"Sorry, I just like horses."
"Maybe you like them too much? Seems you make them feel strange." The man began to thrust his hips back and forth, drawing laughter from his crew. Ulfrik smiled and his face grew hot.
"All right, I take your meaning. I'll get out of the way."
The fat man nodded and Ulfrik began to move off, but he was not as fast as he could be. He glanced at the fat man as he continued past, and he pressed back a smile when the fat man called him again.
"If you've got nothing better to do than look for horses to fuck, why not put in some honest work here. I'd like to get this cargo out fast, so I can get under sail before noon. Want to earn a few silver bits?"
Ulfrik rubbed the back of his neck and squinted up at the early morning sun. "I actually have drills this morning. Not sure I have time."
The fat man shrugged. "Off you go, then. Wouldn't want to interfere with your drilling."
"Well, I could help a short time."
"Right," the fat man said. "You see the ship. Carry off the barrels and stack them on the carts. Don't touch the horses again."
He fell into line with the other crew and spent a solid half hour off-loading the cargo. By the end he had sweat a V shape into his brown shirt and his brow glistened. The fat man paid him three silver bits, a pittance for the work, but Ulfrik was not after silver.
"All of this is going to Count Amand? That's a lot of beer. What about the crates?"
"Crates are a mix of things to keep a fortress running. Not really for you to know, is it?" The fat man raised a brow at him as he pressed the silver into Ulfrik's palm.
"Thanks for the silver. It's a bit thin for the work I did. Do you need help unloading?"
The fat man was turning away, then paused. "You after more silver? We unload just inside the gates, and my crew can handle that. No sense my paying you for it."
"Actually I was just hoping to ride on the cart. I have to go back that way for my drills, and a spot of rest would do me all right. By the time we get there, I might pitch in a bit to repay your kindness."
The fat man smiled, his pink scar bending with it. "Ride with barrels."
The cart ride was short, and once inside Count Amand's fortress, he began to study every detail of its layout while helping the crew offload their cargo. The only gate was heavily guarded by Franks. No Northmen made it this far into the fortress. Of course, with a proper disguise Franks and Northmen were hard to tell apart. The main building was constructed of stone with a wood outbuilding and towers. No telling where Vilhjalmer could be inside the place, or even under it. He guessed the towers were more likely than a dungeon.
"That's all there is," the fat man said. "Thanks for your help. We've got to clear out now."
They clasped arms and Ulfrik followed behind as they made for the gates. The Franks were idle and inattentive during this routine. The Northmen crew filed out without a glance from anyone. Ulfrik used the moment to slip into the shadow of the walls, and he waited while the gates dragged shut.
He was locked inside Count Amand's fortress, fully armed, and out of place. "Great plan. Your head is water-logged from yesterday," he whispered to himself.
The goods they had delivered were stacked to the side of the open courtyard. Servants in plain clothes carried away the smaller casks and crates, while teams worked on the larger ones. He watched them for a short time, all of the servants intent upon their jobs. He decided the best approach was to act as if he belonged here. Stealth would draw suspicion, but walking boldly across the courtyard would promote confidence Ulfrik was at home.
He strode toward the pile of trade goods, back straight, head up, then lifted one of the casks. As one servant approached, he met the man's eye and nodded to him. The servant's brow furrowed, but he nodded back and continued his business. He shouldered the cask and followed the line of servants carrying goods into the fortress.
The heavy scent of cheese filled his nose as he followed the front man through a short hall into a storeroom. He set the cask beside the others, the servants there uninterested in him, and turned to follow the same man out. Once in the short hall, he was alone but for the man in front. Frankish conversations carried from a room to his left. He turned back to head deeper into the fortress.
Pausing at a corner, he listened for activity on the other side, and hearing none he rounded it. A woman stood in his path holding a broom. They both startled at each other, though Ulfrik regained himself faster.
The woman was young and slender. Lustrous brown hair flowed out from beneath a white head cover and wide green eyes stared at him from beneath thin brows. She touched her chest in surprise, but when Ulfrik smiled she relaxed and returned the same.
