“Yes!” O’Brien said. “It smells like bad eggs.”
Sigurd shouted further instructions to Agnar, who nodded again and walked away.
“We could get by without the sulfur in a pinch, but the bomb won’t be nearly as powerful.”
“Silfr?” Sigurd asked.
O’Brien shook his head. “Not silver. Sulfur. The bad egg stuff.”
“Bad egg stuff for big boom?” Sigurd asked, and the spacemen erupted into laughter. Sigurd glared at them crossly.
“We’re sorry, Sigurd,” Reyes said, choking back her laughter. “Yes. We need the bad egg stuff for the big boom.”
*****
Such was Sigurd’s faith in the foreigners that when told they needed twenty men to scour the latrines of the valley for white crystals, he ordered them to do so without a second thought. The men muttered to each other as they set off down the hill, but they did as they were told. Two more men were set to work building a fire with the express purpose of generating as much charcoal as possible. The men seemed to understand the concept; they may have needed to create charcoal at some point for cooking or powering a forge.
The charcoal creation was well underway when Agnar returned with the news that there was indeed a hot spring about a day’s travel south of Caen, which could be reached with a few hours’ sail to the west. The problem was that the snekkjas each required a crew of at least twenty, which would put a severe dent in their labor force for the duration of the trip. The bomb-making project was occupying half their men and one of their ships. No raiding—and little other work—would go on for the next few days. In the end, though, Reyes decided they had no choice.
“This had better work,” she said to O’Brien as he got ready to join the rest of the crew that had been selected for Ísbátr. O’Brien’s ribs were still tender and he tired easily, but he didn’t trust anyone else to identify sulfur deposits. “We’re putting all our rotten eggs in one basket.”
“It’ll work, chief,” O’Brien said. “It’s just chemistry.”
“It’s not the chemistry part that worries me,” Reyes said.
“It’ll work. Just make sure everything else is ready when I get back.”
Reyes nodded. “Go. Good luck.”
She wasn’t worried about the other tasks that needed to be done for the project. Making charcoal was simple and several men had already returned with handfuls of potassium nitrate crystals. The other major task was building a boat, and she had no doubt the Vikings were up to that task.
The snekkjas were too large to sneak up the river unseen, even on a moonless night. What they needed was a rowboat, something big enough for the bomb and a few people to carry it, but small enough to avoid detection by sentries. Reyes explained their requirements to Sigurd, who picked several men from the group who had experience in ship-building. There was plenty of lumber at hand; they just needed to split it into boards, which would be shaped and fitted together to form the hull of the boat. The boards overlapped, clinker fashion, and were caulked with animal hair and secured with metal nails, a supply of which had been brought over on the ships.
When O’Brien returned three days later, the boat had been finished, and adequate supplies of both charcoal and potassium nitrate had been manufactured. Unfortunately, O’Brien came bearing bad news.
Reyes met him as he was coming up the hill. He was accompanied by a score of Norsemen who were carrying what appeared to be piles of rocks bundled in their cloaks.
“What the hell?” Reyes asked. “That… doesn’t look like sulfur.”
“Couldn’t find any sulfur deposits, per se,” O’Brien said. “The source of the spring was inaccessible, and I didn’t smell any sulfur in the area. So I had to go with plan B: pyrite.”
“You sent the Vikings on a quest for fool’s gold.”
“Correct,” O’Brien said. “I figure we’ve got enough for one barrel-sized bomb.”
“O’Brien, there’s got to be half a ton of rocks here.”
O’Brien smiled. “It’s just chemistry.”
*****
Performing basic chemistry turned out to be fairly challenging under the circumstances. To extract the sulfur from the pyrite, the rocks had to be heated to nearly five hundred degrees Celsius. At that temperature the sulfur would boil, at which point it needed to be collected and re-condensed. Fortunately Reyes had already secured a substantial supply of copper for her transmitter, so this was repurposed for the task. Three copper pots were torn apart and flattened into sheets, which were heated and hammered together until they comprised one long, narrow sheet. This was rolled into a tube, which was then coiled several times. The tube was welded onto a funnel, which was placed over a ceramic pot. The other end of the tube drained into another pot.
