Runa watched the flush flow around Konal's scar tissue, but he held the same arrogant smile, even if his nostrils flared to betray his anger. She knew he was on the brink of another outburst. However, were he to hit her again then she would have every ground for declaring divorce immediately. The hall might be empty, but people would be crowded outside to know what happened within it. She could make a case for public humiliation, and then Konal would have to consent to a divorce.
"As I said, I considered this morning. That sword bothered me, and not just for what it means to you. I know you wanted to believe Ulfrik lived even after seeing his head and hearing Einar's account of his death. When my brother, Kell, died I went through the same thing, but I moved beyond it as I thought you had. But this morning I was reminded that you still carry his memory."
"Is that so wrong? He was my husband for almost twenty years and the best man I ever knew."
She noticed Konal's hands were clamped tight on the table, and that they trembled. It was as if he were harboring a mouse beneath them that he feared to crush.
"I used to think he was the best man I ever knew, too. Until this morning."
They stared at each other, and his haughty smile shrank away. "Why this morning?"
"Because while you were gone I went back to our bed to clear away that rusted sword. While I was there, I thought of what else you might be hiding in that chest beneath the bed. The one you were so eager to keep me from seeing that you even goaded me into striking you. I took it to the blacksmith to break the lock and wasn't I surprised at what I found?"
"W-- What did you find?" Runa's eyes shifted to the red cloak draping Konal's shoulders. Her heart began pounding against her ribs.
"Well, you're looking at it. A fine red cloak. I was disappointed there was nothing more. So I took it back to our bed and replaced it. But here's where Fate guided my hands. I think you know what I found next."
Runa wavered on her bench, a wave of weakness crashing over her. "There was nothing else to find."
"But there was more. As I folded the cloak I discovered something hard in its hem. I cut the edges of it and here's what tumbled out."
He lifted his cupped hands off the table and a pile of glittering, winking jewels sparked reflections under Konal's chin. She had not seen the gems since she and Ulfrik replaced them into the hem of a new cloak, and the memory of their brilliance paled beside reality. Even under these conditions they were breath-taking reds, blues, yellows, greens, and a few stones like clear ice. These were the gemstones prized off a golden cross given from the King of Frankia as a gift to the King of England.
"At first I could not believe these were the same gems my brother and I had searched half the world to retrieve. After all, my dearest friend Ulfrik had told me himself that though Fate had delivered him the bishop who possessed these treasures, he did not ever see them himself. These gems were to have been lost to time. But how does one forget such a pile of jewels? I have never seen the like since, and just like family I know my own when I see it. Dearest Ulfrik stole my treasure and lied to me and my brother about it. He let my brother go to his grave believing he had lost a king's fortune."
"You did lose it and Ulfrik found it. There is no law that he return it to you, not when you stole it to begin with."
His fist slammed the table and the stones leaped and jingled along with Runa who recoiled in shock. Her reflex was to still reach for the knife she had not carried in years.
"And you concealed it from me! Beneath my bed? I bet you had a fine laugh every morning, knowing the treasure I had spent half of my life seeking was hidden under my ass. Did you laugh well, dear wife?"
"No, it was not that. I held it for the future, for when we might need it."
"It's not for you to decide when I need it. This belongs to me, and when I married you all that you possessed became part of my belongings. You knew that when you accepted my invitation to marriage. But you hid this ugly secret. Did you think I would rejoice one day when you finally decided to tell me? We're already lacking funds to outfit my men and fulfill my duties to Hrolf and Einar. Would we have to be hunting rats for our next meal before you parted with this secret? Or was it just another dear memory of Ulfrik?"
Runa bit her lip, knowing anything she might say could end badly for her. She had to swallow her pride and try to calm him. "I don't know when I would have shared it. I am ashamed now that you have discovered this."
She kept her eyes downcast and hands folded at her lap, all the while quivering at the potential for violence. The silence expanded, but she did not look up at him. She feared what his eyes might reveal. At last, he swept the gems into a bag and drew the string tight, then tossed them on the table. Again, she studied her lap while waiting for him to take his next move.
