Banners of the Northmen (15 page)

Humbert's laughter jarred Thrand, and he reflexively lessened the pressure on his sax.

"If you kill me, you lose everything. You can't kill me yet."

"But I can hurt you!" Pushing again, the blade drew a bead of blood that made Humbert flinch but failed to eliminate his smirk. "Let's be clear. Kolbyr and I intend to get your treasure. Before this day is done, Ulfrik will return to tell us your friends in Paris all shit themselves when we arrived. We'll be inside your walls tomorrow. But Ulfrik is Hrolf's dog now, and One-Eye's son is spying on him. If you think he'll help you take revenge, forget it. He wants to keep your gold secret, and so he'll hold you close. You'll have to wait. Maybe for years."

He tapped Humbert's head with the flat of his blade, failing to draw more than an irritated shake of his head.

Kolbyr laughed and added his own threats. "And you'll have us around all the time. We won't miss a chance to remind you of your position. You'd love that, wouldn't you, little priest?"

Humbert's smug expression flattened and Thrand's chest grew warm at the sight. At last, he was kicking through this ignorant Frank's pride. Glancing over his shoulder to be sure no one was near, he pressed his point.

"But there is a way out. We can release you, right now even. Kolbyr and I will kill your enemy in exchange for the treasure. It's that simple, really. You watch, Hrolf and Sigfrid want to get past this dung heap and ransom the cities to the east. Hrolf will take Ulfrik, and he will take you. But if we cut you free, your life will be your own."

Thrand could not determine if Humbert considered the offer. His dark eyes clouded and his thin lips were tightly drawn. He seemed to struggle focusing on Thrand, which his lazy eye tended to inflict upon others. Yet he suspected the priest was deep in calculation. After long moments, the priest's dry lips parted.

"Humbert thinks you are wrong. Paris will fight. Count Odo and Bishop Joscelin would rather die than surrender."

Kolbyr snorted. "They'd be killing everyone in their city. I thought you Christians don't like innocents to die?"

"They will listen to God's will, and He will demand faith. Paris will not fall, not with His hands upon its walls." Humbert closed his eyes and spoke with a reverence that made Thrand want to ram his sax through Humbert's neck.

"You'd better hope your god puts his hands over your throat before I slice it open." Snapping the sax to Humbert's neck again, the priest tilted his head back to avoid being cut. "If you won't agree to work with us, we can always force you. We can skip your revenge, and get right to the treasure. I know plenty of ways to make you reveal it, trust me."

Humbert grew still, and Thrand now stood while keeping the sax at the slave's neck

Kolbyr stood as well, chuckling. "I say you give him a demonstration. Maybe hold his head under the river water for a while, just to see how he likes it."

"Yes, we don't have to leave marks for Ulfrik's eyes, do we." Thrand traced his sax down to where Humbert's red cloak was held with a button of deer antler. He hooked the tip beneath it, as if to pop it off. "I could choke you with this rag you love so much. Would you like that? If you cooperate, you can escape all of this."

Humbert scuttled away and pushed the blade aside.

The sound of the commotion reached Thrand and he stepped back. Turning around, the crowds on the shore were like angry bees and making as much noise. Thrusting his sax back into its sheath, he spared a snarl for Humbert before running to the prow. He called to the other crewmen boarding a neighboring ship.

"What is happening? Paris is surrendering?"

Men shook their heads and called back. "They want a fight."

Thrand and Kolbyr looked at each other in surprise. After a few moments of the news sinking in, Kolbyr broke their silence. "War complicates things. Ulfrik will try to move on this treasure during the fighting."

Nodding in agreement, Thrand stroked his beard. "It's not so bad yet. Many will die in battle, and not many know of the treasure. Sounds encouraging, doesn't it?"

Kolbyr's brow furrowed, then realization showed as a wicked smile. "I didn't expect that even from you. Still, sounds challenging."

