Banners of the Northmen (31 page)

A spear thrust overhead and impaled the attacker's shoulder. Runa used the moment to scrabble to her feet. In that time, the three others were dead and her opponent tumbled to the ground as the spear lanced in through his neck.

The hall vibrated with screeching women, most of who had crumpled into weeping piles around Halla. She stood with both hands clutching a wooden cross over her chest. Her face was drained of color and her mouth hung slack. Runa hated her sister-in-law for all the trouble she had brought to her family. Smelling the blood and fear, again Runa could blame Halla for more misfortune. For a moment, she envisioned ending her curse, but shook the thought from her mind.

"Five fighting men," she stated flatly. "Who named Skardholmur as they died? We are at war with Skard and Thorod, are we not, Halla?"

"Christ protects me," she said, thrusting the cross in front of her.

Runa removed her helmet, and sneered at her. Throwing the helmet onto the floor, she whirled to view the hall. Dark faces crowded it, making Ingrid's platinum hair stand out like the moon at midnight. "Bring Ingrid forward. I will give my judgment now."

She did not know the proper way to handle a wayward bondsman. As far as she knew, it was within her right to kill Ingrid. No matter what she decided, she needed to appear above worry, fear, or care. She needed to be a powerful and confident leader, so that the men she planned to lead in battle would believe in her. She shoved Halla aside with her bloody hand, leaving a dark red stain on her shoulder, and pulled the bench of the high table forward. Runa stepped onto it, standing high above all others.

"Ingrid, you swore an oath to my husband and now I find you in league with our enemies."

Ingrid hung between two men. Both Konal and Kell emerged from the crowd, standing beneath Runa to lend their presence to the judgment. Behind them, men began dragging the slain enemies from the hall, but not before picking over the corpses for valuables.

"Your husband is dead!" Ingrid raised her head, her face pasty white and contorted with hate. Blue veins stood out on her head and her thinning hair clung to her sweaty cheeks. "I owe nothing to you. I look to the safety of my own people."

"And that safety is harboring my enemies and sending them south to rape and murder."

Ingrid let her head drop, but Runa knew she had revealed the truth. Her hands trembling, she struggled to keep her voice even.

"Over winter, men who looked just like the five we found here invaded my hall. I killed them, as you might have guessed. Before the last one died, he told me how you took them into your hall, how you spoke to them about the easy prey to the south and all the gold awaiting them. He said you promised them anything they could take, as long as you were left alone. You were kin, after all."

"Stop!" Ingrid shouted. Raising her head, her lips quivered and tears streaked from her eyes. Her puffy eyes locked with Runa's, searching them for mercy. "I did as I must, to protect my people."

"You don't deny anything I've said?" Ingrid bowed her head, crying more powerfully. "You thought to protect your people by sending enemies into my hall, to rape me and kill my son? They held my son with a knife to his throat. Shall I show you what that was like?"

Even in her mail shirt, her motions were too fast for anyone to stop. She leapt from the bench and latched onto Halla. With all the strength of her training and anger, Runa yanked her before Ingrid. She clasped one arm about her waist, and with her other hand drew her sax to Halla's neck.

"This is what you sent to me. Do you like it?" Runa jabbed the tip into Halla's chin, drawing blood and a piercing scream. Ingrid refused to watch, so one of the men twisted her head to face Runa.

"Do you like this? Is this how I should protect my family?"

"She had nothing to do with this. Please, leave her alone."

"Neither did my son," Runa said, then shoved Halla to the ground. "Enough. You are worse than an oath-breaker. You are a traitor and an enemy. Do you not wonder who these men are?"

Ingrid stirred, half raising her head to peek at the men around her.

"They are my army. They will sail with me to destroy Skard and Thorod. I promised them blood and plunder from all my enemies. You have sided with them, Ingrid."

"All the men were gone! For years I stood with you, and for years we had less and less. What was I supposed to do? I did not know you had an army."

"Had you known, your loyalty would not have been swayed?" Runa nodded to a man, indicating he should pick Halla from the floor. "My husband has doubted you for years, and I've doubted you from the start. No excuses will save you now."

