Now it was Ulfrik blinking in surprise. "Aren, Konal is your blood father. You can't mean what you say."
"I mean it," Aren said, exchanging a glance with Snorri. "And Snorri knows it is true. He beats my mother and spends his days drunk and angry. He is a disgrace to us, unable to do more than hide behind Einar and steal what glory he can."
"It's true, lad," Snorri said in a low voice. "Within a year after your death, he married Runa and fell into drinking and whoring. I don't begrudge a man these pursuits. I did enough in my youth. But it is all he does, and he does not lead well. Out of bonds of old friendship, Einar has carried him, but now even those are sorely tested. The way he treats Runa, it's as if he never loved her but married her to spite your memory. It's a strange thing, for I know he was once sincere, but something twisted him."
"Gunnar left to find you," Aren said. "Mother says he died in the search, but I think he gave up and refused to return and witness what Konal has become. The signs were on him even when Gunnar left. His tears at your funeral were strange. They fell true, but I don't believe from grief at your death."
Ulfrik stood in shock, unable to make sense of the hate flooding from both of them. He looked between them, their faces set in scowls of disgust.
"He beats her? Runa would never stand for it. Never. She would kill him first."
"Lad, your death went hard with her. The fire in her heart died, and fear replaced it. Gunnar's departure was the ax-blow that cut her down. She thinks only Konal can offer her a future, however black it might be. Without him, she has no family and no wealth. Einar would take her in, but a feud with Konal would invite Hrolf to intervene. She does not want to bring that trouble to him. Honestly, the Franks are worse than ever, and Einar has no desire to seek more problems. So he turns his eye from it."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Ulfrik struggled to make sense of it all. What could have changed Konal into an animal? He had often spoken of his father as being mad. Perhaps such a madness now gripped him, a curse passed from father to son. It was all that made sense.
"So you can't leave," Aren said. "See Einar then arrange to meet Mother. Hakon is here, too. We will find a way to be a family again."
"Yes, I have to see this for myself. Runa cannot go on like this. And you two," Ulfrik pointed at both Snorri and Aren. "When did you become so close, strolling arm in arm like this? I remember neither of you caring much for the other."
"Time changes everything, lad." Snorri patted Aren's shoulder. "He's the smartest boy I've ever met, at least twice as clever as you were at this age. And people hate him for it. His own father can't stand a son smarter than himself. It's what scared me when he was young. Now I just know he's got a good head and there's nothing evil about it."
"I like to hear Snorri's stories," Aren said. "So we spend time together."
They stood facing each other at a sudden loss for words. Ulfrik looked around, the pathway clear of all but a boy and dog trotting along on their business. "I've got my duties to Hrolf, but when they are done, I will return."
"What has he got you mixed up with?" Snorri asked.
"Let's at least get out of the road while I tell you what I can."
They moved into the shade of a building, where Snorri settled on a stump and Ulfrik sat on an overturned bucket and Aren leaned against the wall. He told them of his revenge upon Throst, his misfortunes with Finn, and the problems with Hrolf's son.
"So now you know all of what I do. Once I free Vilhjalmer, I have asked for lands and men. I thought I should forfeit that to leave you all in peace. Now I see I must pursue it. But both of you swear to me now that you shall not breathe a word to anyone of my arrival and of what I've told you. No one means Runa, Einar, and the dog in the corner of the hall. No. One. Swear it."
Both raised their hands and promised Ulfrik.
"I will return soon, and your lives will be better for it. This is what I swear to you. My family will not be made to live in fear and shame. I will not stand for it."
Both Aren and Snorri smiled. They embraced a final time, and Ulfrik left them, resolved to set straight Konal and reclaim his wife.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Konal had kissed Runa farewell at the gates and left with thirty men, half of his standing force. They started out at dawn beneath puffy, pink clouds that rolled overhead like seals at play in the surf. Runa watched from the walls, waving dutifully with a stiff smile creasing her face. The wind caught her curly hair and blew it over her shoulders.
