Banners of the Northmen (14 page)

"Makes it easier to crack open their heads," he replied. "Don't have to swing too high."

Nervous laughter filled the moments it took for the Frankish party to cross the grass. Ulfrik's eyes flicked between the parley group and the Franks of the tower and bridge, expecting treachery from men who he did not expect to understand honor. The foul odor of the city hung in his nostrils, and that repulsiveness transferred to the Franks who arrived before them.

Up close, Ulfrik found they were not as short as children, but their prideful and disdainful faces were immediate aversions. Two men went before, dressed in mail and wearing fine linen surcoats of blue and white. One had a round head with thin brown hair that clung to it as if soaked. Dark circles ringed his hooded eyes, and a barely contained snarl trembled on this thin lips. The other man was older, with a long and narrow head and curly gray beard. His motions were crisp and lively, and despite his obvious years, he held a posture like a man half his age. Ulfrik guessed him a fighting man. A heavy wooden crucifix hung about his neck. Behind these two were eight men-at-arms in helmets and mail, gripping spears. Ulfrik noted their knuckles were white and their eyes wide behind their noseguards. He held the gaze of one man until the Frank's eyes darted aside.

Both parties sized up each other, sounds of the river current rushing by filling the awkward quiet. Ulfrik noted a crow passing overhead. Hrolf and Sigfrid noted it too, and like himself, Ulfrik guessed they surely took it for a sign of the gods' favor. Sigfrid watched the bird glide toward the city, another good sign, and he nearly laughed. This drew a frown from the Franks, who finally decided to speak.

Their language sounded like the twisted speech of an animal. Ulfrik thought of geese. The round-headed man spilled them like beer, and once finished looked to another man Ulfrik had not noticed. The man had been obscured from Ulfrik's sight, and he was no more than fifteen years old. His beard had not yet formed on his soft jaw. He spoke fluidly, with a Danish accent.

"My lord is the glorious Count Odo, defender of Paris. With him is the esteemed Joscelin, abbot of Saint Germain-des-Pres and bishop of Paris." Ulfrik heard the name of the priest as one long slur of weak sounds. "He knows of the great Sigfrid, but does not recognize his companions."

"Tell your goat-fucking lord that Sigfrid and Hrolf, stand before them."

"Courtesy, please." The abbot spoke Norse fluently enough to fool Sigfrid to searching his own men for the source of the admonition. When he realized Abbot Joscelin spoke, Sigfrid howled laughter. Ulfrik raised a brow, and thought of Humbert's pained rendition of the language. He also wondered if this priest was Humbert's enemy, and so studied him carefully.

After Sigfrid recovered and the boy translated, he continued. "Some of you are clever men. That is excellent, since I'm certain clever men must also be reasonable men. You see the ships filling your river. There are thirty thousand warriors at my back. Go ahead and tell them. I want to see their faces."

The boy rushed his translation, emphasizing parts of his babble. Ulfrik admired the young boy's pliant mind, for he doubted his own ability to learn foreign tongues. Odo and Joscelin both nodded, but betrayed nothing. Ulfrik instead studied the guards, whose expression told more. Fear and terror passed across their faces. They attempted to mask them, but widened eyes, hard swallows, and tight lips betrayed them. Hearing of their enemies, the guards took furtive glances to the distance where ships bobbed at anchor. Ulfrik sneered and turned his chin up at them, letting them know he feared nothing.

"Count Odo wishes to understand what Lord Sigfrid desires."

"Is he getting this right?" Sigfrid turned to his own interpreter, who nodded. Assured, Sigfrid raised his voice and spoke at a level of courtesy Ulfrik could never imagine possible from such a brute. He bowed his head low, and spoke directly to Abbot Joscelin.

"Have compassion on yourself and on your people. We beg you to listen to us, in order that you may escape death. Allow us freedom of the city. We will do no harm and we will assure that whatever belongs either to you or to Odo shall be strictly respected."

The boy translated into Odo's ear, while Abbot Joscelin required no assistance. Instead, he bowed his head, and used the same respectful language. "Merely freedom of the city? When the great Jarl Sigfrid last visited us, he demanded a large tribute."