To free up as much sulfur as possible, several Norsemen were tasked with pulverizing the pyrite with rocks and hammers. The pot was filled with dust and rubble and set over a fire, which O’Brien had suggested be built downwind, outside the perimeter fence. “The fumes are toxic,” O’Brien cheerfully explained.
It took nearly two full days to extract enough sulfur for a bomb. In the meantime, they had to solve another problem: how to mix the ingredients without accidentally triggering a spark and killing everybody in the vicinity. The obvious solution was to saturate the ingredients with water before mixing them, but that meant they would have to wait for the powder to dry before it would be usable. For that, they would need a large, flat surface where they could spread the powder thinly to allow the water to evaporate. They debated using tents for some time before O’Brien suggested the obvious: using the snekkjas’ sails.
The sails were taken down and carried inside the perimeter fence. Reyes couldn’t tell how much the Norsemen understood of what they were doing. Only Sigurd’s men had seen the explosion of the lander, and only those aboard Ísbátr had seen a gun fired. It was doubtful any of the others had seen an explosion of any kind. She didn’t even know if Sigurd had explained they were going to try to breach Rouen’s walls. Probably not; they’d agreed to handle the project on a need-to-know basis. So far, the men seemed willing to trust Sigurd’s judgment, but if this plan went sideways, he’d likely face a mutiny. They’d probably lynch the spacemen too, which was just as well: if they didn’t make their payment to Hrólfr, they were as good as dead anyway.
It took another three days for the mixture to dry. They had spread it about a centimeter thick across one of the sails; they set the other sail up as a lean-to to protect the powder from rain and dew. Even when it wasn’t raining, there was too much moisture in the air for the powder to dry rapidly. O’Brien brainstormed several ways of channeling dry air over the mix, but in the end it was decided they were all too risky: the only way they had of generating heat was fire, and fire meant sparks.
At last the powder dried enough to be usable. O’Brien scooped the powder up by hand, standing barefoot on the ground to minimize the possibility of static sparks. There was more than enough powder to fill one of the water barrels the Vikings had brought. When it was full, O’Brien carefully set the lid in place. A hole had been bored in the top for a fuse that had been made by soaking a piece of twine in a potassium nitrate solution. They had built a bomb.
*****
Gabe sat in the stern of the small boat as Braggi rowed. In between them sat the barrel full of black powder. It seemed only fair that Braggi, the designated fireman of the group, would get to light the bomb. Braggi took his responsibilities as fireman very seriously, carrying the lighter Gabe had given him everywhere he went. The gift had afforded him a certain status among the other Norsemen that he cherished.
When the walls of Rouen came into view, Gabe directed Braggi to put in to port. They would ground the boat and then carry the barrel along the wall to a point their intelligence had indicated would be minimally protected. The bulk of Rouen’s defenses were focused on the section of the wall that ran along the river.
The sky was cloudy, giving the saboteurs good cover. Visibility exte
nded only as far as the light of the torches on the guard towers. Along the riverfront, the towers were only about fifty meters apart, but they were spaced more widely on the other sides. Gabe and Braggi had little trouble carrying the bomb to the designated spot on the wall. Braggi pulled the lighter from his pocket, but Gabe held up his hand. He tapped his cuff. “Reyes, you there?”
“I’m here, Gabe. Go ahead.”
“We’re in position. No trouble so far. You can give Sigurd the okay.”
“Copy that,” Reyes said. She was aboard Ísbátr, which had been waiting, along with Bylgjasverð, just around the bend for Gabe’s signal. Every man in their group was aboard one of the two snekkjas. Gabe and Braggi waited in silence for the ships to approach.
“I can see the wall,” Reyes said in his ear. “Gabe, are you ready?”
“We’re ready,” Gabe said. “On your signal.”
“Okay,” Reyes replied. “Light her up.”