"Did you find out what I asked about last night?" she asked through her fake smile. Groa, who stood next her, holding her head cover tight against the breeze, simply nodded in affirmation. Runa's smile softened with a touch of the genuine. "Then we shall have much to discuss while spinning this afternoon."
Runa and Groa were assisted down the ladder by leather-clad hirdmen. The ones left behind were Konal's most responsible men. Those Konal took with him were his fiercest drinking companions, and while out on patrol they would no doubt protect the surrounding lands from excess ale or beer. She wished for once they would collide with a real enemy and settle all her issues. Fate was not so kind, and Konal was too canny to bring himself into any true danger.
Back at the hall, women had gathered baskets of wool, and two girls were already with their distaffs spinning the wool into threads. She waved them away. "Groa and I will take the easy work of spinning. You two are young enough for the looms."
She and Groa set their distaffs on their hips and began spinning wool. The two girls did not have enough thread with them and had to fetch more. When they left, Runa waited a moment before turning to Groa. "Did you see it yourself?"
"Yes," Groa's voice came in a whisper. "Whatever it was, he stuck it in the well. There's a loose stone in there. He was leaned into it so far that I could've dumped him in it had I mind to."
"Murder has no part in my plans." Runa watched the wool pull tight as she lowered the weight stones, then studied the threads spinning together into tight strings. Her own heart felt as tight and twisted. "He is not a bad man, just lost. I want no more part of him."
Groa sniffed. "He beats you like a dog on some days, then treats you like a Queen of the Franks. A dip in the well might be a good way to find himself."
"You're a loyal woman," she said. "You and I will be gone from all of this by tonight."
"What's he hiding in there? Treasure, I suppose."
Runa nodded, signaling with her eyes that hirdmen had wandered into the hall. Two of them sat on the far benches, setting aside their spears and falling into conversation. Their presence ended discussion of the evening's plans. After the girls returned and set the looms, the rest of the afternoon passed like any other. Once the evening meal had been finished and dishes were being cleared, Runa raised her brows at Groa who acknowledged by catching the attention of the other servants.
"See here," she shouted. "This whole table is stained. Who is supposed to be cleaning this?"
With attention distracted, Runa picked up a bucket and left. She wended her way down the tracks to the well. Men spared her nothing more than a glance, for she was only drawing water for the night's cleaning. After she lowered the bucket, she ducked her head inside. A mossy, damp scent filled her nose and each drip sounded like a roar with her head in the well. Immediately she discovered the flaw in her plans.
There was no light. Leaning into the well, everything melted into a thick brown smear and every rock disappeared. She fumbled with her hands, finding nothing, then had to back up to catch her breath. Evening light skimmed over the rooftops, nothing slanting down to illuminate the shadows. You foolish girl, she though. Should've come in the light to see what you're doing.
Not wanting to appear any more suspicious, she drew up the bucket of water and set it aside. It occurred that Konal placed this in the dark and would have had only torchlight. Therefore, the stone must be identified by touch. She leaned back in and felt around, coming back up empty. She tried twice more before a st
one came free. It squeezed out of her hand and fell into the water with a splash. Hissing with fear, she reached inside to grasp the pouch. In one smooth move she withdrew from the well and stuck the pouch into her skirts. She then picked up her bucket and hurried back to the hall.
She and Groa waited until only three hirdmen remained, two of which were deep in conversation. Without having to speak, both of them knew the next steps in their plan. They transported their few belongings in baskets covered with the cloth woven during the day. Outside the hall they set aside the basket and pulled out travel packs. The sun had set, but they had no worries of travel in darkness.
"The cart is ready?" Runa asked once they were away from the hall.
"And Soren is ready to drive us. I've already arranged as you asked. Once we're through the gates, then we are as good as gone."
Yet at the eastern gates they found them hanging open and a small group of men entering on horseback. They both stepped off the road, but when Runa recognized the front rider as he dismounted, she put her hand to her mouth.