"What more have you hidden from me, I wonder. You've given me much to think about. For now, I will hold these gems safe from you or anyone else. I've no desire to have to split this fortune with Hrolf. But while I decide what to do, you must consider what else you need to tell me."
"There is nothing." She relented and met his gaze at last, tears welling in her eyes. She saw nothing but cold anger glaring back at her. She did not want to look at the bag of gems, but felt them pulling at her vision.
"How can I believe what you say anymore? You are to remain confined to the hall until I decide what's to be done. This sort of deceit tests the bonds of marriage."
He stood and took the bag of gems, then strode from the hall. As the doors slammed shut, Runa began to weep.
CHAPTER TEN
Ulfrik stopped the cart when Finn moaned. The track through the woods was so rutted and peppered with stones that even a slow pace could not prevent jostling. He jumped off the cart, patted the horse's neck, then went to check Finn. He lay on his back atop the meager bedding Ulfrik stole from the bandit camp. All it seemed to do was to worsen their battle against fleas, for Finn squirmed trying to itch himself against the floor of the cart.
"Don't do that," Ulfrik said as he mounted the cart. "You'll tear the stitches."
"Just kill me," Finn said, his eyes pressed shut and a slick of perspiration shining on his face. "Before the fleas do."
"Hold still, and I'll scratch your back. I've got to check your bandages anyway."
The flea bites were not as bad as Finn had made it seem, but Ulfrik dutifully scraped down his spotted back. He then unwrapped the brown stained cloth covering the spear wound. Ulfrik hissed at what he saw.
"When will it stop hurting? I feel like my side is on fire."
"I've got more ale here. If you can sit up and drink, it'll take the edge off."
He helped Finn raise his head then accept the ale skin. The cart had provisions for a few days for them and the horse, as well as a half cask of ale, all stolen from the bandit camp. The cart and horse were the same used to transport Ulfrik and Finn when they were first robbed. The women of the camp proved combative and he had to threaten them with death just to claim this meager haul. However, Gils's daughter, frightened for her betrayal, had tried to make amends by carrying away additional supplies. She had even helped restrain Finn while Ulfrik stitched the wound. He repaid her with safe passage back home, but he did not dare risk Gils's hospitality again. One of his hotheaded sons would seek revenge. He half wondered if they followed him now.
"That goes down easily," Finn said, then wiped his thin beard with the back of his arm.
"Turn over so I can clean this." The wound was not deep, but the spear cut had torn and left a ragged rip that circled around to Finn's stomach. That had been a nightmare to stitch and he had done butcher's work at best. Finn would carry terrible scar.
Pouring the ale onto the wound, he patted it clean with a swatch of fresh cloth. Finn screamed as if branded, and Ulfrik stopped. "Why not call every wolf and thief in the forest to us? It's not like we can't handle them, after all."
"Gods, but that burns!"
"I never knew you for a weakling. Now keep quiet while I f
inish."
"I never had my back cut open then sewn shut."
Ulfrik worked in quiet anger. This was his fault for risking all for little gain. Had he risked his sole friend in all the circle of the world for cold metal? A sword and a chain of gold, no matter how fine, were no replacements for loyalty and friendship. He cursed his pride and the price Finn had paid for it. Worse still, Ulfrik suspected he had even hoped to impress Finn with this daring plan. He should have accepted his loss and counted his luck for not being murdered, then moved on. Yet he had to show off a clever plan. He shook his head in disgust.
Finn winced as Ulfrik worked, but otherwise held himself to low moans and grunts. When finished, Ulfrik pulled Finn's blanket over his naked skin then patted his back. Finn gingerly flipped to his uninjured side.
"Where are we going?"
Ulfrik stared at him, not having a clear answer himself. He had only thought to put distance between them and Gils's farm. "Somewhere to get you help."
"I need help?"
"You have a fever. The wound is hot and red. It's beyond my skills to care for you. So, yes, you need a healer's attention."
