Banners of the Northmen (12 page)

The gathered crowd parted as two brawny men in mail coats shoved people aside with their shields. Striding between them was Sigfrid, his bleached hair unmoving in the breeze and his face streaked with soot. His eyes bored into Ulfrik's as he approached. The group joined Hrolf, and onlookers backed away a respectable distance.

Sigfrid searched Ulfrik up and down, as if waiting for a sign of obeisance. Ulfrik snorted then swallowed.
Until you break my knees I won't kneel, so stop staring, you fool,
he thought, and a smile trembled at his lips.

"I have you to thank for today's victory," Sigfrid said, more questioning than stating.

"I suggested cutting the water supply, lord." Ulfrik at last offered a slight nod, careful not to overtly insult the greatest jarl in their army.

Grunting and nodding back, Sigfrid glanced at Ulfrik's new armband. "What's your name again?"

Ulfrik answered, and Sigfrid, mouth closed and pulled down, twisted off a ring from his left hand.

"Good work." He tossed the ring, and it plunked into Ulfrik's hands. It was a plain band of gold, flattened at the bottom from years or wear. The metal was warm and smooth.

"I am honored, Lord Sigfrid." Now he bowed and again onlookers clapped. Then he displayed his prize to the crowd as if it were a more generous reward than it was.

"I don't like waiting," Sigfrid said. Ulfrik simply bowed a second time, restraining the urge to reply. If he had chanced words, they would have been mocking. With a curt nod to Hrolf, Sigfrid and his two bodyguards twisted away and marched back into the crowds.

Ulfrik squeezed the ring in his hand, and watched him shove against the flow of men heading for their ships.

"Enough royal visitors for one day, eh?" Hrolf tapped Ulfrik's hand, and he held it open to show Sigfrid's ring. Hrolf rolled it between two fingers. "Better than what he awards most people, believe it or not." He replaced the ring in Ulfrik's palm. "But Paris is close, and greater riches await us. If the Franks are foolish enough to fight, I want you close in my battle line. Your advice would be welcomed."

Hrolf winked then left to find his own ship. Gunther followed, but paused to squeeze Ulfrik's shoulder. "You already have a name with the great jarls. Didn't I say you would do well here?"

"That you did, One-Eye."

Ulfrik stepped back to
Raven's Talon
, more of his crew gathering before it and reviewing each other's loot. Einar and Ander went through each other's bags, while Thrand and Kolbyr taunted Humbert with a wooden crucifix held over his head. Others were tossing their bags onto the deck.

"How does fame sit with you now?" Snorri asked as he joined him. Ulfrik glanced back at the castle in time to see the roof of the highest tower collapse with a spray of sparks.

"It has come too early, considering all we need to do."

Snorri gave him a knowing look. "Do you really still believe the slave? His jabbering has stopped since we arrived here, like he's afraid of something. Being found a liar, maybe."

Ulfrik wiped his face with his hand, dirt and soot rubbing off. He observed Humbert holding himself aloof from Thrand's crude teasing. "He is probably waiting for his chance to run, or maybe he's surprised at making it this far."

"I don't think you're going to find what he promised."

Thrand began hitting Humbert's head with the cross, and he remained unflinching. Ulfrik waited for him to buckle, but he merely gathered beneath his mud-spattered red cloak. After a while, he called off Thrand. "That's enough. Get him aboard and keep him in one piece. You heard me!"

Sulking like a child, Thrand stopped and flung the cross on the ground, stamping it into the mud. Ulfrik waited in silence until all of his ships were prepared to shove back into the Seine. Just as Snorri began to leave, he grabbed his friend's arm. "Ander read the rune sticks, and saw the truth in Humbert's tale. The more I watch Humbert, the more I believe he spoke honestly. I think he fears revealing the treasure to us."

"You've grown into your father's stubbornness."

"That'd be a compliment."

"Not always." Snorri continued on his way, and Ulfrik fell in behind. Paris lay ahead, and within its walls lay riches and destiny.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Flames roared and roof timbers collapsed in a pile before Runa. The fresh air tore the blaze upward in an explosion of bright heat. Tears flooded her eyes and smoke choked her. Barely discernible in the fire and swirling ash were the murdered bodies of women, old men, and children. Their blood flowed like an orange and black stream.

