sigurd said. “Someplace to build a fort.”
Gabe nodded, recognizing the word. He turned to explain the situation to the others.
*****
Reyes considered what Gabe had said. “It sounds like Sigurd is planning to stay here beyond the summer,” she said. In halting conversations with some of the other Norsemen, it had become clear that most of the crew intended to raid during the summer and then return to Norway before the weather got cold.
“That’s good, right?” asked O’Brien. “You think he’s rethinking his plan for vengeance on Harald?”
“Not a chance,” Gabe replied. “He’s playing a long game, counting on his alliance with us to give him his vengeance.”
“And when he finds out that’s impossible?” O’Brien asked.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Reyes. “Sigurd and his men wanting to settle here is good news. We’re going to need them if we’re going to survive. Harald’s not going to stop coming after us, and we can’t fight him alone. Not yet, anyway. We need time to plan and work on our defenses.”
“I’d suggest not speaking that name,” Gabe said. “The less said about our run-ins with you-know-who, the better.”
“You think they’d turn us away if they knew about that?” Reyes asked.
Gabe shrugged. “We’re not the first political refugees to flee an overbearing ruler,” he said. “Iceland was settled by people trying to get away from you-know-who and his like. I’m thinking it’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of situation.”
“Why stop here, then?” O’Brien asked. “Why not keep going? Travel east to Constantinople, or Byzantium, or whatever it’s called right now? Go somewhere outside of Har—you-know-who’s area of influence? Try to blend in, wait for him to forget about us.”
Reyes shook her head. “We have no money, no friends… and we don’t speak the language. And blending in doesn’t seem to be our strong suit. No, I think we have to stick with Sigurd and his crew for now.”
Gabe nodded in agreement. “We’ve got knowledge we could theoretically trade for money, but that goes against the idea of keeping a low profile. It would be easy enough to mass produce compasses and sell them to sailors, but how long do you think it would take for you-know-who to hear about it?”
“So then what’s the plan?” O’Brien asked. “We set up shop here, build houses, start raising goats, what?”
“We follow Sigurd’s lead,” Reyes said. “The first step is to find a defensible piece of land. We don’t know how long it will be before you-know-who comes for us, and we need to be ready.”
Finding a piece of defensible land was going to be more difficult in the Seine Valley than in the mountains of Norway. With the exception of some low, tree-covered ridges a few klicks from the river, the land was low and flat.
They spent the next hour rowing and watching the snow-covered valley roll past. Occasionally they would see some signs of human habitation—a cattle fence or a small house with smoke pouring out the chimney, but they saw very few people. Those she saw were mostly men. This land had only recently been seized by the Vikings, and the people here were still the first wave of settlers. The men here were either unmarried or had left their families home until it was safe to bring them.
Reyes’s thoughts went to Slater, the only other woman who had come along on the voyage. Maybe it was for the best she’d died before reaching Normandy; Slater wasn’t cut out to be a Viking. It wasn’t her fault she’d been killed, though. That arrow could have hit any of them. It was a wonder that the rest of them had survived this long. Shaw’s death had hit the team hard, but Reyes didn’t have the luxury of blaming herself. She was still in charge of this mission, and O’Brien and Gabe were counting on her to keep it together. Gabe played the tough guy pretty well, but even he had his limits—and he tended to be overprotective. If he got the sense Reyes was breaking down, he’d try to fill the void, and his own responsibilities would suffer. So Reyes kept her head up and focused on what needed to be done.
At present, her main task was finding a place they could settle where Harald couldn’t get to them. The only natural barrier in the area was the river, which snaked back and forth across the valley floor, and it wouldn’t be much of a barrier for the seafaring Vikings. What they needed was a hill overlooking the river, with a hundred meters or more of open ground in between. Scanning the river banks, it took over an hour for Reyes to spot a potential candidate. She almost pointed it out to Gabe, and then realized there was already a large, squat building perched atop the hill: they had reached Rollo’s fortress.
“This is amazing,” Gabe said, staring up at the fortress. “We’re going to see Rollo!”
“Should that mean something to me?” O’Brien asked.
“He’s the first Duke of Normandy!” Gabe exclaimed. “I mean, he’s not yet, but he will be. Rollo is responsible for uniting the Viking settlements in France into a single country, which becomes Normandy. They call him Hrólfr. Without him, there’s no William the Conqueror. Without William the Conqueror, there’s no Norman invasion of England. And if the Normans never invade England—”
“Yeah, we get it,” Reyes said. “So this is our hypothetical test case come to life. We could kill Rollo and alter all of history.”
“Please don’t threaten to kill the Duke of Normandy,” O’Brien said. “We’re in enough trouble on this planet.”
“We’re not going to kill him,” Gabe said. “We need him. You can’t settle around here without his okay.”