Finn's usual smile fell and he swallowed. "I thought the weather was warm."
Ulfrik shook his head, then shifted on the cart to dangle his feet off the edge. The horse snorted and began to wander toward the track edge to poke its nose into the vegetation. The cart bumped and stopped as the horse settled into a place.
"There is no one in this land we can trust to deal honestly with us. Gils's farm just showed us what simple trust earns a man."
"Should we seek your family? Certainly they can be trusted." Finn winced, then returned to resting on his stomach. Ulfrik looked from him and stared down the path they had left behind. The sun broke through branches to speckle the dirt track with brilliant yellow light.
"I don't know what condition my family is in. I'm not even sure where they are. I don't have time to search for them, not with you burning up."
"It's not so bad," Finn said, his voice filled with optimism. "I can hold on."
"Not so bad today. Tomorrow, it will be worse. The day after you won't know your own name. Then you'll die. We don't have time."
Finn did not answer, and Ulfrik sighed and leaned on his knees. The words had been harsh, but Finn needed to know how desperate their situation had become. Choices were slim, and there was only one Ulfrik knew he could make with certainty.
"We have a horse and I know these lands, which is better than we otherwise could have been. I don't know what the old nag can take, but I'll drive her into the dirt to get you help in time. I'll take you to Hrolf the Strider's hall. By horse it's two days away at most."
"But you said you didn't want to meet Hrolf without men at your back. What will happen if you go alone, with me not knowing my own name by that time?"
"I find out if Throst spoke the truth about Hrolf. He'll either kill me and you, or I'll appeal to our old bonds and get aid for you. He will help, if he is true."
"I thought you believed Throst? I don't want to get us both killed. There has to be a village on the way with decent people."
"How welcoming was your family of unannounced strangers, especially ones carrying weapons and wounded? Think on it. The world is fraught with dangers enough, so why invite more into your home?"
"Well, Christian priests?"
"They're not for our kind. Forget that. We are bound for Hrolf. He will help and I know where he is. Don't worry any more for it, and save your strength."
Ulfrik slid off the cart and pulled the horse back onto the track. He restarted their drive toward Hrolf, one that he had been making from the beginning. He had hoped his return from death would not place him into the same bonds he had before. But he had something greater to care for than his own worries.
He had Finn's life in the balance of his choices, and he was determined to choose correctly no matter what it meant for his own future.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Count Amand sank into the pillows of his elegantly carved chair, one of the few comforts that helped him endure these endless councils with subordinates. Would that he had sons to pass on the onerous duties of his role, he could spend more time enjoying the company of fine women at the courts in Paris. Yet God had set this cross for him to bear, and so he soldiered on no matter the cost to his pleasure. One day the king would recognize his considerable talent was wasted on guarding borders and recall him. For now, he smoothed his blue robe and adjusted the gold cross at this neck. Unlike other men of his age, he had kept a full head of hair which he let fall in curls to his shoulders. He was especially proud of his long and swooping mustache, and he stroked it as he awaited the start of this audience.
His captain-at-arms entered the chamber, drawing the attention of the servants flanking both sides of the room. He looked less imposing in his normal clothing than he did when adorned in mail and helmet, but that was the case for most men. His sword danced at his hip as he clomped across the wooden floor, foot falls reverberating against the stone walls, then knelt before Count Amand.
"My lord, the prisoners are all accounted for, but the one we discussed has been prepared for your review."
Amand reached out for a cup and a dutiful servant whisked a cool silver goblet into his hand. He sipped the wine, rolling its bitter notes on his tongue before swallowing. "Well, present him to me."
The captain's curly dark hair fell across his face as he lifted himself from his knee. His mustache was nearly as long as Count Amand's but not as gray. The captain beckoned men waiting outside the door, then returned to Count Amand's left side. His right side was left for his priest who would accompany the prisoner.
