Banners of the Northmen (37 page)

"I know how to make them leave." Runa stood, smiling with excitement at her plan. Both Toki and Snorri exchanged surprised looks.

"Would they not consider taking an oath?" Toki asked.

"I doubt it, but don't fear. Is that slave, Humbert, still with Ulfrik?"

Toki's eyes drew to slits. "He escaped into Paris, but what has this to do with anything?"

"As long as we know where Humbert is, I can get them to follow me. But, I will have one condition for you." Toki looked expectantly, but Runa only laughed. "I will tell you once Konal and Kell have agreed to leave."

The fields behind Nye Grenner were filled with the most warriors Runa had seen in nearly a decade. She stood beside Toki and faced the throng. Daylight grew shorter and the nighttime chill lingered longer each day. The air was filled with puffs of breath from the gathered men's conversations. Kell had returned with his warriors, finding Konal a near-hostage of Toki's. Even stripped of weapons, Konal and Kell's crew had the potential to overtake Toki's force. For now, both groups remained segregated on the field, only a daring few stitched the sides together with amicable conversation.

Konal and Kell stood at the front of their men, both possessing their weapons and accorded respect due their titles. Toki had prepared gifts for their service to Nye Grenner, but he also ensured all his men attended the meeting fully armed. Runa noted the anger on Konal's face. Since she had ejected him from her bed upon Toki's return, he had been cordial but cool to her. Now, facing what he must know would be dismissal, he wore his anger openly. His lip curled in a sneer when Toki called his name.

"Konal Ketilsson, I've gathered us here to express my gratitude for all you've done in service to my sister and the people of this land." He waved Konal forward, and reached his hand back to Halla who stood directly behind him. She placed a gold band into his palm. "For saving the life of my nephew, accept this gold with my thanks."

Konal glanced at Runa as he received the band, inclined his head slightly before speaking. "He is a fine boy and warrior. It has been my pleasure to know him. I accept your gift, but truly I owed my life to both Runa and Gunnar for pulling me from the sea."

Gunnar and Hakon stood behind Runa, and she felt Gunnar tugging at her skirt. She batted his hand away, knowing he wished to speak but not countenancing interruptions.

Men on both sides cheered Konal, and he rotated with the armband held overhead. The pink morning sun blazed on the gold as he fixed it to his arm.

Toki cleared his throat, checked Runa for reassurance before he started his next speech. She offered a slight nod, confident all would turn out well.

"Konal and Kell, your men have been welcomed guests in the lands of my lord, lands given to me to safeguard. But winter is coming, and it's time for you and your men to leave."

The crowd stirred and Runa grimaced at the ill-tuned words. Toki had many things to learn, foremost being diplomacy. She thought of the honeyed words Ulfrik would have employed to ease the tension. A sneer replaced the forced-smile on Konal's face.

"Give me a gift then kick me out, is it?"

"It's not that way," Runa interjected. Toki frowned as if to protest but she flashed her eyes at him and he sensibly tucked his head down. "The men of Nye Grenner have returned, along with all your men here already. There is not enough to sustain so many throughout winter. You know this is true, so don't pretend otherwise."

Konal's flush informed her she had carried her rebuke too far, yet he had to concede to her reasoning. "True as it is, there is still time to send for supplies and to prepare. It is not as impossible as you say."

"Possible or not, there is no other way," Toki said. "We are not prepared for guests, unless you wish to join with us. There are lands to the north that you cleared, and these places need settlement. Swear loyalty to me, and I will grant you that land and their people."

A grumble circulated through the assembled warriors, a mixture of consideration and skepticism. Runa held her eyes on Konal's and she read the mischief twinkling there. He spoke before she could.

"You will grant me the land? It was my men who cleared it of enemies. You've no claim on it at all. In fact, I've a mind to retire there for the winter."

Toki pressed his lips tight, marshaling his temper, and Runa jumped into the gap. She stepped forward to Konal, squaring her shoulders to him.

"I led the men, and you fought under Nye Grenner's banner, even if only in spirit. That land belongs to me."

"It belongs to the ones strong enough to hold it." Konal's growled rebuttal drew angry shouts from both his men and Nye Grenner.