Gabe nodded to Braggi, who lit the half-meter-long fuse hanging from the barrel. Once it was lit, they made their way quickly but carefully back toward the riverbank. Their tests indicated they had about twenty seconds to get to a safe distance—however far away that was. Gabe began to count in his head.
As they picked their way through the brush along the bank, they saw scores of sparks arcing across the sky toward the city from downriver. This, the second part of the plan, had been Gabe’s idea: camouflage the point of attack by creating confusion throughout the city. Attached to each arrow was a small charge made from black powder—not enough to do any real damage, but enough to make a hell of a lot of noise. Hopefully by the time the defenders realized where the real attack was happening, it would be too late for them to do anything about it.
When Gabe’s count reached fifteen, he tapped Braggi on the shoulder and then got down on his knees and clamped his hands over his ears. Braggi did the same. In the distance, they heard the muffled sounds of the their improvised firecrackers, followed by shouts and screams. Then a deafening blast erupted behind them, showering them with shredded bits of wood and gravel. A cloud of dust billowed around them, and Gabe pulled his cloak over his mouth and got to his feet.
When the smoke cleared, Gabe saw the shadowy form of Bylgjasverð slipping past on the river below. Half of the men were at the oars, propelling the ship forward; the other half continued to fire explosive arrows over the wall into the city. If the city watchmen hadn’t already determined the source of the fiery arrows, they would soon. Then, if the attackers’ luck held, the defenders would direct all their fire toward Bylgjasverð. Meanwhile, Ísbátr had come ashore not far from the rowboat, and its men would follow Gabe and Braggi into the city.
Already Braggi had gone to check the blast site and returned, giving Gabe a grin and a thumbs up. He held his hands apart, indicating the size of the gap in the wall.
“We’re good to go here,” Gabe said. “The wall’s been breached.”
“On our way,” Reyes said.
“Well, hurry up,” Gabe said. “Somebody’s going to notice this gaping hole pretty—okay, I’ve got you.” He had spotted Sigurd heading up the bank, trailed by Reyes and the rest of the Norsemen from Ísbátr. As Sigurd approached, Gabe turned and led the way along the wall to the gap, where Braggi waited with his spear at the ready. So far there had been no sign of anyone investigating the explosion.
Gabe and Braggi led the way through the gap. Gabe had his gun drawn. He hoped he wouldn’t have to shoot anybody, but he wanted to be able to put down any resistance quickly. With any luck, the sound of the gunshots wouldn’t draw much attention, given the exploding arrows raining down on the city.
No one met them on the other side of the wall. Gabe heard people shouting in the distance, but this part of the city was quiet. As men poured through the gap, Sigurd directed them toward different targets in the city. His men had gotten a pretty good idea of the layout of the city from querying people in the valley, but the main thing was to keep the men moving and prevent them from all heading for the same targets. They would spread out across the city, working like ants: those who found treasure would return with news, and those who came up empty-handed would help to ferry the treasures to the boat. It was slow, hit-and-miss work in the dark, but they’d agreed that torches would only draw attention. In the dark, the Norsemen were indistinguishable from townspeople fleeing from an attack.
“This way,” Reyes said to Gabe, pointing toward a tall building in the distance. They were the only two spacemen in the city; O’Brien had stayed behind on Ísbátr to supervise the lighting of the arrows. Sigurd gave them a nod, and Reyes and Gabe set off into the dark.
It soon became clear where Reyes was headed: the tall building was a church. Several of the Norsemen were already headed that direction. They made their way through the dark streets and alleys toward the distant spire as explosions continued to sound in the distance. The archers aboard Bylgjasverð would soon run out of arrows, and then she’d turn around and head at full speed back down river. By now, the city guard would be returning fire from the towers and along the top of the wall, but they’d have a hard time hitting anyone on board Bylgjasverð in the dark. Bylgjasverð faced serious danger only from ships docked at the harbor that might try to chase after it. The real danger, though, was the possibility that the city guard would figure out that Bylgjasverð’s attack was a feint. If the commanders realized the wall had been breached, it wouldn’t take them long to dispatch a contingent of men to the gap. The city guard vastly outnumbered the attackers; the guards would bar the breach and the attackers would be stuck inside the city walls with no way out.
