Shield of Lies

by Jerry Autieri

  Not expecting to recount his war stories, Ulfrik turned a shocked face to the crowd. Most looked on with eager smiles, ready to hear tales of bravery, while others clearly hid jealously behind thin smirks. They cajoled him, and Einar patted his back with some encouragement. At last, he shook his head and told the tale.

  "It was luck that carried the day, and my men were eager for a fight." A few voices called his false modesty, and Ulfrik smiled. "I might have laid a good trap for him, too."

  "Now that's what we want to hear about," Hrolf said, slapping the table. "How did you draw him out?"

  "Just burned enough of his farms and kept pushing into his territory. I let him think he had cut us off, but I had fresh men in reserve. Truth was we were at the end of our tether and he did have us in a bad place. But we kicked him in the teeth."

  His memory drifted back to that desperate moment when it seemed he had overextended his reach and cursed his overzealous attempt to bring a final battle to Clovis. He had been warned against seeking glory at the risk of so many lives, but in the end had hacked off a good bit of fame from the Frankish hide.

  "They had cavalry but I promise you that Clovis does not know how to use them. He's always seeking to bring a surprise charge, and that day was no different. The arrow storm drove him back, and we clashed with his warriors so the horses were useless to him. It was a good day for killing."

  "But Clovis lived," called a voice from the crowd. Ulfrik nodded.

  "He did, but not before I left him something to remember me by. He had taken his eldest son to battle, put him in the front rank by the standard. Wearing those pretty things the Franks like." Laughter followed Ulfrik's jab at the bright-colored surcoats the Franks wore. "I found the lad and beat him to the ground. I'd have had his head, but the fool boy got his arm in the way. He lost his sword hand instead. The Franks broke before I could finish the work, and we had to let them go. We were extended as it was."

  A dozen voices asked for more details, and Ulfrik answered at length. He did his best to keep his words modest, but the praise and the excitement of recounting a victory before all the great men of Hrolf's lands defeated him. At the end, he was more than ready to swear his oath before Hrolf. He was ready to swear anything. So when the moment came, and Hrolf guided him out of his moment of glory, Ulfrik boldly went to his knee before Hrolf and nearly shouted his oath.

  "I do swear to you and before all these good men that I will defend Ravndal and hold its lands unto my last breath, that I shall bring war to the Franks and not cease until Paris is rubble under my feet."

  Hrolf raised him up with a genuine smile, and Ulfrik was heady with pride. He faced the cheering men, many who lined up to be the next to restate oaths before their brothers. Ulfrik had tightened his bond to Hrolf and made the chains that bound him to his small parcel of Frankia all the stronger.

  Chapter 4

  The wooden stockade walls ringing Ulfrik's fortified town loomed dark and jagged atop its rocky hill. Ulfrik allowed his horse to pick its way through the rocks, goading it on when it balked or hesitated. He had little familiarity with horses since leaving Norway in his youth, and his awkwardness showed in his poor handling. Einar, riding beside him, went ahead to encourage Ulfrik's horse to follow.

  "I can smell good food from here," Einar called back. "How can there be a famine in the land?"

  "With your appetite, famine should always be a threat to us," Ulfrik said. Einar leaned back in laughter and they continued up the hill.

  Strong winds set their cloaks flying and cold drops of wetness striking Ulfrik's face promised rain. Trees in the valley had dropped most of their leaves, and now the winds stripped the vestiges from the branches. Both he and Einar drew their cowls tighter against the cold. As they approached the top, Ulfrik began to search the gates for a guard and found none. They approached the western gate, which faced the interior of Ulfrik's lands and suffered the least threat from Clovis and other Franks. Still, the lax vigilance set his jaw grinding. Einar also sat straighter atop his horse, seeking someone to challenge them.

  They both traveled with nothing more ostentatious than silver cloak pins, and hid signs of status and wealth. Hrolf's escorts only returned them halfway, and even a short distance traveling in a small group left them vulnerable. The land knew no shortage of vagrants and outlaws, which further irked Ulfrik as no one had hailed them even as they closed to bow range. At last someone appeared on the wall, a head of hair flying in the wind that gazed down at them.