"I did not hear you there," he said in broken Frankish. Never talented with languages, he was only regaining his ability with Frankish after years of disuse.
The woman blushed and shook her head as if to say all was fine. She stood to the side as if to let him pass. Behind her was an open door where light glared into the room. A table and benches had been shoved to the walls and stubs of candles showed the room was in current use. From the filled spear racks, Ulfrik determined it was a guard room and the open area beyond was the inner courtyard. He might find the tower entrances there, but his presence would be questioned no matter how confidently he behaved.
Unless he had an escort.
"Actually, I'm new to the count's service," he said to the girl. She continued to smile and she tilted her head to the side to expose her graceful neck. He paused in confusion, unprepared for her interest. "Well, you seem friendly enough. I'm looking for the captain of the guard and was told to find him in the tower. Which one is that?"
Without a word, she tugged his sleeve and walked him out into the courtyard. Despite the warm glow of her interest, he remained alert for a trap. A square of trampled grass that now had been churned to mud after the rain filled the inner courtyard. The girl pointed diagonally across to a square log tower. She smiled at him and drew closer, and he was about to thank her when doors to his right swung open.
Grimnr emerged with five other men. No time to back into the doorway, the two of them locked eyes.
Ulfrik grabbed the girl on instinct, but in the same moment Grimnr's eyes softened and a wolfish smile pushed his scars aside.
"I have to ask how you got in here," Grimnr said as he crossed the distance. "But I don't have to ask why."
Nervous laughter came unbidden, and he tugged the Frank girl closer. She did not resist and let her arm slip about his waist. "I was hoping to keep this secret a little while longer."
I was actually hoping to ride this chance to the end, he thought, but then you showed up.
"Yeah, well, I'll let you in on a secret," Grimnr said as he stood beside him. "The whore rides any Northman cock she thinks will take her out of this place. Forget her."
He pulled the woman's hand from Ulfrik, and firmly set her aside. He guided Ulfrik by the shoulder and resumed walking. The four other men behind him were unfamiliar, and though they displayed gold armbands and jeweled rings, all of them appeared bored with Grimnr's talk. Ulfrik glanced back at the girl, who dragged her broom in defeat back into the guard room.
"How did you find her?"
"Did you see that slim waist and fair skin? Not too hard to find that, is it?"
Grimnr laughed. They continued under the gates of the inner courtyard and now passed the stack of cargo, of which only a few barrels remained.
"Well, she doesn't leave this fortress, so how did you find her?" Grimnr was not looking at Ulfrik but signaling guards in the tower to open the gates.
"Merchants at the river docks sometimes hire help to unload and deliver their goods. I thought to make some extra coin, seeing how we've not had any action since I've been here."
They passed beneath the gate and outside the four other men parted with a short wave, heading into what had formerly been Eskil's portion of the camp. Grimnr studied him, the morning sun filling his
predatory face with shadow. "Don't take any more work unless you speak to me first. Nothing wrong with making side money, but I need to know where you are always. Forget the whore, too. I'll make sure you don't go lonely for too long."
"As you say." Ulfrik inclined his head and Grimnr patted his shoulder. They both headed back toward his hall.
"Also, you'll be the first to know, and I think you'll like this news."
"Really, what would it be?" A burning sensation already ignited in his gut, but he smiled as they wove between the tents and buildings.
"Just finished a council with Count Amand. I got him to see that we need to shake up the enemy and let them know we're here. If we continue to hide we're giving them time to strengthen their defense. Besides, Count Amand has an important hostage that so far has done us no good that I've seen."
"A hostage?" Ulfrik tried to sound conversational, but his heart bounced off the bottom of his throat.
"Son of Hrolf's right hand, Mord Guntherson. A true Northman's son, that boy. I admire his fight. Anyway, that's not a concern of yours. We're marching to war, boy!"
"We are? Great." Ulfrik's weak enthusiasm made no mark on Grimnr. "Who are we attacking?"
