Banners of the Northmen (40 page)

A smile flashed at the compliment, but a frown overtook it. "The bishop is a great man. If you are Lord Ulfrik, then he has asked for you to approach the northern tower. He wishes to make a deal with you."

"Deal? He does realize he has been defeated, yes? What could he offer me?"

"He would never tell me such things, lord. But he awaits at the tower. He asks that only you come, as the offer is only for you."

Ulfrik agreed and followed the boy to the tower. The same cluster of lazy guards leaned over the walls, but even at his distance Ulfrik saw the white robes and hair of a man standing beside them. "That's Anscharic, is it? He's the head priest now?"

"Something like that, lord. He is God's chosen, and leads us all in His light."

"That light is probably my people burning one of your villages to the ground."

Stopping in the shadow of the tower, Ulfrik avoided looking at the base. Wreckage of past attacks lapped against it like a tide of death. Bitter scents still lingered in the air, burned bones and charred weapons weathered into a noxious slurry. He craned his neck up the length of the wall, where Anscharic leaned over, waving a bony hand at him.

"You look much older, Humbert, far worse than when you were my slave." Shouting up the tower wall, Anscharic's reply came clearly despite the distance.

"And you look no richer than when you arrived here. You've been given men, and a few armbands. We both know you sought more when you journeyed here."

"I heard your god frowns on lies. You are a master of them."

Anscharic's white-haired head fell back in laughter. "I told you many true things, first among them that God will not allow Paris to fall. It is His city, and His arm bars you and your heathen scum from it. Within these walls is the safety of God's love. Just look at your feet to see what your gods have given to you."

"You have a unique view of victory. Your king granted us everything we demanded. No one cares for this ridiculous city."

"Ah, but you do, don't you? You came here with a lust for treasure in your heart, but never found it."

"That's because you lied about it."

"Indeed I did. A ruse designed for you to take me home. God shepherded me with you as His instrument, and with grave purpose. With poor Joscelin dead, I arrived in time to take up where he left off. I have done well, in fact, where you have only done well in your imagination. In reality you have nothing, not even a place to call home."

Ulfrik's fists balled and his mouth pulled tight. "Well, it's my imaginary army that's keeping you penned in your starving city. I've no time to indulge the ramblings of an old man hiding atop a tower. I am leaving."

"Indulge me one thing, and you may still gain what you originally sought."

Stopping in mid-turn, Ulfrik squinted up into the brightening sky. Anscharic's hair caught the morning light, glowing like white fire. "The time for deals is long past, Humbert. You have killed my friend, and killed scores of my men with your deceit."

"Return my father's cloak to me, and I will repay you in gold. I am an old man now, soon to go to God's glory. When my body is laid to rest, I want to be wrapped in that cloak."

"I will grant you that wish," Ulfrik renewed his walk away. "After I avenge Ander's murder, I will wrap you in that rag and throw you into the Seine."

"Return it to the boy I sent to you," Anscharic called after him. "He will be waiting here. A cross of gold, Ulfrik. It is more than what you have now, with your Lord Hrolf holding all the treasure. You can rebuild your hall with such wealth."

Letting Anscharic's weak voice fade, Ulfrik stalked back toward his camp. Men carried out their duties with more vigor now, at least those who were not still heavy with drink. Banners flew where none had before, jarls vying to bring their standards closer to Hrolf's. Ships were being prepared for portage overland, since Odo's threats made sailing past Paris too dangerous. Pausing at the entrance to the hall, where two men stumbled out with bright smiles on bleary faces, Ulfrik saw more square-sailed ships arriving up the Seine.
Success brings the glory-seekers
, he thought, then ducked inside.

"Still walking the trenches?" Einar asked, shirtless and sleepy-eyed under blankets with a young woman pressed to his side. He recognized her as Toki's former bed-warmer, Bera.

"It's hard to change. If you think I'm bad, men are still sleeping in the trenches."

Einar laughed and disappeared under the covers, where Bera squealed. Ulfrik walked to the banner pole resting against the wall where he had made his bed. He had little to pack beyond war gear. Anscharic had been painfully accurate in describing his poverty. Despite winning honor and status, he had little to show for it. Though he took a larger share of spoils, with so many plundering the land there was not much to claim. He counted on the promised silver to bring him a measure of wealth equal to the suffering he had endured in Frankia.