"Forget that land," said Runa. "It means nothing to you. But I have a secret I've long withheld. Bring Kell near, and I will tell you."

Konal stared at her, his face inscrutable, then searched Toki and the others. At last he raised an arm and waved his brother forward. "Kell, there's something you should hear."

Confusion stirred in the gathered men, who wavered like windblown grass. Runa ignored them, and focused on Kell as he jogged up to his brother's side. Both of them now looked expectantly at her. She let the moment linger, then finally spoke.

"Ulfrik has the slave you've been seeking. I can prove it to you."

Kell's face dropped but Konal stared at her, appraising her words with hooded eyes. Confident she had his attention, she described Ulfrik's raid, whom he found and the lack of treasure, then of Humbert's capture and his promises. Every moment Konal's face grew more stern and more sober. By the end of her tale, his jaw muscles twitched and his face was taut with anger.

"And you're sure you found no treasure with him, nor any treasure in Paris?"

Runa shook her head, along with Toki who had joined to corroborate the story. "Whatever he stole from you is lost. He had nothing but rags when he arrived here."

Konal and Kell stared at each other as if in conversation only they could hear. The gathering of men had drawn closer, straining to hear Runa's story. Finally, Konal folded his arms and sighed.

"We must still find our slave, if only to learn what he did with our treasure." He glanced at Kell, and shook his head in disgust. "We cannot waste time, and must travel to Frankia. If what you say is true." He raised his chin in challenge and Runa met the gesture.

"I swear before all the gods it is. And you will have the best reassurance of my honesty, since you will be taking me and my sons to meet my husband in Paris."

"And you'll be taking me too," Snorri added. Runa whirled in surprise, but both he and Toki stood calmly awaiting Konal's acceptance. She had expected Snorri to remain to guide Toki. Yet as she regarded her brother standing confidently, hand resting on the pommel of his sword, she realized he would succeed without him.

"It is a dangerous journey, as your brother can attest," Konal said, his voice gentler and a faint smile on his lips. "I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I will be armed," Runa said. "As will my son. We will care for ourselves, and you need only steer your ships. What do you say, Konal Ketilsson?"

"I say it will be a pleasure to reunite you with your husband."

The group laughed, but a chill wind fluttered across them as the Fates gathered loose threads into their bony hands and began to weave.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

October 17, 886 CE

Ulfrik awoke tangled in the furs and blankets of his bed. A still, darkened hall rumbled with the snoring of dozens of men. The hearth had burned low, the man tending it slumped over either drunk of bored into slumber. Tenuous morning light reached in from the smoke hole, and Ulfrik decided to rise before the guards changed for the night. Sitting up, rubbing his face to push the blood into his cheeks, he tried to recall his dreams. Fragmented images of Runa, Gunnar, and Hakon swam through his waking thoughts, but that had been no different from every morning since arriving at Paris.

He roused himself, running a rough comb through hair and beard before throwing his wool cloak across his shoulders. Picking between the people sleeping in the hall, he made for the exit. Einar opened an eye at Ulfrik's passing, but Ulfrik waved him back to his dreams. He wanted to enjoy the dawn alone and without the worries of command. Hrolf had been gone raiding, bored like everyone else, but was expected to return this morning. Ulfrik had served as his commander during that time——his name an honor restored after delivering Henry's head—and he wanted to ensure camp was in order for his arrival.

Outside the fresh scent of cooking fires curled beneath his nose. Hesitant pink light streaked the eastern skies, rising above the golden leaves of autumn trees. Black-and-white feathered magpies hopped along the ground before the longhouse, and leapt into the sky when Ulfrik stepped near. He inhaled and held his breath, exhaling when his eyes dragged across the black walls of Paris. The Seine began to sparkle with yellow light as the sun climbed, and the tops of the towers burned in the dawn. Along the near shore, beached ships leaned like toppled stacks of firewood. The wretched skeleton of Sigfrid's great siege tower had collapsed into timbers pointing skyward. The catapults stood at attention, abandoned and broken. Everything had broken but for the walls of Paris.