"We're stabbing right at the heart of their defense, show them we can hit wherever we want. You will be right up front with me to see it too. We're going to lure out and ambush that giant bastard, Einar Snorrason, and I'm going to nail his head over my hall door."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ulfrik lay in the wet grass, mud clinging to his back. Clouds scudded through a blue sky while black dots of birds wheeling high above floated through his vision. His body ached and his arms throbbed. He blinked hard to clear his head from the ringing. The dark shape of a man loomed over him.
"What happened to Ulfar the Invincible?" the man asked as he extended a hand to help him up. "Am I fighting a child?"
White pain lanced through his leg as he stood, memories of wounds dealt long ago. He limped a moment, then picked his shield and sword out of the grass. "Sorry, Narfi, I think I got sick in the rain yesterday. Feel like I've got ice in my blood."
Narfi, Ulfrik's sparring partner, shook his shaggy head. All around them pairs of men practiced fighting with sword, spear, and ax. All were invigorated with Grimnr's announcement of the upcoming attack. Grimnr's personal hirdmen had to be in top form, and he expected the most kills to come from his own. "You will capture Einar's standard, and I will take his head," Grimnr had said to the unanimous roars of his men.
"You don't look well," Narfi agreed. "But the enemy doesn't care how you feel. Put up your shield."
His ax clanged down on the metal boss at the shield's center, Ulfrik barely blocking the strike. His hand went numb but he held firm. The hird practiced for blood, and stories of men losing limbs or lives were fresh in the minds of the group. He considered such deadly practice wasteful, but also agreed that practicing with edged weapons garnered the best results.
He just did not want to fight for blood when his heart and mind were in another place.
Swiping under the shield, Narfi danced away but Ulfrik closed the gap. He drove with his shield and crowded Narfi. Ax and spear fighters hated close fights. Worse for Narfi, he had failed to lodge his ax in the shield which was the weapon's primary role. Despite what some men believed, the ax was a support weapon for hooking or negating a shield for a spear or sword to exploit. Narfi was of the school that mistook it for a primary weapon.
"You want to give up now?" Ulfrik asked as he shoved Narif back, who braced against the shield with the haft of his ax.
"And miss the chance to give you this?" Narfi stepped back to let Ulfrik's force carry him forward. As Ulfrik fell, Narfi rammed the haft into his side and knocked the wind from him.
"Bastard!" Ulfrik shouted. He stumbled to avoid Narfi's follow up, but the ax was already swinging for his trunk as if he were a tree to be felled.
He imagined allowing the blow to land, to crash through his side straight to his spine. He would not need to struggle any more, nor face Einar in battle or fight to reclaim what he once possessed. No more impossible battles. No more of anything but his reward in the feasting hall.
"Gods, Ulfar!" Narfi pulled his strike, and the ax hit him flat.
Ulfrik collapsed forward and landed facedown in the mud.
"You could have stepped out of that," Narfi yelled at him. "I almost killed you!"
"I really don't feel well."
He remained in the mud, the cold damp seeping between his mail. At last Narfi squatted beside him, his voice softer. "Maybe you should save yourself for the battle. Here, give me your arm."
Again Narfi assisted him to his feet, and Ulfrik kept his head lowered as he felt other eyes upon him. "Thanks, I'll be fine with some rest. Besides, I've got to get the mud out of these links or all my mail will be rust come the real fight."
Hobbling off toward a barracks house, he ignored the men watching him. He understood their fear, knowing in two day's time they would be fighting shoulder to shoulder with him and their lives depended on each man being his strongest. If Ulfar the White was not ready to fight, then he would be a burden at best and a threat at worst.
Outside the barracks, Ulfrik found the barrels for cleaning mail. When a man wore his armor all day, the constant movement caused enough abrasion between links to work out rust. Now that his armor was plugged with mud, no normal wear would sufficiently clean it. He would have to spend the majority of the day getting it back in shape. In one barrel was stored rainwater for rinsing off the dirt, and another barrel was half filled with coarse sand. After drying the mail he would seal it in the sand barrel and roll it around the field for an hour until the sand worked off rust and absorbed moisture between the links. Finally he would wax the armor to protect it from new rust.