“I didn’t realize Vikings were so big on rules,” Reyes said.
“Think of it like this,” Gabe replied. “The Vikings in Europe are basically an extra-legal entity, like criminal gangs, or the mafia. They don’t technically own much territory, but they have a lot of influence. They control the traffic down the Seine, and they demand tribute from the local Frankish rulers.”
“Like protection money,” O’Brien said.
“Exactly like protection money.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very well-thought-out strategy, from the European’s perspective,” Reyes said.
“It’s not,” Gabe said. “It’s just a delaying tactic. The longer it goes on, the more powerful the Vikings bec
ome. Later on, it actually becomes encoded in Frankish and English law. There’s a tax called the danegild—literally Danish tax—that is levied specifically to pay off the Vikings to keep them from attacking. At this point it’s a little more informal. The kings know it’s going on, but it’s bribery under the table.”
“So the actual raiding,” Reyes said, “that’s basically done by this point?” She sounded hopeful.
“Oh, no,” Gabe replied. “There’s still plenty of raiding going on. It takes a long time for this to all settle out, politically, and there’s a lot of land that’s still in dispute. But before these guys do any raiding, they’re going to have to get permission from Rollo. Hrólfr, I mean.”
Birgir and the crew guided Ísbátr to a grassy bank. As she approached, several men jumped out and helped her up onto the shore.
Sigurd spoke briefly with Birgir and then returned to the bow. “Hrólfr talk,” he said.
“You go, Reyes,” Gabe said.
“We should all go.”
“I’m not making that hike,” O’Brien said, looking at the winding path leading up to the fortress.
“I’ll stay with O’Brien,” Gabe said.
“No, I need you, Gabe.”
“I’m not an infant,” O’Brien said. “I’ll be fine. These guys aren’t going to hurt me.”
Reyes nodded. “All right. Make sure your comm is on.”
“As always. Go.”
“All right,” Reyes said, turning to Sigurd. “We’re ready.”
They trudged through the thin grass and made their way to a rocky path that wended past several buildings and up the hill. As they walked, they caught occasional glimpses of men tending to livestock or engaging in other menial tasks. The men glanced suspiciously in their direction, but didn’t seem terribly interested in the visitors.
As they neared the gate of the fortress, a man emerged from a copse of trees to their left. The man was huge, with broad shoulders and midsection like a barrel. A great bow hung over his left shoulder; his right hand gripped the rear hooves of a deer, the rest of which dragged on the ground behind him. Birgir and Sigurd stopped at the sight of the man, unsure how to react. The man walked up to them, letting the deer fall to the ground behind him, and held out a massive, blood-streaked hand. Sigurd shook it and the man bellowed a greeting. The only word Reyes recognized was a name, but there wasn’t much doubt who this man was, given Gabe’s description. So this was the first Duke of Normandy, she thought. He was certainly more impressive than Harald Fairhair.
Sigurd introduced the others and Hrólfr led them inside the fortress. If he was at all concerned for his safety, he didn’t show it. Gabe, just a couple paces behind the deer Hrólfr was dragging, could easily have put a bullet in the back of his head, and that would be that. No Normandy, no England, no United States of America, at least not as it existed in the history books. What would happen if Gabe tried to kill him? Would the gods themselves come down from heaven and stop the bullet? It was a question that she wouldn’t get an answer to, at least not today. History books or not, they needed Hrólfr alive.
*****
“Is this your entire party?” Hrólfr asked. He sat across from Sigurd and the foreigners in the great room of his lodge. A wooden tray of meats and cheeses lay before them, and a beautiful Frankish slave girl kept their cups full of ale.
“We left Uslu with four ships,” Sigurd said. “Two were lost at sea. We were separated from the fourth, but they may yet arrive.”
Hrólfr raised an eyebrow. “The sea has been calm for a week,” he said.
“We chose an unlucky course,” Sigurd replied. If Hrólfr wished to press him on the matter, he was going to have to be explicit. But Hrólfr simply smiled. “Well, it is good that you made it. I hope your comrades arrive in good health. But what of these strangers?” He didn’t break eye contact with Sigurd, but Sigurd understood he meant the foreigners.
“They come from a land very far away, called Eidejel. Their boat capsized not far from my home, and my people took them in. They have been good friends to me.”
“Are there more of them?”
“Just one. He is injured and could not make the walk here.” Sigurd had debated whether he should bring the foreigners along to speak with Hrólfr, but decided to err on the side of transparency, at least in this matter. Hrólfr was going to find out about the foreigners eventually, and he didn’t want Hrólfr to think he was hiding anything from him. Besides, their presence gave him some cover for their intention to settle in the valley.
“Where were these people traveling to when their boat capsized?”
“I’m not certain they had a definite destination. They were fleeing from enemies.”
“And what of these enemies? Who are they?”