The ragged red cloak hung limp. Black stains from constant handling smeared it, and flying it so often had torn it in places. It hung heavily, as if it were as tired as Ulfrik.

Taking it into his hands, he yanked the cloak tight, then pulled until it untied from the pole. Anscharic remained hidden behind his stone walls, and Hrolf was leading his army to Burgundia. Justice would have to wait. Bunching the cloak into a ball, he flung it atop his pack and closed his eyes.

"Ander, your vengeance must wait a while longer. Forgive me, old friend. I will bring justice to your memory, only not today."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to clear his thoughts. Then he heard his name called. Turning to face it, an unfamiliar man in a red cap leaned into the door.

"Lord Ulfrik, ships arrived with men looking for you. A man named Snorri said that he's returned with your family."

CHAPTER FORTY

The three ships that had been observed arriving earlier were now beached on the river bank, a bow shot south of where the mouldering skeleton of Sigfrid's siege tower lay. The morning light clipped across their decks and masts, leaving their hulls in blue shadows. Men worked within the shadows, securing their vessels, receiving sacks thrown down from the decks, performing their duties as if they were only another ship of fortune-seekers joining Hrolf's standard. Men from the camp pointed the newcomers up the slope toward the shoddily built halls and barracks.

Ulfrik studied these arrivals, his heart pounding at the base of his throat. The man in the red cap stopped when he realized Ulfrik no longer followed. He turned, irritation barely concealed. "Those are the ships. You don't need me to show the way. The old man over there is the one who sent for you. Good morning to you, lord."

The man left Ulfrik staring after the group gathered at the edge of the grass. Snorri's grizzled hair had grown whiter and his flesh had shrunk, aging him ten years, but his energy showed as he addressed two men standing with him. He stabbed his finger at the southern bank, toward the ruined abbey. The men followed his gesture, turning to face the south.

As they did, Runa and Gunnar were revealed behind them.

He began to run before he realized it. Gunnar saw him first, hesitated as if he could not believe his eyes, then charged from his mother's side. Ulfrik stopped and threw his arms wide, and Gunnar jumped into his embrace. He lifted his son as easily as if he were still a babe, spinning him around and laughing.

"All along the river people said the Frankish king had killed you and everyone." Gunnar's words were muffled as he buried his face in Ulfrik's shoulder. "But I didn't believe it. No one believed it."

He set Gunnar down, expecting to see tears streaking his smooth skin, yet finding his face dry. His dark eyes shimmered with joy, but Ulfrik saw something different in them. Harder. Stronger. He recognized his son was no more a boy. Doubt crossed Gunnar's face as Ulfrik studied him.

"Bah, the king never drew his sword. He was too afraid of me and ran away. That's the truth of it."

Laughter bubbled up, and Gunnar was a child again. He threw himself back into Ulfrik's arms, but when Ulfrik stood he did not beg to be carried. He took his father's hand and stood at his side.

"Mother has dreamed of you every night. When she sleeps, I hear her speaking to you."

"And I have shared those dreams, this long and lonely year."

Runa approached them, confidently striding across the grass. She no longer wore a skirt, dressing in the deerskin pants of a man. The sax he had given her slapped at her legs, and a sheathed sword bobbed at her hip. Her hair spilled out from the drawn hood of her green wool cloak, and as she closed the distance, she pulled it from her head.

He held his breath. She had changed as well. A streak of gray twined through her curls, rising from her forehead and disappearing into the fullness of hair. Her dark eyes were cooler and her lips thinner. Her beauty had grown fierce, almost cruel. Without pause, she strode directly to him, seized his jaw in a powerful grip and pulled him down to her lips.

They melted together. If the world existed any longer, Ulfrik did not care. For all the hard edges Runa had acquired, her scent was sweeter than he remembered and all the warm softness of a woman remained. They parted enough to speak, Runa's hot breath bathing his face.