"Aren has returned," Groa said. "Was he supposed to?"
Runa shook her head and met her son while other men handled the horses. Something weighed on his mind, apparent to Runa from the slouch in his stance and cool reaction. They hugged, and over Aren's shoulder she saw Soren waiting on his cart.
"I did not expect you to meet me at the gate," Aren said as he pulled back from her. His eyes darted from Runa to her travel pack, then Groa, and his expression changed to shock. "What are you doing?"
Pulling him close as if to embrace him again, she whispered into his ear. "I've had all I can take. We are leaving while Konal is away. I wanted to keep you at Eyrafell with Hakon, but now you are here."
"You mustn't go," he said, grabbing her by both shoulders. "Endure Konal a while longer."
"What? Of all people, I thought you wanted to leave the most? You're not telling me something. I see it in your eyes."
She squeezed his shoulders and waited. He noticed her bruised face and turned aside in disgust.
"Gods, that is Konal's work?"
"Things are going to get worse," she said. "There's something you don't understand. Your return has fouled my plans, but Konal will be gone at least another day. We need to get to Einar before he is back."
"So, something I don't understand but you can't tell me more? I just have to trust you?" Aren raised his brow and Runa felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. His smile was more of a wince as he brushed the hair from her bruised face. "You can't leave now. Everyone will see you leave, and travel at night is dangerous."
"We're going on Soren's cart, and he has a lantern. Only to the nearest farm and then on to Eyrafell in the morning." Aren was already shaking his head.
"Look around you," he said. "Every man is watching us. For tonight, at least, you must remain. All I ask is you stay a while longer."
"I'm telling you, I don't know what your father will do when he returns."
"Don't call him that," he snapped. If they had remained unnoticed, now they had everyone studying them. Runa pulled back and Aren straightened himself. "I will protect you from whatever he will do to you. He will have to kill me to harm you. I swear it."
Runa's breath grew short and her lip began to tremble. "My dear son, you can't be with me always."
He took Runa's hands, and folded them in his own. "Tonight your plans are done. I have sworn a solemn oath to not reveal what I know, but I can tell you it will change your life. Just trust me, and within the week you will know everything."
She had never seen him so earnest, and her chances for escape had been foiled by his arrival. Too many eyes were upon her and Groa now. She nodded, then pointed with her chin at Soren. "Groa, tell him to wait on your plans. I'm sorry."
Aren's square face was bright with happiness. "Konal will not hurt you again, and life is going to get better. I swear it upon my life."
"Do not make such oaths lightly," she said with a frown. "The gods may force you to make good upon it. Now take yourself to the hall with Groa. I have a small matter to attend to before joining you. And don't give me that look. I'm not sneaking away."
Waiting for them to leave, she withdrew the pouch of gems from her skirts. She did not know what secrets Aren held, but he was so convinced that she believed him. Since his youth, Aren always knew more than anyone. His mind was greater and deeper than any man's she had ever known, and he was still only fourteen years old. If he believed her life would change, he was likely right. She had to return the gems to hiding, since she did not know when she would have another chance. If Konal found his hole empty, she would be in dire trouble.
At the well she leaned in and realized the stone was gone. It only just occurred to her now and panic filled her. He would know she had been here. She began to search for other stones, finding nothing suitable in the dirt beside the well. She leaned in again to search for another loose stone to replace the one she had dropped. When she slid back out of the well, she turned to face three men ringing her. She squealed in fright.
"What are you doing?" She summoned her best angry voice while slipping the pouch back into her skirt.
"Konal said to watch for anyone around the well. And look who we found."
"I am the jarl's wife! You'll all stand aside and leave me alone."
The men parted, smiling after her as she strode through them.