Gunnar clung behind and Hakon wailed at her feet as she ranged her short sword before all of them. Picking effortlessly through the blaze came the dark shape of a gigantic man. She could only see the brightness of his iron blade. He hulked over her, his shoulders covered in a wolf pelt that smoldered with embers from the collapsing hall.

Striking with a low feint, Runa reversed her thrust up to the giant's belly. His sword swept aside the strike while his huge hand punched her in the head. She sprawled out and Gunnar screamed. The giant man loomed over her, his blade reflecting the fire consuming the hall. The point of it hovered at the base of her throat, and she shrieked as he rammed down.

She awoke to her own screaming, then sprang upright in bed. The bear-hide covers slipped from her, revealing Hakon curled beside her. He frowned and shimmied to her side. Darkness filled the room, but she could hear Gunnar's rhythmic breathing emanating from his bed. No signs of a fire or an attacker. She slumped forward, dropping her face into her hands.
How many more of these dreams will the gods send me?
she wondered. Ever since Ulfrik sailed a month ago, terrifying dreams stalked her nights. They followed the same themes every time: invaders trapping her, killing her family. In sleep, Runa's mind was free to envision all the fears she suppressed during the day.

Thunder exploded close to the hall, rattling the walls and shaking the bed. Only now did she hear the blasting wind and rain. Water dripped from the roof somewhere in the blackness of the room.
If Ulfrik were here, he'd fix it, but now I will have to beg someone or do it myself
. She hit the bed in frustration, in time with another boom of thunder followed quickly by a flash of white from the lone window set high on the opposite wall. The lamb skin cover sucked against the hole, threatening to fly outside into the storm.

Hakon mumbled in his sleep, and she lay down beside him again. The fierce storm lashed the hall, but she knew it would be done by morning. If the hall blew down with her inside, then it was Fate. She did not worry for things beyond her control. She could not, for her sake and for her children's.

Runa awakened to the cheerless morning, a slow drip of water from the roof leak pattering on the floor. Gunnar had left an empty in his bed, and she swept her hands across the feather stuffed mattress to Hakon. He smiled a gurgled laughter at her touch. Raising herself to the edge of the bed, she pulled the bearskin about her and slumped on her knees. Beyond the door, the faint clack of wooden plates and murmur of voices informed her that she had overslept. The savory notes of a stew floated into her room.

As she nursed Hakon, she listened to the vague conversations from the hall. She yearned to hear the deep tones of Ulfrik's voice, but only heard women chattering and children laughing. Something toppled and a female voice shouted in irritation. Finished, she let Hakon to the floor and went to the sword Ulfrik had left for her.

It was his short blade; a sax is what he called it. The blade was sharp and well made, but it lacked a cross-guard. As promised, the sax was like a feather in her hand after practicing with a long sword. She hung it on Ulfrik's armor rack, and each morning fit the belt around her waist so the blade hung at her lap. A weapon was useless leaned against a bed or racked on a wall. Wearing it drew looks and snide remarks, but she cared little what others thought. They would hide behind her when trouble arrived, she did not doubt. Feeling its weight slapping her thighs as she walked comforted her.

Hakon stumbled a few steps then fell, preferring to crawl. Runa scooped him up after she finished dressing and combing her hair.

Morning light streamed into the hall as women in red and white linen hair covers flitted about their duties. The hall doors hung open and bright sunlight sparkled in the water dripping from the roof. She entered the hall in time to see Gunnar dash out of the hall with several other children following. With the hirdmen gone, the hall remained empty most of the time, though families whose men had left with Ulfrik gathered to share meals in the hall. Several young men sat at the trestle tables while their mothers and sisters gossiped and minded the cooking pot.

Runa smiled at the women, who paused and inclined their heads as she wandered into the hall. She spoke each of their names in greeting as she passed. Elin, Ander's wife, was the only one she considered an honest friend. After Gerdie's death, precious few friends remained with her. The other women distanced themselves, afraid of the jarl's wife and her odd behavior.