"I have dreamed of this moment every night for a year. I imagined all the ways I would hit you, curse you, bite you. Sometimes I thought of killing you for everything you put me through. Now I've failed in all of my plans. I hate you for making me weak."

"We can try the biting later tonight." Runa's eyes met his, and for a moment he feared his awkward humor had gone astray. Then a smile bloomed and Runa began to laugh, tears pooling in her eyes. They fell together again, and Ulfrik remained silent, savoring the moment.

"Lord Ulfrik Ormsson," called a gruff voice. "How did you manage to keep yourself out of trouble without me around, lad?"

Ulfrik greeted Snorri with a rough embrace and a pat on the back. "There must be a good story to tell," Ulfrik said, regarding his old friend. "You look like you swam here from Nye Grenner."

"There are too many stories to tell, but before that you should meet my new master." Snorri turned and beckoned a young woman to approach. Ulfrik recognized her as Thora in the same instant that Hakon appeared from behind her skirts. "Young Hakon has grown since you last saw him, and I admit he has won my loyalty during this long journey."

His son now stood straight and strong, though his face was still round with baby fat his eyes were filled with a soulful wisdom that startled Ulfrik. He clung to his maid's skirts, but as Snorri outstretched his hand, he toddled forward to take it. Snorri chuckled with a grandfatherly pride and guided him forward. "Do you remember your father?"

Hakon shook his head, his yellow hair falling across his face.

Ulfrik swallowed the lump in his throat, and knelt to greet his son. Hakon stepped back, but Ulfrik only smiled. He feared to speak, for his voice might crumble with emotion. Seeing his infant son standing and walking reminded Ulfrik how long he had been absent. As the two got the measure of each other, Ulfrik finally stood. "You are a handsome boy, Hakon. I will have a gift made for you, would you like that?"

His son nodded and Snorri ruffled his hair. Then he spoke more gravely to Ulfrik. "There is one story you will want to hear today." Snorri pointed at the two men he had been addressing earlier. "The two twins, Konal and Kell, have news for you."

"Mother saved Konal's life, and he saved mine," Gunnar added brightly, but Runa shushed him.

"Many stories to tell," Ulfrik said to Runa, his smile growing at the blush forming on Runa's tear-wet cheeks.

The twins joined them, both young and strong, nearly identical to each other in every detail. Ulfrik had never seen twins before, but had heard amazing stories of their powers. Both of them had the weathered skin of long days at sea, though one appeared softer than the other. Their clear eyes struck Ulfrik as shrewdly intelligent. They swept him in simultaneous glances from head to foot, leaving him feeling as if he had been appraised like a gem stone. The one with the softer features focused on Runa, and his gaze lingered enough for Ulfrik to wonder if his look held more meaning than he understood.

"I am Kell Ketilsson," said the harder looking of the twins. "It is a great honor to meet you at last, Lord Ulfrik."

"And I am Konal Ketilsson. I am in your debt, as you will no doubt soon learn." He bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving Ulfrik's.

"These are your ships?" Ulfrik asked, and the twins nodded. "Then your debts will be repaid for delivering my family to me. Though I must ask what has happened to the rest of my men and people?"

"There are many stories to tell, lad. Your people are safe, enemies defeated, and Toki rules the land in your name. Don't worry yourself. Runa wanted to join you, as did I. But the twins have urgent news for you."

Ulfrik looked at Kell and Konal, whose expressions grew grave. Kell folded his arms and explained.

"We are here for the one you've called Humbert. His true name is Anscharic, and he has stolen something of tremendous value from us. We plan to take it back."

"Then you must succeed where Jarl Hrolf and I have failed. He is barricaded inside Paris, and long out of my reach."

Both twins stared impassively past Ulfrik at the walls of Paris. He smirked at the realization blooming on their faces.

"I fear you may have been duped by the same tales of treasure that I believed, fool that I was."

"No." Konal's voice fell like lead into the mud. "I've held it in my hands. It's real."

Ulfrik stiffened, shared a look with Runa who gave no hint of her thoughts. He turned to face Paris again, then recalled Ander and his rune sticks. The gods did not lie, he had claimed.

"Then let us go to my hall, where you may refresh before telling me your tales."