She had to flee now, or face the unthinkable at Konal's hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ulfrik arrived at the border after dawn when the sky was the color of dying lavender. He emerged from the tree line, heavy pine scents clinging to him as he crossed the fields toward the stockade walls of the enemy camp. These were not built up on dirt mounds, but simple stockade fences demarcating lines that could not be crossed. "You can walk up to the fences," a local farmer had told him. "If you meet one of ours you can trade news, if you meet a Frank you can trade silver to walk away unharmed."
The Franks had pushed their borders beyond the Oise River and crushed the Northmen to the corridor around the Seine River, then shoved them west toward distant Rouen. This land had been watered with the blood of both Frank and Northmen too many times to count. Ulfrik guessed if he could part the stand of trees on the horizon he would see the smudged outline of his old enemy Clovis's fortress. He smiled without humor, certain Clovis's ghost laughed at him from whatever sad place Christians went after death. He would delight at seeing the land Ulfrik had annexed returned to his countrymen again.
The grass should be stained forever red, but the thick summer green carpet swished beneath his feet as he approached the first haphazard rows of fences. He could smell the mucky scents of the Seine beyond them. Inhaling deep, he let out his breath slowly and checked that his sword was loose in its sheath before making his final approach. Dark figures lurked between the tall fences, and from the cut of their cloaks and the round shields some of them leaned upon, he guessed them to be his own kind.
At a spear's throw away, the men revealed themselves, seven all wearing simple wool shirts of white or gray and cloaks of deep blue or green now fouled with mud and other stains. They wore swords at their hips and a sax, the short thrusting sword for close fighting, hung at their laps. They ambled out with a carelessness so false Ulfrik suspected a trap. He paused and let his hand drop by his sword hilt, then he unslung the battered old shield at his back. It was painted in halves of black and yellow and was splintered and chipped from heavy use. Gunther had found it for him along with assorted other well-worn war gear to support his new persona.
The man in the lead saw Ulfrik's precaution and threw his head back in a laugh that sounded like a walrus. He wore a dented helmet but otherwise nothing more for defense. His hair was the color of straw and the same consistency, blowing out from under his helmet in clumps. An otherwise handsome face had been marred with pox scars, and a scraggly beard wagged as he laughed.
"I'm here to join Count Amand's forces," Ulfrik said. He set
his hand on his hips and disregarded the leader recovering from his laughter. "Do any of you fools know where I can swear my oath?"
The men exchanged glances then stepped toward him, rolling their shoulders and necks. Ulfrik flicked his eyes between them but did not move. A crow cried overhead as if warning Ulfrik away from danger, but he paid it no mind. The gods send what signs they would, he had a task that unfortunately placed him in the path of fools.
"Hold on, this is too good," said the pox-scarred man. "Some old man strolls out of the forest with a broken shield and piss-stained pants then expects to present himself to the count." He scanned Ulfrik and recoiled as if he has sniffed spoiled milk. "Do you even know what you're doing?"
"I know I'm wasting my morning entertaining some goat-turd and his dog-fucking friends. If your man back there cracks his knuckles again, I think he'll break his hand. Then how will he stroke your cock?"
Ulfrik stood as if he had just remarked on the weather rather than inciting seven men to murder.
The pox-scarred man glared as did his followers, and his eyes narrowed. His hand came to rest on his sword hilt and he began to circle Ulfrik. "Those are some bold words from one old man. Do you imagine yourself a real killer, taking on all seven of us?"
"I was imagining myself talking to someone smarter. If you are the kind of men Count Amand employs, then maybe I was wrong coming here. You fools look like the kind to cut your own fingers off sharpening your swords. I suppose I'll be leaving."
"Not after those words," said the leader. He stood before Ulfrik, and an odor like a midden pit assailed his nostrils. The man leaned in closer. "What's your name? I'd like to know who I'm beating into the ground."
"I'm Ulfar the White," Ulfrik said. "I shall guess your name as Thor Shit-Stink."
The man stared with his mouth half open, and then a sly smile emerged. "Gunnvald Hrethelson is my name. You'll learn to respect it."
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 9