The city still squatted in mute defiance. Hrolf's ambition and pride were equal to the size and strength of its walls. Both would resist the other until one collapsed. One more month would mark the anniversary of the siege. This tract of shore had become his entire world. Shaking his head, he strolled from the longhouses across the field to the trenches. Men clambered out as the sun climbed, eager to end their night watch of the tower entrance to Paris.

Gunnar would have loved these trenches, he thought as he walked the edge of one, searching for men who had fallen asleep. Finding an abandoned spear, he picked it up as he patrolled. His son and his friends would speed through the trenches, wooden swords and cloth-covered spear shafts overhead. Runa would have fits searching for him amid the maze of trenches. A smile came to his face and as quickly died. He would not see his family for a long time yet. He had trusted Snorri to safeguard them, and he knew his old friend and mentor would not fail. Besides, something in his heart gave him confidence they were alive and well. He had to believe it, or he could never execute his duties for Hrolf.

It did not take long to find a man curled under a blanket, sleeping on a board at the far end of the trench. Every morning he found shirkers and berated them. The Franks had a canniness for slipping reinforcements into Paris. He had allowed it once, and vowed to never allow it again. Ulfrik kicked dirt from the edge of the trench onto the slumbering man. He ducked his head beneath the dark gray blanket, nothing more than wavy hair showing.

"Hey, get up, the Franks are attacking." Ulfrik jabbed the butt of the spear into the man's leg, but he merely kicked and grumbled.

Licking his lips, Ulfrik searched around. Weary men were shambling away from the trenches, while an equally tired group ambled toward them. He detested these shirkers who slept while good men covered for them. He spun the spear around and pricked the man's side.

"Arrows! Spears! We're overrun!" Ulfrik's false alarm and the jab of the spear sent the man flying to his feet. He wrestled with his blanket, which entwined his legs and set him crashing to the trench wall. Flipping the spear again, Ulfrik clobbered the man across his shoulders. "Too late, you're dead. No weapon in hand, slain with your pants wrapped in a blanket. You'll not see Odin's hall."

The man crumpled and seemed to surrender. He looked up at Ulfrik, the whites of his eyes clear in his dirty face. "Lord Ulfrik! Is it true?"

"No, you fool." He extended the spear shaft again, this time to help the man to his feet. "But if we had been, sleeping half-wits like you would be dead. How long had you been asleep?"

"Only a short time, lord." The man grasped the spear shaft, then hauled himself up. He disentangled from the blanket as he stuttered an explanation. "Nothing has happened in so long, and the Frankish king never came like they said he would. No harm in a little extra rest with them all cornered in Paris."

Ulfrik butted the spear end into the man's face. He howled in pain, white hand clasping over his mouth where the shaft had struck.

"How's that for harm? Could be a lot worse. If the Franks slipped from their walls in the night to put knives to the throats of sleeping men, that'd be harm, wouldn't it? Or if they leapt across this trench, over your sleeping body, to attack the camp, that'd be harm. Do I have to instruct you further?"

In one deft flick, the spear point leveled at the man, who dropped his hand from his mouth and turned his head aside. "No, Lord Ulfrik. I understand. I was a fool, and deserve punishment."

"Every morning I find men sleeping at the bottom of these trenches, and I get less patient each time I find one. You put us all in danger. Now, get out of that trench. For good or for ill, your duty here is done. Tomorrow, you'll give me a better effort or I'll have your eyelids cut off. Understood?"

The man nodded and struggled out of his trench. Ulfrik scowled at him, watching him stumble away as if the Franks pursued him. These new men lacked discipline and feared no consequences. With Hrolf and Gunther away, taking most of the other jarls, too few men in authority remained to enforce discipline. If the Franks pushed on him now, he feared a total collapse.

Turning to find another trench to sweep, a distant light flared. His stomach burned with immediate recognition.

Metal in sunlight.

Another spark, and he located what he feared. To the east, atop the hill where the Franks claimed one of their little gods, Saint Denys, had died, came flashes of mail and weapons in the morning sun.

Between the autumn-thinned treetops, Ulfrik saw the hill crawling with flashing iron. It would not be Hrolf, who was approaching from the west.