"In the madness of battle, young Kolbyr, no one knows who kills what. We only need aid Fate a little; wherever one of Ulfrik's inner circle survives, we correct the mistake."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

November 26, 885 CE

"There are only two hundred men to defend all of Paris, so take heart." Ulfrik stood on the northern banks of the Seine, his forty warriors arrayed into two blocks. Dressed in mail and helmets, bearing spears and shields, they arrayed for battle. Behind them, in the dull morning sun, a vast fleet of dark ships crawled past. The shouts and war cries of their crews filled the air, where dark birds circled in anticipation of the killing to come.

"Lord, Humbert claims his god protects them from our arrows and blades." One of his crew, an older man with a white scar over the bridge of his nose, raised the concern. He glanced nervously at his peers. "Is it possible?"

"Our people have been sacking the new god's churches for generations. The new god is a dead god, and his hands and feet are nailed to wood. Did you notice? The man promising his god will save the Franks is lashed to a mast." Ulfrik joined his men in laughter. Having drawn duty for land assault, Ulfrik had to leave his ships behind, and tied Humbert to the mast to prevent his escape. "Both god and slave are unable to move, and so the Franks are doomed."

Toki arrived with two other men, each of them carrying skins tight with ale. They began distributing the skins into the ranks of men. In his youth, Ulfrik let his fury carry him into battle, and scorned drink. Now, older and with more to lose, he needed the courage found in the skins. Men guzzled ale as Ulfrik paced before them. A hot tightness filled his stomach, and his eyes flitted to the dark gray tower looming to the east. Once the skins were in circulation, he reviewed the plan a final time.

"When the horns blow, each block picks up their ladders." He pointed to the two huge siege ladders stacked between him and the warriors. Gunther and his men delivered them in early morning, along with instructions. They were longer than both of his ships lined up, and wide enough for one man to climb at a time. Two rough-hewn timbers accompanied each ladder, to steady it.

"Don't draw your weapons, but hold your shields against arrows. If our fellows are doing their work, the Franks won't dare come to their battlements from all our own bow fire. We lay the ladders at the tower base like we practiced. Then it's up and in. Sigfrid is offering a reward for the first men up a ladder. Hrolf will match it, as will I. But you have to live to collect it, so nothing passes to your families. Until the city is breached, accept no surrender and take no prisoners."

He commanded the men to wheel toward the east, and prepare for the order. The army of Danes and Norwegians converged on the banks behind Ulfrik's position. Jutting from blocks of troops were banners of the northmen in every size and color, waving in the gentle breeze. Ulfrik gestured for Toki to raise Nye Grenner's standard. As he hoisted the pole overhead, the green banner unfurled with a snap. Ulfrik pumped his fist in the air and roared. The throaty cheers of his men joined his. All across the banks and spilling out into the water the ceremony repeated.

The great army was waking, roaring like a beast of war. The land shuddered with the furious shouts.

At the fore of the army stood Sigfrid's forces, and his white standard of a boar's head with bloody tusks flew over scores of warriors in glinting mail. Hrolf's forces were anchored to the river bank, and would support a direct assault. His red banner embroidered with a golden dragon bobbed as he drove his ranks of men to join Ulfrik's position. Gunther followed with his men on Hrolf's left flank.

Lumbering ahead through the crisp, clear morning air went Sigfrid's war machines and their crews. Settling into positions along the banks, the massive wooden arms cocked back as their crews worked heavy cranks. Ulfrik strained to see the workers, who had been busy throughout the night moving and arming the giants. He heard wood groan as boulders were loaded into the slings of the machines.

"A few good hits and the tower will fall." Mord, who Ulfrik had placed in his block, waved dismissively at the fat tower in the distance.

Snorri spit on the ground, then grunted. "They'll have to hit the tower to do that. Not sure these things will."

Ulfrik reserved his opinion, studying the pantomime of the siege engineers. Men from the distant south with olive skin and brown eyes commanded these machines, and if the rumors were true, demanded a jarl's take of the spoils for their knowledge. He held his breath in anticipation. The war machines, dark against the morning sun, dipped back and quivered.

Silence swept out over the horde of Danes. A thin and lonely voice shouted. Then the great arms released.

The explosive violence of the machines made Ulfrik twitch in surprise. The sound reminded him of the grating, rocky crash of a collapsing iceberg. The arms struck bars with deep thuds and the slings lobbed rocks over incredible distances.