Ingrid and Halla both stared at her, unblinking eyes locked to hers. Runa let them wonder at their fate, before she gave her decision.

"You should die for your crimes, but I am sure if my husband were here he'd find mercy in his heart. He would forgive you." She stepped down from the stage, and placed her hand on Ingrid's head. "But I am not my husband."

Driving Ingrid's head down, she brought up her knee. Bone crunched and blood sprayed as Ingrid's nose flattened under the blow. Halla screamed and fought to free herself. Still pinned between the two men, Runa grabbed Ingrid by the hair.

"Here's my judgment for you. You will speak no more lies and break no more oaths. I will have your tongue cut out."

"No," she protested through the blood and snot leaking over her mouth. "You can't do that."

"I have men who will do it for me." She whirled to Halla, who shuddered with a mixture of fear and anger. "And you are so innocent? You are the wife of my brother, and yet you allowed your mother to send men to rape me and kill my son? I should throw you from a cliff."

Halla began to shake her head, and the defiant gesture inflamed Runa. Seizing her chin to stop the shaking, she pulled Halla's face closer. "You are the real curse, not Toki. If I truly thought my husband and brother dead, then your life would end today. So thank them for it when you see them again. You will remain my hostage, since even without a tongue your black-hearted mother might still contrive a way to threaten me."

Facing Konal and Kell, both regarded her with passionless faces. She expected something from Konal, either revulsion or approval, but found only bland patience. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Make sure Ingrid survives the removal of her tongue. Halla returns with us. Everything in this hall, from the servants to the thatch on the roof is for you and your men to take."

She exited as the men began to laugh and tear apart the hall for whatever they could find. She heard Halla screaming, but nothing from Ingrid. Outside, the air felt fresh and cool. The blood on her hand had caked and started to flake. More men waited outside. Looking past them to the ships in the distance, she thought of Gunnar waiting for her to return. She began to stride confidently toward the shore.

Only once she had passed all of Konal's men did she let the tears escape. She did not understand them, and did not welcome them. She was the jarl now, and treachery had to be dealt with violence. She feared her violence had not been enough, and would one day cost her more than she had gained.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

July 13, 886 CE

Ulfrik surveyed the battlefield. The piles of bodies were mostly Danes, arrows lining their corpses like feathered spines. A light rain fell from the dark sky, plinking into puddles of muddy water and blood. The cheers of the tower's defenders were like the thunder of the storm that threatened to worsen. He spit onto the grass, a foamy mass of saliva and blood. His face still burned where the Frankish spear had raked it.

Men slogged back from the northern tower to retire to their trenches. Banners were limp and sodden in the light but steady rain. Humbert's cloak hung in defeat overhead. Mord had driven the banner pole into the earth, which now grew muddy and caused the pole to list.

"Take the banner down," he said to Mord. "I don't want it to fall into the mud. See to the wounded."

"Not many survived the arrow storm," he said while dragging the pole out of the mud. Einar and several others ambled up, blood and dirt on their faces. "Either you lived or died in that."

"More reinforcements for the Franks," said one of the onlookers. "And more of our own leaving every day."

"Only the worthless fled, and the strong have remained. Never worry, for once we get the Franks to grips, we will slay them to a man." Ulfrik offered courage to his men, who smiled weakly or not at all.

"Ulfrik, come to Hrolf's quarters." Gunther One-Eye's gravelly voice carried across the short stretch of field. He waved toward the quarters, which Hrolf had built for himself and his bodyguards. Only a temporary abode, it was made from the same rough-hewn logs as the other barracks. The pale yellow wood stood out against the black line of trees behind it.

Waving back, he gestured Mord and Einar to follow. As they crossed the field, men bore their injured companions toward the tents where women tended them. Two men carried another with an arrow in his eye, and amazingly the victim still lived—cursing every god he could name.

"He should be thanking the gods," Mord said. "A man can do well with one eye."

Ulfrik chuckled as they continued past. "I know the man you speak of, but I think he sees with three eyes instead of one."

He gave Mord a knowing look. He frowned in confusion, shaking his head.

"I don't know why your father sent you to spy on me, but I hope you have entertained him with good stories. The days have been long and boring."