  "Are you going to challenge us?" Ulfrik called up to the man, straining to identify him against the glare of the sky.

  "You speak Norse, so be welcomed," the man said. "Still state your names for me all the same."

  Einar inhaled to shout, but Ulfrik grabbed his shoulder as he drew behind him. He shared a sly smile then squinted up at the walls. Another shadow of a man joined the other, though both merely leaned on the walls.

  "I am Thor Thorkelson and this is Steinn the Slow," Ulfrik said, drawing the names from imagination. Einar glared as he heard his pseudonym. "Anyway, rain's coming and we'd like to get into a warm hall where we can eat and maybe grab hold of one of your serving girls. You have good serving girls here?"

  The heads conferred with each other and the first man answered. "Welcome to Ravndal. The gate is open, but there's a gate tax."

  "It's open but there's a gate tax," Ulfrik growled under his breath to Einar. "These fools really didn't expect us today, eh?"

  Einar did not reply, his face already red and eyes bulging. Ulfrik feared he would have to save the two men from death at Einar's hands. They dismounted and Einar pushed the gate open. Both stepped through and awaited the guards descending the wall to collect their fee. As they did, Ulfrik and Einar pulled back their cowls.

  Both were surprisingly seasoned men, one whom Ulfrik recognized from the siege of Paris six years ago. That man's face had gone white and taut with fear, though the other man ambled toward them with a vague smile. Einar slammed his heavy fist into the man's face, crumpling him to the ground in one blow. The other fell to his knees and bowed his head, realizing his failure.

  "You'd let anyone walk in through an open gate?" Einar roared at the man on the ground. "Do you know Thor Thorkelson and Steinn the Slow? You ignorant whoreson! Maybe the Franks will march an army under your nose."

  Einar punctuated his words with bone-jarring kicks. Einar was a good man, loyal and fastidious in every duty given him. However, he expected the same from others and his patience was thinner than a decade-old sailcloth. The transgression he and Ulfrik had experienced would likely tear at his mind until he satisfied the doubt that all was perfect again. For his part, Ulfrik could not brook the dangerous laxity of these men, but he understood warriors hated few things more than gate duty.

  "Don't kill him," Ulfrik said.

  "And why not? He was prepared to let Thor and Steinn enter our town and kill someone else for whatever bribe he planned to ask."

  "Fair point." Ulfrik folded his arms and addressed the man kneeling. "You, Hildr Ragnarson, I know you. Explain yourself before Einar decides to kick your teeth through your tongue."

  "There's no excuse, Lord Ulfrik." He bowed lower. "No Frank has ever passed this way, and there were only two of you. I was prepared to sound the alarm, Lord."

  "And prepared to take a bribe to allow us to pass. We are at war with Clovis, or have you forgotten?"

  "Einar, stop kicking that man. He can't make amends if he is dead."

  Hildr peeked to the side and snapped away. His companion lay in the dirt groaning and bleeding, Einar hovering over him with eyes still bulging and face flushed. He finally backed down, grabbing his horse and leading him away. Ulfrik finished with his guards.

  "Bar this gate," he said to Hildr. "Let no man pass. I will summon you to face justice, Hildr. I'll consider your long service to me, but if you flee then it will go badly for you. Your companion has already received his punishment."

  He left them both
kneeling beside the gate. Several other guards watched impassively, a few chuckling. Townsfolk routinely made a spectacle out of such events, but this had been so swift no crowd had gathered. Ulfrik did not look back, but guided his horse toward the stables and anticipated seeing his hearth and his family.

  Chapter 5

  Runa sat with her three sons gathered to her side at the high table overlooking the spacious hall. Women pumped bellows at the hearth, wiping their brows as the fire snapped higher with each pump. Light from the open smoke hole painted the room with silver daylight of the diffuse sky above, shining on cleared tables and benches where moments before men sat in idle conversation. These same men now lined the walls behind the tables and stood straight and still.

  "Father beat a guard to death for sleeping at his post," Hakon whispered to his brothers.