When Gabe and Reyes reached the church, the doors had already been thrown open. Dim light flickered within. Passing through the foyer, they entered the sanctuary, where several men were already pulling tapestries off the walls. Hundreds of candles burned at an altar at the front of the sanctuary. Before the alter, an elderly priest in a cassock knelt on the floor. One of the Norsemen had a knife at the man’s throat.
“Hey!” Reyes yelled, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. The Norseman didn’t even look at her.
“Drop the knife!” Gabe shouted, moving down the aisle toward the men. He was pointing his gun at the Norseman, which struck Reyes as funny. She didn’t recognize the man in the dim light, and she had no idea whether he was one of the men who had seen Sigurd shoot Skeggi. He certainly didn’t have a clue what Gabe was saying.
Still, something in Gabe’s voice got his attention. He turned to look at them, still holding his knife at the priest’s neck. The priest hadn’t moved; his eyes were closed and Reyes saw now that his lips were moving. He was ready to die.
“Put it down,” Gabe said. He was now only a few paces from the Norseman, his gun trained on the man’s chest. “He’s no threat to you.”
The Norseman growled something at Gabe, holding up his other hand. Gabe stopped walking. The priest cried out as the knife bit into his neck.
“Gabe!” Reyes shouted. But Gabe, still pointing his gun at the Norseman, didn’t move. They remained that way for some time.
At last the Norseman pulled the knife away from the priest’s neck. He sheathed the knife, spat on the ground toward Gabe, and gave the priest a kick in the ribs. The priest groaned and fell to the ground. The Norseman stomped past Gabe and began to help the others with the tapestries. Gabe holstered his gun and Reyes breathed a sigh of relief.
The priest looked up at him, confusion on his face. “Wer bist du?” he asked.
“We’re Vikings,” Gabe said, picking up a silver chalice. He turned to Reyes. “Get those candlesticks and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Harald waited nearly a week for news of the fleet’s effort to intercept the foreigners. When the news finally came, it was not good. The foreigners had escaped and many of Harald’s men, including Gunnar, had been killed. Harald was discussing his options with Ragnar, several days later, when a Danish merchant
arrived, claiming to have information about a group of fugitives from Norway who had settled in Normandy. The merchant, a one-eyed old man named Korr, seemed nervous as Ragnar’s guards showed him into the great room. When the guards released him, he fell to the ground, bowing deeply before Harald.
“Stand, friend,” Harald said. “If you have news for me, out with it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Korr said, getting to his feet. “I do, my lord. I’ve got six brothers, my lord, all businessmen like myself. My brother Bertram sells pottery down the Seine, towards Rouen. I haven’t seen him in three years, but he talks regularly with Adelbert, the youngest. I met Adelbert six days ago at Hedeby. You see, Adelbert and I both have an interest in a parcel of land north of—”
“Korr,” Ragnar intoned. “I don’t believe you came here to give the king a detailed accounting of your family tree or your business holdings.”
Harald gave Korr an appreciative nod.
“No, not at all, my lord. Sorry, my lord. What I mean to say is that Adelbert told me that Bertram… that is to say, a group of Norsemen has moved into the Seine Valley. Now you shouldn’t get the idea that Bertram tells us about every group of Norsemen that arrive on the Seine. But this group, they’re different. They’re a small group, less than a hundred strong, but they paid a king’s ransom—that is, they paid a great deal of money to Hrólfr to let them settle on one of the best pieces of property along the river, and they’ve set about building a fort, like they’re expecting the Roman legions to return. Mighty strange, wouldn’t you say?”
“You sailed across from Denmark to tell us a group of Norsemen are building a fort along the Seine?” Harald asked, dubious.
“It could well be our fugitives,” Ragnar said, turning to Harald.
“It could be any group of adventurers,” Harald said. As determined as he was to find the foreigners and learn the secrets of their sky ships and weapons, he was wary of attempts to take advantage of his intentions. “I hope you’re not expecting a reward for this, Korr?”
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