Banners of the Northmen (10 page)

Thunder boomed in the distance, and the rain had decreased to a patter. Kolbyr held still, and Thrand's pulse throbbed in his grip. He tasted salty sweat rolling off his lip into his mouth.

"Put your hand back on the table. I'm in."

Thrand exhaled with a smile, letting go of his sword and reaching out to shake Kolbyr's hand. "Then we've decided. I knew I had not misjudged you."

They shook, Thrand impressed at the strong grasp of his young partner. The relief was exuberant, though in his heart he knew Kolbyr would eventually try to kill him for a chance at all the gold. It was the way of such alliances, and Thrand expected he also understood it. For now, they were unified in purpose.

"There's one final thing we should be clear about," Thrand said. "To be successful, we might have to kill Ulfrik."

"If he fights, he will die."

"No, I mean that our plans may be best served if we kill him in his sleep or at another time. You won't have trouble with that, will you?"

"Not if we are getting all that gold for ourselves. I'll slit his throat myself."

Both men laughed, and thunder rolled in the distance to seal their pact.

CHAPTER NINE

November, 885 CE

"Finding Gunther among so many people will take all night." Ulfrik and his eighty warriors had waded ashore and now stood on a sandy beach at the meeting place designated a month ago. Locating the fjord had been simple, since Ulfrik guessed every longship in the circle of the world headed to the same place. He had only to follow the others.

Toki plodded past him, drawing a deep breath through his nose. "Smell the pines? This is Denmark, home!"

"Smells like fish and sweat," Snorri quipped. "Gunther will be where the ale flows freest."

Ulfrik shook his head and ordered his men to follow up the shallow slope. They hefted bags, folded tents, blankets, and war gear and trudged out of the cold wetness of the surf. The scene spreading before Ulfrik summoned memories of the markets in Kaupang. His father had taken him to trade in the market every summer, and each time he had marveled at the throngs of people, the strange languages and accents, the goods and money changing hands, the games and brawls in every corner. It was a spectacle to never be surpassed—until now.

The fjord was choked with anchored ships, and the beaches were thick with dark hulled vessels of every size. The cloudless purple sky of twilight revealed an array of stars, mirrored by a pinpoint web of orange campfires and bonfires along the shore. Shadows of men formed clusters and lines that rippled and writhed in the firelight. Boisterous voices, laughter, shouts, off-key music, bleating sheep, and even the squeals of children rivaled the breaking waves for rhythm and volume.

Thousands upon thousands of warriors and many more of their families camped here, and ships still slipped into the fjord as darkness pulled down to the jagged horizon of pine treetops. Surrendering to the futility of locating anyone in such a gathering, Ulfrik dropped his pack into the grass.

"Let's set our camp here. Einar, take some men and find firewood. Toki, fly my standard and leave it for Gunther to find us."

Their tasks assigned, Ulfrik settled to the grass and leaned on his pack. One of his men dragged Humbert forward, and roughly shoved him before Ulfrik. His ragged clothing was soaked from wading to the beach, but he had held his red cloak out of the water. Righting himself, casting a hateful glare at his handler, he gathered the dry cloak tighter.

"Sit with me, Humbert. We have not spoken in a long time."

Humbert looked about at the rest of the crew throwing down their burdens and stretching on the grass. Only after satisfying himself of safety, he sat a respectful distance away. Ulfrik chuckled at his caution, but understood it. Men often treated their tools better than a slave.

"Tell me, Humbert, what do you think of this gathering?"

"It smells like a dead whale and sounds like a dying moose."

Ulfrik rocked back in laughter, both from the apt comparison and the heavily accented Norse. "Are there moose in Frankia?" Humbert shook his head, and Ulfrik laughed again. Snorri settled beside him, and others dropped their packs close. Thrand and his blond-haired friend, Kolbyr, joined as well. Thrand offered him a rare smile.

"I was more interested in what you think of all these men. Do we have enough to conquer Paris, and the cities beyond?"

Humbert scowled and threw a cursory glance at the crowds of warriors. "Maybe enough."

Laughter met Humbert's mumbled assessment. Toki, who had just fastened Nye Grenner's standard of black elk antlers on a green field to its pole, stood over Humbert. "Maybe? There are enough warriors here to conquer the whole country, maybe the whole world."