“A belligerent power threatening to overthrow Eidejel,” Sigurd replied.
“Their kingdom is at war, and they flee here?”
“They are not warriors,” Sigurd said. “Except for this man, who is charged with protecting the others. My understanding is that they were on a diplomatic mission, seeking allies to help defend Eidejel. They were intercepted by an enemy ship and forced to flee westward. The enemy ship sank, but these foreigners made it to our land.”
Hrólfr glanced at the foreigners and then back at Sigurd. He was clearly dubious of Sigurd’s story; the question was how hard he would press for the truth. If he asked a direct question and Sigurd lied to him, it would render any agreement with him null and void.
“You intend to set up camp in the valley to raid for the summer?”
“To begin with,” Sigurd replied. “Most will return to Norway in the fall, but some intend to stay longer.”
“The foreigners,” Hrólfr said.
“Yes, along with me and some of my friends.”
“The foreigners do not intend to return to their land?”
“They hope to, but lack the means at present. They will likely stay here for some years.”
“And if their enemies find them?”
“They were pursued only by one ship, which sank. None of the crew survived, and no one else knows of their mission. Their enemies will not find them here.”
Hrólfr nodded, rubbing his beard and regarding Reyes and Gabe. “If they do, you will not be able to count on my protection. Whatever enemies you have, they are yours. Not mine. Do you understand?”
“I do, Hrólfr,” Sigurd said. “Thank you.” Hrólfr’s meaning was only too clear. Hrólfr was too shrewd to ask him directly about Harald, but he’d now made it plain that he wouldn’t intercede in any conflicts between Sigurd and his enemies.
“How many men do you expect to stay through the winter?” Hrólfr asked.
“I would guess at least ten, perhaps as many as twenty. More if the other ship from our expedition arrives.”
“If you intend to stay more than a year, you will want some land for grazing and crops.”
Sigurd nodded. This was going to be tricky. He was going to have to negotiate for a parcel of land they could defend if Harald’s men attacked, while maintaining the fiction that he was unconcerned about foreign enemies. “We will be occupied mostly with raiding at first,” Sigurd said. “Our main concern is setting up camp in a place where we can safely keep our spoils.”
“You’ll have no trouble from the other Norsemen in this area,” Hrólfr said. “Everyone in this valley recognizes my authority. If we come to an arrangement, you are guaranteed protection. For a small fee, of course. Ordinarily I charge one tenth of the spoils.”
“I have no doubt you are more than capable of dealing with thieves,” Sigurd replied, “but all the same, I do not like depending on others for my security.”
“You will pay the tenth regardless,” Hrólfr said.
“Understood,” Sigurd said. “Consider it an expression of goodwill.”
Hrólfr smiled. “Then it is settled. I cannot house your entire crew, but you and the foreigners may sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you can survey the area
to find a parcel to your liking.”
*****
After a brief discussion, Reyes and Gabe accepted the offer to stay in the lodge overnight. Gabe was concerned that staying in the lodge would stoke the simmering resentment the Norsemen already felt for the spacemen, but in the end their concern for O’Brien was the deciding factor. He needed a good night’s sleep in something that could pass for an actual bed. Whatever improvement they’d seen in his condition since the crash was being rapidly undone by having to sleep on the deck of a Viking ship. Since Slater’s death, Reyes was more determined than ever to keep the crew together as much as possible, so she decided they’d all be sleeping in the lodge.
They returned to Ísbátr and Sigurd briefed Birgir and the rest of the crew. Reyes and Gabe helped O’Brien out of the boat and up the path to the lodge while Sigurd stayed behind. He and his men would sleep on the boat to make sure the crew wasn’t getting any ideas about replacing him as their leader.
The next day, Reyes and Gabe left O’Brien in the lodge and returned to Ísbátr. Hrólfr had had a servant draw them a rough map on a scrap of parchment the afternoon before, indicating some of the better parcels in the valley. The servant had scribbled names in some places, indicating territories that had been claimed by sub-chieftains, but most of the valley was wide open. At one point, Reyes assumed, all this land had been owned by the Franks, but they had mostly fled further upriver. It was one gigantic Viking campground now.
They spent the day cruising up and down the river, occasionally pulling Ísbátr onto the bank to explore the territory further. By the end of the day, they had marked three potential areas on Hrólfr’s map. They returned to the lodge that evening to speak again with Hrólfr. When he saw the areas they’d marked, he laughed. He spoke to Sigurd, who shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. Reyes shot a quizzical glance at Gabe, who shook his head. Whatever was going on between Hrólfr and Sigurd, it was probably best to play dumb.
Reyes and Gabe sat and drank their ale while Hrólfr and Sigurd negotiated. At last Sigurd turned to them with a sigh and said, “Much silfr.”
The Dream of the Iron Dragon Page 33