"Why would you accuse me of spying, Lord Ulfrik?"

"Because it's true." Both he and Einar laughed, while Mord fell quiet.

Men idled outside the hall, chatting in low voices, heads pulled down against the stiffening rain. Gunther waited his turn to enter. The doorway was small and the quarters were not meant to house large groups. Ulfrik approached his old friend.

"You look too fresh to have done any fighting. Were you pissing yourself at the back of the line?" Ulfrik clapped Gunther's back, who laughed at the joke.

"And someone improved your looks." Gunther pointed inside. "Turns out that was no ordinary reinforcement breaking through. We've got a prisoner and he's talking. That was Odo himself returning to Paris."

"He was not already in Paris?" Gunther shrugged.

Each jarl was admitted, but could only take one man. Ulfrik tapped Einar and Mord waited outside. Escaping the drumming rain was a relief, and the snapping hearth fire created a warm dryness in the room. Hrolf sat on a chair looking awkward in what had been built for a shorter man. Two spearmen in full mail flanked him. Ulfrik noted they looked dry and comfortable, while the assembled jarls and their men were sodden and miserable.

The smoke hole was not wide enough, and white haze filled the room as it backed up at the ceiling. Ulfrik and several others coughed. He was about to complain when Hrolf stood.

"Our prisoner has been willing to talk." Ulfrik noted the splotches of blood around Hrolf's knees and boots.

"I bet he's not talking anymore," he whispered to Einar. The comment, which Ulfrik had thought inaudible to others, drew Hrolf's smile.

"He will be sacrificed to the gods at dawn tomorrow. I've got everything I need to know from him, and all are bad tidings."

A murmur circulated through the group, though Ulfrik merely folded his arms and waited. He wondered how this situation could worsen.

"Odo had slipped our lines months ago, and sought aid from his Emperor, Charles the Fat. He has returned successful. Charles is bringing his army from the south, and his brother Henry of Saxony is closing from the east."

Hrolf studied the faces of his assembled men, his eyes flinty and jaw set. When he met Ulfrik's, he nodded.

"We will be outnumbered and surrounded if this happens."

"Then we should meet the fat king's army before he arrives and crush him. We'll take his kingdom," said one of the jarls. A few voices added agreement, but Ulfrik remained mute. The idea of leaving Paris to attack the emperor was foolish, and Hrolf would know it.

"A fine idea, friend, but the emperor's army is three times the size of ours at its peak. Besides, we are here to sack Paris or force a tribute of silver. I've no plans to rule Frankia, for now, at least."

His comment drew the intended laughter, though it was short-lived and uninspired.

"We should make one final attempt on Paris," Ulfrik stated. "Either we break through now or we go home."

Hrolf closed his eyes and silently nodded his agreement. Gunther slapped Ulfrik's back, adding his own encouragement to the idea. Soon all in the room had resolved to make one final push.

"I will have the siege tower repaired." Hrolf joined with the rest of his jarls, moving among them to stop by Ulfrik's side. "Ladders will be built to new heights, and we will be ready for their tricks this time. Before help can reach them, Paris will be a pile of rubble and we will be away."

"How long do we have before the Franks arrive in force?" Ulfrik asked, anxious to have a point in time that he could focus on returning to his family.

"Maybe a month before their emperor arrives, and sooner if he hurries. We can ill afford a delaying attack, but I may send men after Henry of Saxony."

"I will lead the attack," Ulfrik heard Einar suck his breath. Ulfrik's other concern was the lack of plunder and failure to find riches. A rich lord would be a fine ransom.

"Let me consider your offer," Hrolf touched Ulfrik's shoulder, and returned to his chair. Other jarls scowled at Ulfrik, but he ignored them. If they were dull witted and slow, it was not his concern.

Hrolf continued at length on details of their strengths and his plans for the final assault. Ulfrik listened and nodded at the right moments, but his mind traveled back home. Snorri and Toki would have arrived by now, bringing Runa hope as well as protection. He had drilled Runa in basic sword techniques, enough to surprise an unwary man attempting to harm her or their sons. However, it could never be enough in the face of a real attack.