"Who would be king of the world?" asked Darby, whose head still bore the scars from the sheep raid. "Would it be you, Toki?"

"And why not? A fool like you would spend all his days counting the sheep in his kingdom. But I would count the women, and sample each one!"

Someone playfully tossed a clod of dirt at Toki and all laughed. Ulfrik's mirth was tempered by a strangeness he sensed from Toki. The closer they had come to Denmark, the more carefree he had become, but it seemed tinged with something Ulfrik could not place. Ignoring the sensation, he returned to Humbert.

"You don't think an army this size will prevail? You still doubt, or are you too proud of your people?"

"This is no army," Humbert's dark eyes glittered in the darkness. "No one leads them. Loyal only to yourselves, you will not last when trouble begins. Humbert thinks the master has never seen Paris before. When master sees, he will know Humbert's meaning."

Ulfrik was about to probe Humbert's meaning, but then his slave looked up with surprise. Ulfrik turned and found a dark shape wavering behind him. The outline of the wolf-pelt across the shoulders and the massive body defined Gunther in an instant.

"No trouble finding the gathering spot, I bet!" Gunther's voice boomed over the cacophony, and he extended a hand to help Ulfrik to his feet.

"None, but finding a coin at the bottom of the sea felt easier than finding you here." Gunther's rough hand was hot with sweat as it wrapped onto Ulfrik's forearm. Groaning, he hoisted Ulfrik to his feet and the two clasped together in greeting. Gunther's stiff wolf pelt pushed into Ulfrik's face, smelling like ale and coppery blood. They drew back, and Ulfrik swept his arm across his camp. "All eighty warriors answered Jarl Hrolf's summons. We are here for gold and victory."

"Can't be gold without victory!" Gunther softened his expression, a genuine gladness drawn into the lines and scars on his face. "I'm glad you chose to answer the call. You will never regret it."

Ulfrik nodded, and Einar and his chosen men returned with armfuls of firewood. "We haven't even built a fire yet. How did you find us so fast?"

"You're as late as can be, and we sail tomorrow. So I've had boys watching every open landing spot for you. Not too many new arrivals now, so you were easy to find. In fact, leave your gear here but go see Hrolf. He'll be heartened to greet you and your eighty warriors."

Ulfrik waved his men to their feet, instructing them to leave their packs. Humbert stood, nervously clutching his cloak to his throat. Thrand stood beside him, dusting down his pants. Ulfrik pointed at him. "Keep an eye on Humbert and don't let him wander."

He shot Thrand a knowing look, and he replied with a solemn nod. Humbert meant too much to his plans, and though Ulfrik did not fear his fleeing, he worried for theft. Anyone looking closely would notice his bearing and intelligence, and might be tempted to steal him as one would steal unattended silver. The red cloak marked him out as well. Relieved once Thrand grabbed Humbert's arm, he followed Gunther.

As they worked through the press of men, he heard the Danish accents spoken everywhere. He glanced at Toki, who as a native of Denmark blended with the local language. Norwegian accents drew glances, most indifferent but some disdainful.

"None of these people know how to talk," he said to Toki, who followed at his side like a child at a festival.

"It's music. If my sister were here, she'd tell you the same."

The mention of Runa hit him harder than he expected. The day he had sailed, he had offered her a kiss and a sword. Pressing his short blade into her hand, she allowed him a single kiss before pulling away. "Go with the gods, and find victory. I will pray to them for your safety."

"Practice with the big sword, but use this one if you must fight. It will be a goose feather in your hand. It is mine, and has served me well. I pray you will have no need of it."

"A prayer you share with me. Now, go and return in spring as a jarl rich in gold and glory. And if you don't return, I'll pass this sword to Gunnar."

"Don't say it, Wife! Have I not always returned?" He reached for her but she stepped away. They traded stares, and her eyes warned him to silence. He left her at the doors of his hall, and did not look back. Now, he regretted his reticence.

A man tumbled at his feet, drawing him back from his thoughts. Gunther side-stepped, but Ulfrik nearly tripped. Two more men followed, and pummeled the man on the ground who barred his face with his arms. Ulfrik and his crew flowed around the brawl, Gunther never pausing as he pushed deeper into the fire-bright welter of sweating, stinking men.

"We've been idle too long," he called back over his shoulder. "Many have been here a week with nothing to do but drink and grow bored. Lots of fighting, even some killed. Time to move on, I say."