The boulders aimed at the tower missed, falling short or sailing past. The defenders jeered, their voices faint and weak. The boulders aimed at the city fared better. Many plopped into the river with enormous splashes, but others sailed over the walls to careen into the building beyond. One boulder hit the wall and exploded in a cloud of dust and stone fragments.

"Ranging shots. It will be better this time," Hrolf called down the front of his line. Ulfrik realized Hrolf positioned himself only ten files down from his own. He had no time to relish the honor the proximity gave him, for the next volley of stones released.

Boulders hurtled and tumbled through the air, and one crashed into the tower. The hit exploded into a bloom of rock dust. Ulfrik found himself stepping forward to cheer. All of the Danish army joined him. Men on land and on the water banged their shields and screamed victory, as if the single rock had destroyed all of Paris. As the glittering dust poured to the ground, the point of impact showed. The tower wall had been cratered, but little more.

The machines fired in alternating ranks, so a steady flight of boulders streaked through the air. Ulfrik laughed at the ease with which the machines flung rocks that took four men to lift. It was like watching giants at play. The Danes did not cease in their cheering and shouting. Ulfrik and his men added to the din, delighting in the massive wave of noise they shot at the Franks.

The last machine slammed forward and ejected its boulder, which skimmed the stone bridge and bit off a section of its guarding walls. Then silence and stillness descended, like the passing of a furious storm. A horn blew three times from the lead ship on the river. Oars extended and dipped into the water, and the fleet was on the move.

"Ready yourselves," Ulfrik called to his men. "The ships will cover our approach with bow fire, so the order to attack is coming."

Ulfrik looked to Mord, whose eyes were wide with childlike amazement. Then he turned to Snorri, who simply nodded his grim determination. Others in his block included Thrand, Ander, and several other of his trusted crew. Toki led the other block, along with Einar. None of them had stormed a wall before. None of them knew what waited at the tower. Yet all of them trusted and protected each other. All of them were brothers in war, and their lives were bound together. Ulfrik swallowed hard, knowing many of them would die. He could only pray death would come swiftly for those so fated.

Sigfrid's banner waved, and the deep bass note of his horn sounded.

"Pick up your ladders and move!" Ulfrik shouted the command and grabbed a rung of the ladder. Despite its size, it felt weightless as he lifted it along with the others. Rough wood bit his sweating palms. He looped his right arm into his shield and joined the march.

After the first dozen yards, Ulfrik began to jog to keep pace with the line converging on the tower. Then the jog increased to a run. Men shouted, and the tower drew ever closer, higher than anything he had ever seen. Solid as a mountain. Still as forest glade.

He bellowed, an animal shout from the pit of his gut. He released his fear and fury, spilling it to the tower, and his spirit rose. His men added their voices to his. Their feet thumped into the soft earth, shaking the ground with the thousands of others pounding for the tower.

The sound of a linen sheet tearing came from the right flank and a shadow passed over him. Arrows fired from the ships choking the river. More arrows than Ulfrik could conceive being shot at once. A black cloud of death arcing to the tower.

"We're almost there." His breath was labored, his heart pounded. The fat gray stones of the tower drew up before him. "Get your shields up. Don't wait."

Arrows clattered down the sides of the walls, missing their marks and piling at the foot of the tower. Sigfrid's line was already setting up their ladders while Knut led his force to sweep to the north face of the tower and still nothing from the defenders.

Another black wave of arrows screamed overhead, and Ulfrik pulled his shield up from reflex.

"They're going to surrender!" Mord screeched triumphantly. "They're afraid to fight!"

Distant but clear notes of a horn sounded.

"Shield wall!"

The Franks answered the call to battle, leaping to the battlements with bows ready. Their arrows sliced down into the rich field of enemy targets. Ulfrik spotted a column of men stutter and collapse as white-fletched arrows fell among them, then he ducked behind his shield.

Their run slowed to a jog. Arrows stitched the earth around Ulfrik's feet, then a few thumped his shield. He further slowed his run, but those behind crashed into him.

"We don't want to be the first. Let others take the brunt of the defense."