Entering first came two of Count Amand's guards, then came his burly Northman allies. These northern brutes and their armies had allied themselves to the Franks once they realized their kind were on the losing side. In the lead was Grimnr, a giant man of muscle and scars, with his long golden hair tied into a braid that hung to the small of his back. His eyes were small and thin but alive with keen intelligence and wit. Amand appreciated Grimnr's fierce sense of honor and his easy laugh. He moved like a wolf on the prowl, and the count did not doubt he was as dangerous as one. Behind him was his other Northman ally, Eskil. He was a head shorter than Grimnr, equally predatory but more like an owl than a wolf. His head was low to his shoulders and his clear eyes wide and alert, as if drinking in every detail. He had served Amand longer than Grimnr, but he trusted Eskil less.
Behind these two followed interpreters, and at last was his priest and the Northman prisoner who was a boy no older than eight years by Amand's appraisal. At first sight he recognized the regal bearing in the child. His clear face was tipped back in defiance and his chest was puffed out, all like a miniature caricature of the Northman bravado. The priest guided him by the shoulders to stand between the two grown Northmen, but the boy pulled himself free and stood with arms folded across his chest.
Grimnr growled something in the bestial language of the Northmen, and the boy scowled at him. Amand could not conceive of a less elegant way of speaking. After a repeated command, Grimnr forced the boy to his knees. Amand gave slight smile. The boy had determination, an admirable quality though wasted on one in his position.
"I assume from the size of this captive he is a son of someone important? Don't tell me children are leading the barbarians now." Amand laughed at his own joke, his priest the only other to join him in it.
The captain moved before Count Amand, bowing before he spoke. "Lord, our patrol overtook a traveling party of thirty Northmen yesterday. I will spare my lord the details of the encounter, but we overcame the barbarians and captured this boy. We knew he was important from the way his companions guarded him. We not only captured him, but a chest of gold as well."
"Indeed God is good to us," Amand said. "So who is our young captive?"
Eskil shared a glance with Grimnr then stepped forward, bowing his head just enough to satisfy protocol. Amand stif
led a sigh; these Northmen can never be civilized, only trained to not bite the hand that feeds them.
"He is Halfdan, son of Mord Guntherson," Eskil said.
Count Amand sat up straighter. "You mean Hrolf the Strider's second?"
"Mord's father is Gunther One-Eye, who is Hrolf's second. But Mord is as close to Hrolf as any man can be." Eskil looked at Grimnr, who shrugged.
"I don't know these men," Grimnr said. "I joined with you, Count Amand, not my countrymen."
The captain stepped in front of the others again. "It was Mord's men we killed, Lord. I imagine they were returning with collected taxes or tribute, and for whatever reason his son was among them. The boy has refused to give us any details, though I can encourage that if you wish."
Amand waved away his captain's hint of torture and regarded the boy. He appeared to understand, but feigned indifference. Such a hostage was useful leverage. Maybe he could turn Mord on Hrolf, or at least convince him to stay at home when Count Amand's armies went to battle. God had put an important pawn into his hands, and he had to consider carefully what moves the piece could make for him.
"Yes, God is good," Amand said, more to himself than anyone else. "Send word to Mord that we have his son and inform him Halfdan will be well cared for while I determine how to proceed. He has my word upon it. Of course, should Mord attempt any violence against us, warn him I will rescind my word."
"Right away, my lord." The captain bowed with a flourish.
The boy, Halfdan, squinted at Amand as if daring him to do his worst.
"You have a strong spirit," the count said with a smile. "Learn to hide it better or you will discover how easily it can be broken. You are not too young for that lesson, and I will be glad to teach it."
Halfdan's thin lips trembled, and Count Amand laughed.
#
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Ulfrik had expected, Finn was no longer coherent. His speech had been reduced to a rubble of grunts and moans, mostly elicited whenever the cart crossed a rut or hump which now felt like every foot of the miles they had covered. The gray sky sprinkled light rain on them as Ulfrik pulled up to Hrolf's settlement. Seeing its high stockade walls atop a steep slope of earth returned a dozen memories to Ulfrik, some happy and others less so. He prayed for a happy day as he drove his cart toward the east gate.
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 5