  "It was Einar, you fool," Gunnar corrected. Hakon jabbed his older brother's ribs in answer.

  "Hush, the two of you," Runa said. "Neither of them would have done such a thing. Now sit up straight for when your father enters the hall."

  Gunnar ignored Hakon, who insisted on one more jab before settling beneath Runa's glare. Aren remained still under her right arm and took no interest in his brothers' bickering. Despite being only six years old, he bore himself with the weight and seriousness of a grown man. It frightened most people, Ulfrik included, but Runa never saw anything more than a child needing attention that his older brothers so often stole from him.

  Snorri stood, rubbing his thigh where a Frankish spear had ended his days as a warrior. Runa loved the old man like a father, as did Ulfrik, and welcomed the time he spent in the hall with her boys. He now vacated the high seat where he had ruled for Ulfrik in his absence. Despite the infirmity his wound conferred, Runa knew he could still crack heads into obedience if needed and as such held the men's respect as well as Ulfrik's.

  The moment before Ulfrik's entrance the room grew quiet. The servants and slaves scurried away to dark corners to hide until summoned again. A smile trembled on Runa's lips, anticipating his return. No matter how many years had passed, or how many younger men her wealth and status attracted, Ulfrik brought her joy no one else could ever match. He was the hero of the saga they created together. If the intensity of their love had vanished along with their youth, the solid core of their bond had only grown stronger.

  The doors opened and white light spilled over the forms of two men, one a head taller than the other. Ulfrik and Einar swept into the hall, and Runa rose with her children. Gunnar puffed out his chest, resting a hand upon the hilt of the sword he alone wore in the hall as the jarl's eldest son. Runa grinned as Hakon imitated his brother, though his hand found only a leather belt for a hitch. Aren clung tighter to her skirt as if to disappear.

  "A week gone, but how these boys have grown!" Ulfrik strode the length of the hall, weaving through columns and around benches, skirting the blazing hearth. He nodded to his men as he passed, each standing straighter as he acknowledged them. "Snorri, how have you made them taller?"

  "Soaked them in water and hung them by their toes all night." Snorri ruffled Hakon's hair as he answered, drawing a stifled giggle from him.

  Ulfrik had not lost his youthful stride, even as gray crept into his temples and at the root of his beard. Only a slight softening of his face betrayed his age, along with scars old and new earned from his numerous battles. His smile widened as he seized her forward into his arms. "It is good to be home. All has been well?"

  She peeled back from him, a flush warming her face. She relished his attention, but at their age and status such displays seemed out of place. "As peaceful as any six days have ever been. You brought all the excitement with you."

  "Did you beat a man to death for sleeping on the walls?" Hakon pushed forward, tugging the hem of his father's cloak. Ulfrik laughed and picked his son off the floor with one arm.

  "Rumors travel like flies in this town. I found lazy guards at the west gate, and Einar punished a man for his laziness. But no one died."

  Ulfrik deposited Hakon to his feet. Though barely eight years old, he stood taller than other boys his age, and well over Ulfrik's waist. He was the very image of his father, from his pale eyes and blond hair to his wiry strength and purposeful stride. Runa did not doubt he favored the boy for his similarity to himself, though Hakon's bright personality made him likable to anyone. He fixed Hakon's shirt, twisted and untucked from his belt. "Now what you have been up to? You've listened to your mother and Snorri? Been a good lad?"

  Hakon nodded earnestly. Snorri coughed. "Good in what way? The young master here has been under everyone's feet these days."

  Gunnar presented himself next. Runa watched the curious exchange. Gunnar considered himself a man, as did Runa, but Ulfrik struggled to accept it. This had strained their interactions, though in no serious manner. The two regarded each other, Gunnar standing back while Ulfrik awaited an embrace. When it did not come, he raised a brow.

  "Have I ruined your day returning so soon?" Gunnar answered with a chuckle and then embraced his father. Ulfrik gave Runa a perplexed smile as he hugged his son.