"Quite a storm last night," Elin remarked as she dropped dried heather branches into the hearth while a young girl worked a billows to build heat.

"Is there any damage?" She leaned over the cooking pot, letting the pungent smell of simmering whale meat fill her nose. She passed Hakon to Thora, a young woman who cared for Hakon while Runa tended chores and duties.

"None I know of, but I haven't heard from the outlying farms. I'm sure all is well."

"I'll take a look around anyway." Runa excused herself and stepped out to the wet grass as a girl hauling water passed her.

Scanning the rooftops, she saw no damage to her untrained eyes. The roofs would have to be gone for her to notice. Her breath fogged on the cold morning air, and she folded her arms tight. Gunnar was running with a group of boys, all clashing together with wooden swords or leather-tipped poles for spears. Their laugher was thin on the crisp morning air.

Her wandering led her across the fields and parallel to the verdant mountains in the distance. The hem of her dress became soaked and flocked with blades of grass as she approached the cliffs where she and Ulfrik often visited. Nothing led her to this place, but she smiled without humor as she found herself there. Gulls soared in the distance, as if they too had come out to survey the results of the night's storm. One seemed to screech at her.

Standing a safe distance back from the edge, she peered into the distance. Fog rolled on the waters, obscuring the land across the fjord. Facing north, she wondered how long before square red sails emerged from that fog. Ships full of enemies confident of victory, knowing only one woman with a sax stood against them. Certainly everyone would fight, but anyone with a talent for it had long sailed south. For now, as winter clenched its grip around the islands, men would remain with their farms. Yet winter would not last, and the inevitable raids would renew.

"Ulfrik, you had better return in time or you will have nothing to return to."

Speaking the words relieved the burden of carrying them in her heart. Worse than feeling defenseless was having no one to talk to. Elin was not close enough; she would not trouble Gunnar with her fears; Ingrid and Halla were witches. With the men gone, she found no one to share her mind. It surprised her to realize she related better to men than her fellow women. None of them had experienced the hardships she had, but the men understood better.

Lingering at the cliffs, she decided, would foul her mood, and a twinge of guilt followed her for not assisting with the morning meal. She had taken to sleeping later since Ulfrik had left. Being the nominal ruler in his absence, it set a bad example. So she picked up a stone and decided to toss it into the sea before leaving. The distance of the fall fascinated her, but Ulfrik would never let her get close enough to drop a rock. She giggled at the childishness of it.

Carefully sliding to the edge, slimy rock in her hand, she peered over. The sheer drop made her feel like it was dragging her down. Catching herself, she stepped back, heart thudding. Now she understood why Ulfrik forbid her from looking over the cliff, but was still determined to watch her rock plunge into the water below. Revising the plan, she got on hands and knees, the cold dampness seeping through her clothes, and crawled to the edge. Being grounded on all fours cured the vertigo, and she was able to look straight down.

Releasing the rock, she watched it fall but was disappointed that it was too small to see it hit the water. The rock disappeared into the background of waves breaking at the base of the cliffs.

"Well, now you've fulfilled your dreams, Runa. Congratulations." She laughed at the whole exercise, and began to crawl back from the edge.

Then she saw the man.

He was sprawled on a flat rock, debris floating on the water around him. While the sea battered sections of the cliff faces, clumps of large rocks formed natural wave-breaks, and the man rested within one now. Runa called down to him, but realized her voice would be lost in the roar of the sea. He lay face down to the rock, a tattered white shirt brilliant even in the shadows of the cliff. She suspected he might be dead, then he turned his head to another side.

Backing away from the edge, Runa knelt in the grass and considered what to do. He could be an enemy whose ship was wrecked in the storm. From the distance she could not determine the man's age, but he appeared young. That would rule him out as belonging in these waters.

In any case, she ran back to the hall, holding the sax steady as she did, drawing comfort from the feel of the leather wrap in her palm. Finding Gunnar outside, she called him over. "Gather the strongest boys, and meet me in the hall."