Slipping out of the throng, Ulfrik greeted the cool air with an exaggerated sigh that drew a knowing chuckle from Gunther. They had arrived at a wide clearing populated by numerous tents, two of which stood higher and wider than the others. A bonfire blazed at the center and clusters of spearmen idled around it. Banners flipped around poles at the entrances to the tents, but did not fly true enough to see the markings.

"Hrolf dwells in that tent." Gunther pointed to the leftmost tent, brown with dirt from long years of use. It was not as large as the center tent, nor as bright.

"And Sigfrid is at the center," Ulfrik finished for him.

Two men guarded the worn tent, but Gunther ignored them and stood outside the flap, addressing Hrolf. "Lord, more warriors join your band. Ulfrik Ormsson has arrived with hirdmen, and they will present themselves."

A response came that Ulfrik could not hear, but One-Eye backed away. In the next moment, the flap opened and Jarl Hrolf the Strider ducked out of the tent. Three years had passed, but Ulfrik could hardly forget the tallest man he had ever met. Clad in shining mail and a heavy cape rimmed with fox fur, he appeared ready to leap into battle. Gold rings caught points of bonfire and gold and silver armbands sparkled with the dancing flames. Thor's hammer hung across his chest, the polished silver reflecting so powerfully the talisman seemed on fire.

He threw his arms wide; clear, fierce eyes set in a regal face meeting Ulfrik's. His presence had not diminished over the years, and the gray forming at his temples and in his pointed beard contributed to his kingly appearance. "One-Eye said you would come. Be welcomed!"

Ulfrik inclined his head. "My lord, I would not miss the opportunity to join you in such a great undertaking. I bring three ships and eighty men to the glory of your banner."

Snorri grunted beside him, and Ulfrik smiled. Flattery was not his strongest talent, but he understood its value to men like Hrolf. The grunt was Snorri's critique of his awkward delivery, but Hrolf appeared unconcerned as he surveyed the men arrayed behind Ulfrik with an appreciative nod.

"Eighty men! One-Eye, how many warriors under my banner now?"

"I can't count that high, lord."

"Find someone who can, then tell me I have more than Sigfrid."

Both men laughed, but Ulfrik noted the rivalry with a sly smile to Snorri. Hrolf put his hands on his hips, scanning the crew, then stopped and pointed at Humbert. "You took no women with you but brought an old man? I thought I knew you better, Ulfrik."

Humbert crumbled back like he had been struck with an arrow, casting his gaze to the ground. Thrand grabbed his shoulders and shoved him to his knees before Hrolf. Ulfrik laughed at Hrolf's jest. "He is a slave and a captive, a priest from Frankia I hope to ransom. He speaks our language, too, and so might be of use."

Hanging forward enough to nearly prostrate himself, he croaked his greeting, "Lord Hrolf."

"Did he just die?" Gunther joked, then slapped his leg as he cackled. Humbert was immediately forgotten when a horn began to blast.

"Sigfrid is ready to address the men," Hrolf said, pointing to the center tent. "I will join him. You are all lucky to be in the front, where you can be seen with the great jarls."

Hrolf left with his bodyguards, and Gunther went to summon his crew. Ulfrik gathered his men close, keeping Snorri and Toki to either side. Overturned carts made for a makeshift stage. The crowds of warriors gathered around the bonfire to hear their lord's address. Many drunken calls filled the night as the crowd formed.

Emerging from his tent, Sigfrid greeted his allies with nods curt enough to be insults. His pale eyes glittered in the firelight and his wide face was written with lust for attention. Leaping onto the wagon with a single jump, he landed easily and drew approving shouts for his agility.

"Bastard practiced that for weeks," Snorri's rough voice whispered in Ulfrik's ear, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth to cover his laugh.

Sigfrid raised his hand to the crowd, and men began to stomp the ground or beat their shields. Soon all joined in, Ulfrik pounding the earth with his foot. Sigfrid circled to face every man, his freshly scoured mail orange bright and his rings and chains sparkling. Shadows filled the curvatures of his muscles, making him appear stronger and larger than reality. Waving down the crowd, he shouted for silence. It took a long while, but he finally captured the massive throng's attention. Ulfrik craned his neck to look behind, seeing no end to the men gathered.