After he pulled off his mail and straightened his clothes, he leaned on the water barrel. The thought of fighting Einar made him weak. He could think of no way out of the battle, which added nothing to his cause but increased his risk. After being caught in Amand's fortress, another absence would be conspicuous enough for Grimnr to send men after him.
"Don't vomit in the water." As if summoned by the thought of him, Grimnr appeared behind Ulfrik. The tall man padded up behind him as silent as a wolf on the prowl. Ulfrik whirled to find him at arm's length, his long braid falling out of a dented helmet and his wide shoulders pulling his mail shirt tight across his chest.
"I'm sorry about practice. Just not feeling well."
"I saw Narfi flatten you. Very unlike what I've seen so far." He leaned next to the barrel beside Ulfrik and folded his arms to watch the others practice in the distance.
"Good thing Narfi can handle his ax, or I'd be in two pieces."
"Only the most skilled warriors belong in my hird." They both fell into silence as they observed the sparring practice, the distant clangs and shouts carrying over the field. Behind them, dirty tents trembled with the morning breeze. Grimnr shifted and spoke again. "Get your rest, Ulfar. You only need enough practice to learn how to fight with this crew, and the battle is at least a week away yet. We have to settle the details with Mord."
The mention of Mord made Ulfrik stand straighter. "You're going to use his son against him?"
Grimnr nodded. "Like I said, Count Amand has held the boy prisoner long enough without making a demand. If he keeps waiting Mord will just have another son and forget this one." He laughed and Ulfrik forced himself to match it. "We go tomorrow to plan the attack. Three jarls form the bulwark of Hrolf the Strider's defense. Einar Snorrason, Mord Guntherson, and Ull the Strong. Behind these three the defense weakens, except to the north where Hrolf has concentrated strength against threats there. We will entice these jarls to battle with Mord's aid, then be certain he takes the center line. Mord will betray his fellows when we attack, holding back his men to let us crush the separated forces of Einar and Ull. The bulwark will be smashed open and we can march straight to Rouen and kick that giant troll back
to Norway."
The description gave Ulfrik an ache in his stomach. "Will Mord be willing to become an oath-breaker to Hrolf, and will his men follow him?"
"I don't know," Grimnr said, squinting into the distance. "He seems prepared to do anything to regain his son. This meeting will tell us much, and whether we can trust him."
"What if he doesn't bend? What of his son?"
"Count Amand wants to keep the boy. Maybe he's sad he only has daughters wasting away in Paris. I think Amand will keep him to check Mord. I'd counsel him to ransom the boy for gold enough to buy more warriors, then we'd keep Mord in check permanently after we cut off his head."
Ulfrik nodded and considered the situation. The time for feeling sick had passed him, and now he needed a new plan. Mord's best choice would be to play along and get Hrolf's son back. He could enlist Hrolf's authority if his own men bridled against the betrayal. He could also alert Einar and Ull to arrive under strength to prevent total destruction, but then risked not fulfilling his bargain and losing the chance at Vilhjalmer's return.
Worse still for Ulfrik, if Mord succeeded, he would have achieved nothing and be left to return to Runa with nothing more than what he carried on his back. He had to be the one to save Vilhjalmer and not Mord. Still, with Eskil dead, he was in a far more precarious position. He needed to get this message to Hrolf, and ask for more aid or at least cover for his escape with Vilhjalmer.
The only chance he had at getting his message out would be to pass it directly to Mord. He stood directly in front of Grimnr, who did not stir but merely let his eyes drift to meet Ulfrik's.
"I want to go with you on this meeting with Mord. I want to see him for myself, and get the measure of the man we're entrusting to deliver our victory."
Grimnr raised a brow. "I don't see why you need to know."
"This is not my first battle. I've years of experience, more than I'd like to admit. When you parley before the battle, you bring men with you to see the enemy up close and advise you. Why should this be any different? Besides, I don't need to drill with these men. I've fought beside enough strangers to learn how to adapt. Take me to the meeting for my experience and use me for more than just swinging a sword."
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 16