  "Gunnar has a girlfriend. I saw them holding hands." Hakon proclaimed his news with waving hands, as if words alone would not get attention. Gunnar hissed at his brother, while Ulfrik laughed. Runa had heard the rumors, and saw the lovesickness in her son's actions, but never openly dealt with it. The days of freedom in romance would soon end with an arranged marriage to strengthen ties with Hrolf. So she did not begrudge him his time.

  "A girl, is it?" Ulfrik slapped Gunnar's back. "Keep it to holding hands. I've no plan for bastard grandchildren."

  "Ulfrik!" Runa snapped. "Don't embarrass him in the hall. Now, you've not greeted your youngest."

  She guided Aren before her, resting her hands on his small shoulders. Ulfrik mimicked Aren's shy pout, then smiled. He knelt to his eye level, and with one hand that seemed gigantic beside Aren's small frame tugged him a few steps closer.

  "And how is my young warrior?" he asked, his voice lowering. "Have you been good?"

  Aren shrugged as if to discount his own statement. "Yes, Father."

  He stood out from his brothers in appearance and temperament. Aren's hair was straight and coppery, so thin it seemed painted to his head. His face was wide and square. None of those features were common to either of his parents, but much like a man Runa once knew too well. Aren was Konal's child, a man she had rescued and ultimately slept with six years ago. The timing of Aren's birth left his parentage open to interpretation, but as he grew, no one who knew Runa's history could doubt Aren's true father. Ulfrik never questioned her. The one time she tried to raise the possibility with him, he had placed his hand over her mouth and shushed her. He told her that blood did not always make a son or a father, and that he'd welcome as many sons as she could give him. She had never thought her love could deepen for Ulfrik until that day.

  Now the two stared gravely at each other. Finally Ulfrik patted Aren's head and stood, "Good boy. Mind your mother."

  With welcomes complete, and Einar quietly finishing with his own wife and two daughters who had waited for him at the far end of the high table, Runa now dared return to matters at hand. "What did Hrolf want? I've heard that famine is driving men from the land. Was that it?"

  "Of course it was. How have you heard?"

  Runa rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Unlike you, I listen to what tidings men bring to the hall. They are not all lies and tricks of the Franks. Besides, we've felt the pinch ourselves this summer."

  "We have?" Ulfrik unpinned his cloak and threw it across the table, then sat which then signaled the others to relax and return to their duties. "I've eaten well all summer."

  "You are the jarl, and would be the last person to starve." Ulfrik straightened to protest, but she held out a hand as she sat on the bench beside him. "But I don't mean that we've suffered, just that we've not replenished as fast as years past. So back to Hrolf. Is he ordering men to stay put?"


  "He had us renew our oaths to serve him and needed me to persuade others to do the same. But before I left, he mentioned he might take a tour of England himself. Just to see if there are opportunities there." Ulfrik brushed imaginary dirt from his knee, as if the news were as unimportant as dust.

  "So he binds you to fight for his lands while he leaves." Runa twisted on the bench to face him directly. "That is cruel."

  "He is free to do as he pleases. Besides, he has not decided on making the journey. In any case, he knows how important I am to holding his lands, and he needed to be sure of it. There was gold in it as well as glory. Got an armband for my success against Clovis."

  Ulfrik cleared his throat and held his arm up. His face was as bright as a young boy's and eager for her praise. She often felt he acted like her fourth son rather than her husband. "It gleams brighter than all the others," she said with a wry smile. "Though I'm not sure it was worth the risk you took to earn it."

  "There is no life without glory, and there is no glory without risk."

  "Foolish words," she scolded playfully and he laughed. Yet in her heart, she meant them. Ulfrik courted glory, more than ever before. Back in Nye Grenner, he was prideful, if naive. Since coming to Frankia and serving Hrolf, he had grown into an appetite for glory and station. Victory alone was no longer enough, but had to be achieved in a way that earned the envy of men. His battle plans, to Runa's limited understanding, had become more convoluted and dangerous, all in the name of "being worthy of a song."

  "Yet you don't count gold a foolish reward," he said to her, drawing her back from her thoughts. She decided not to foul his good mood with worries. The battle had long finished, and Ulfrik had assured her Clovis had been dealt a hard blow from which he could not recover before winter.