"Of course," Sigfrid said, as if just recalling a trifling point. "The tribute still stands. Seven hundred pounds of silver will see to the safety of Paris. I give you my word, which is worth more than silver or gold."

Count Odo deepened his snarl as the boy fed him the translated words, though Joscelin stood composed. He smiled and inclined his head as he replied, placing a firm hand on the ever-angering Count Odo's arm.

"The Emperor Charles, who, after God, is king and ruler of nearly all the world, has entrusted Paris to us. He has put it in our care, not that the kingdom may be ruined by our misconduct, but that he may keep it and be assured of its peace. If you had been given the same duty of defending this city, and if you were to do that which you ask of us, what treatment do you suppose we would deserve?"

The clear notes of the abbot's warm and deep voice gripped Ulfrik's attention. Such a voice and manner of language was seldom heard beyond the skalds of the great jarls. The abbot's words had even stilled Sigfrid to a thoughtful silence. As if waking to his senses, he shook his head and glanced at Hrolf before answering.

"I'd deserve to have my head cut off and thrown to the dogs. Nevertheless, if you do not listen to my demands, by tomorrow my war machines will destroy your walls and my men will raze your city. Your wives and daughters will pleasure us, and your boys will be slaves to row our ships. All others will die. I promise there will be no end to this, for every day that a Dane breathes, your people will suffer."

The veneer of politeness shattered, Sigfrid's posture tightened and he drew himself taller. The Frankish guards began to lower their spears at the threat, but the abbot held up his hand. "Then you have your answer. God protects us and God will drive your ships back to the lands of ice and snow in sorrow and despair."

The groups stared at each other, Ulfrik searching the resolve of Abbot Joscelin. Humbert had not named his enemy, but Ulfrik held no doubt this fierce and intelligent man was the one. He turned with the confident finality of a king leaving a beggar to grovel for mercy and shoved through his guards. Odo lingered and cursed them in his language, which Sigfrid's Frankish traitor translated, "By tomorrow you will suck the devil's prick in hell."

As both parties pulled away, Sigfrid began to laugh and rubbed his hands together. "At last! It'll feel better taking the silver out of their hides anyway. Tomorrow, it's war!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thrand's temples pounded as he drained his skin of ale while idling on the deck of
Raven's Talon
. Ulfrik had disappeared beyond his sight, gone to glorify himself with the mighty jarls.
Raven's Talon
bobbed placidly in the shallows of the river bank. Surrounding her on the river and on the shore were enough ships to make it appear as if the Seine had disappeared beneath them, their masts like black spines on the back of a river-sized dragon. Thrand did not care if Paris would be a tough fight. He was not planning to remain for it. He did worry that Humbert and his treasures would slip through his hands, dooming him to a life of servitude and poverty under Ulfrik.

He decided to ensure that would not happen.

Most of the
Raven's Talon
crew had drained away. Humbert sat against the gunwales with his head down and tethered to the mast by a rope long enough to span the deck but no farther. He could untie or cut the rope, of course, but his guards would prevent it. By now, sitting idly on benches and consumed in their thoughts, only Snorri and Einar remained. Mord, Gunther's son, had left to find old friends.

Einar picked his nose, examined the results, then flicked it away. Snorri appeared about to doze off. Both men pitied Thrand, and though pity offended him, he knew it could also be a useful tool. If he could get them off the ship, even for a short time, he could work on Humbert.

"So we are the last three men to listen to Toki's orders," he grumbled as he sauntered over to Einar's bench. "Even he didn't follow his own command, but left the ship."

Einar grumbled but otherwise stared ahead at nothing. Thrand sat on the bench beside him, glancing at Humbert who appeared as listless as everyone else.

With Snorri half asleep, Einar was the natural choice. He had sailed with Thrand and witnessed his brother's death. He barely had his beard then, but over the intervening years he had grown a head taller than everyone and developed incredible strength. Unlike most other strong men, he was not dim but in fact a quick thinker. However, Thrand knew how to work him.

"Toki's been strange, don't you think? The little half-jarl has been eager to find himself elsewhere," Thrand said. Einar raised a brow and Snorri opened an eye to glare at him. "You know what I think? He's fucking a slave girl or some whore."

"Any more shit falls out of that mouth and I'm going to slam it shut." Snorri did not move, and closed his eye as if his threat had settled matters.

"Then where's he going all the time? And what is he so happy about? I have a right to know. My brother didn't die so he could plow any cunt he wants. Toki defied the gods for his wife, and we paid the price to help him do it."

The words delivered the sting he had hoped. Both of the men knew they had a part in the shame Toki's actions brought them. He saw it in Einar's averted eyes, and Snorri's exaggerated indifference.

"You shouldn't speak of what you don't know," Einar said, too softly to mean it. Thrand felt the smile tremble on his lips. These fools were too easy.

"Then maybe I should go find out. I'll go right now and no doubt I'll catch him with his naked ass in the air, somewhere in the woods." He waved generally at the dark line of bare trees, then stood as if to leave. As expected, Snorri barred him with his leg.

"Sit down and don't make trouble. Tomorrow we may all be dead at the foot of those walls, so let him have his fun today."

"So even you think it's true. Well, for any other man I agree with you, but not Toki. It's not just my brother's blood for Toki's lusts, but my friend Bork. And it doesn't stop with him; what about all the others dead in the war with Hardar? And still his cousins attack us. Maybe Skard and Thorod are burning our homes now. All because Toki wanted to fuck a jarl's daughter. Maybe he's found the wife of a jarl now, and is ..."

Snorri's hair was gray, his cheeks hollowed, and skin hung lose under his neck, but he pounced with the speed of a young man. Thrand hurled back as Snorri's fist plowed into his gut, squeezing all the air from his lungs. He stumbled over the bench and thudded to the deck. Snorri followed, straddling him with his fist extended in challenge.

"Warned you that I'd break your shit-spilling mouth if you kept at it. Now shut up and keep your ale-fogged thoughts to yourself. Gods, man! We could be going to war any moment, and men need confidence in their leaders. Don't bring doubt to battle, you oaf."

Were it not for being breathless, Thrand would have laughed at the ease of manipulating the two men. Einar now stood beside his stepfather, a frown tight over his face.

"All right," Thrand said, holding out his hands as if to defend against another blow. "But just let me go see for myself. And you should know these words are not just mine. The others have said as much."

"And who fed them those words?" Snorri asked.

"This is the first I've spoke of it. Do you think all the others are fools? Toki certainly does."

Snorri paused, then softened his stance. He stepped back, and Einar extended his thick arm to help Thrand stand. He dusted himself off, then waited for what he knew would come next. He was not disappointed.

"I'll check on him," Snorri said, rubbing is face. "If he's fooling around, I'll ask him to at least be more careful about it."

"I'll go too," Einar said. "Better chances to catch him if we split up."

"Then who will stay with Humbert?" Thrand tried not to overact his frustration. "I want to see this with my own eyes."

"And you don't trust mine? You'll only worsen matters if you catch him, and if you find out he's innocent you'll try to make trouble. So stay with Humbert. We won't be long." Snorri nodded to Einar that they should leave. Thrand made as if to protest, but Snorri rounded on him. "Just stay here and I'll tell you what we learn."

He watched as they leapt into the shallows and waded to the shore teeming with people. Once they slipped into the crowd, he turned to Humbert, who still slouched in the shadows of the gunwales. He wore a sardonic smile, and his dark eyes followed Thrand with keen interest. Sitting on the deck before Humbert, Thrand slipped his sax from its sheath. Humbert's eyes did not waver.

"Well, priest, it's just us two now." He let the point of his sax thunk into the deck, palming the hilt so sunlight flashed off the blade. "No one else around, and I think it's time you shared your secrets with me."

The ship rocked and a splash of water came from behind. Thrand turned to see Kolbyr hauling himself aboard the ship. His cheery countenance was at odds with Thrand's frown. He joined Thrand, dripping water across the deck. "I thought you might be talking to our friend, and didn't want to miss out."

"Or were you planning on finding Humbert alone?"

"Of course not!" Kolbyr's face widened in a smile. "We are partners."

Humbert watched the exchange and his smile widened. With a growl, Thrand flicked his blade to Humbert's throat. "No more laughing now. A shame to die in the shadow of your freedom."