Banners of the Northmen (2 page)

Everyone gazed down to the miserable treasure gathered in the field beside the hall. Dead bodies had already attracted gulls to peck and tear at the open wounds. Ulfrik experienced a wave of pity for the dead, having spent their lives for a paltry sum. Though deserving of death, as Ulfrik's informers had so vociferously proclaimed, he did not enjoy trapping and killing them inside their hall. Maybe because his Uncle Auden had burned alive in his hall and his father Orm had been poisoned, Ulfrik detested such tactics. However, he could not doubt their efficacy in battle.

"Well, I can't eat silver either, but I'm taking it." Thrand pushed his way to the front, then scooped up a ring from the grass. He thrust it at Ulfrik, blue sky reflecting in its curve. "This is what we sailed all the way to Norway to get. This fucking pile of silver that won't pay for the repairs to our ship and weapons. Great job, Lord Ulfrik."

Yanking Thrand's arm down, Ulfrik's free hand dropped to his sword hilt. "You weren't forced to join. You're drunk again, Thrand, but I won't indulge your disrespect. Do you understand?"

Ulfrik locked his gaze with Thrand, whose face had grown puffy and red with drink. He had become unpredictable since his brother Njal died three years ago. He blamed Ulfrik and Toki for it. Having learned firsthand how evil words could undermine a leader, Ulfrik brooked none of that attitude from him or any other. He would rather fight now than find a knife at his throat later.

Thrand backed down, as he always did, and twisted his arm from Ulfrik's grip. He flung the ring at the grass before Ulfrik's feet, then pushed away to be alone in his humiliation. Men parted for him, everyone familiar with his moody outbursts. Many heads shook as he stalked off, and Ulfrik let his hand fall from his sword.

"He's a drunk and a poor speaker," Ulfrik said to the others. "But he voices what all of us think. I share your disappointment. We expected much more, and bet on easy riches we did not find. I should've suspected the traders used us for revenge rather than passing on good information. No king's fortune in the hands of this crew."

"We still haven't made a proper search of the land and these other buildings," Toki said. "Maybe there's a chance they buried it nearby."

Ulfrik sighed. "True, it should be fresh enough to find if it is. This is not their home, though, but an abandoned village. If anything, they were resting here to waylay the walrus ivory trade from the north. We might consider the same idea, actually."

Walrus ivory traders made fat targets, but also employed escort ships that Ulfrik's small crew could not overtake. For that matter, neither could the raiders he had just defeated. He gave up trying to make sense of this, and accepted the traders had played him to eliminate a problem. Ulfrik never harassed traders, since his island home depended on them for survival. But the Norwegians were a different lot, and many pirates prowled the trade lanes out of Norway.

"All right, let's check the houses and search for any hint of a fresh dig. Maybe they've got buried dead that'll give up some gold. Get looking."

The men spread out under the brightening skies. Ulfrik drew in the sea air, glancing at the dark line of spruce trees and the violet and black mountain ridges pushing up behind them. He missed trees and forests. His home on the Faereyar Islands had no welcoming forests, no deer or elk to hunt nor any wolves to avoid. Many feared forests for elves and spirits dwelling within, but the trees had ever been a place of solace for him.

A voice broke his reverie. The shout came from a small byre standing near the mead hall. The door hung open and Thorstein stood framed against it. "There's a prisoner in here."

Ulfrik jogged over, his man standing beside the door and pointing inside. Ulfrik ducked within, and the sunlight filtering through cracks and holes provided a dim light his eyes momentarily fought. Tied by his wrists to a pole stood a man even older than Snorri. He wore a gray shirt of rough wool and his brown pants were cinched at his bony waist by a cord. His right pant leg had torn to the knee, revealing a thin leg covered in gray hair and bruises. The man's eyes were dark enough to be black, and were set into a regal head that titled back defiantly. Ulfrik would have laughed had the gesture not seemed so natural to the man.

"They must have recently put him here," Ulfrik said as he moved closer to inspect the man.

"How do you know?" Thorstein remained at the door, waving others over.

"No filth on the floor. I've spent a few days tied to poles, and you don't wait to shit if you have to."

Ulfrik examined the man, who returned the same scrutiny. Though thin and old, his skin was not rough. His unshod feet were scabbed from going barefoot. Ulfrik grabbed the man's face, who did not resist, and squeezed open his mouth to reveal it still held most of the man's teeth. He let go, and the prisoner pulled away with a hint of disgust that drew a smirk to Ulfrik's face. His gaze dropped to the slave collar chaffing the old man's neck, and he noted despite the rust of the collar, bright metal showed where it had been clamped shut over his throat.

Ulfrik stepped away, slipping on a deep red cloak lying on the floor. He kicked it aside, watching the man's eyes follow it. He emanated defiance and confidence; he reminded him of his wife, Runa, when he had first met her as a slave. The collar may have marked her as such, but her spirit suffered no enslavement.

"So they had a slave, and a new one at that. He's not yet ready to accept Fate's judgment. Just look at those eyes." Ulfrik playfully slapped the slave's face. "You might be the best part of the treasure we take today."

Toki entered along with a few other interested men. The slave's eyes darted between the new arrivals. "Why didn't he call for help?" Toki asked as he came in. "We might've left him here."

"Exactly," Ulfrik said, pulling on the bindings. "Better off chancing the ropes to break than giving himself over to us. Isn't that right?"

Ulfrik drew a knife and began cutting away the ropes. The slave had nowhere to escape, whether he knew it or not. The slave's hands came free, and he immediately began massaging them. Ulfrik chuckled.

"Don't get too used to freedom. I don't normally take slaves but we didn't get much for our efforts." Ulfrik grabbed his arm and started to guide him to the door when he started speaking. The words sounded familiar, as if he should understand them. He noticed Toki's surprised expression, then realized the slave was speaking heavily accented Norse.

"You can understand me, slave?"

"Yeah, understanding. Humbert is still slave, no? Humbert freedom wants."

Ulfrik laughed, both from the accent and the request. "But the gods do not want freedom for you. So when they give it, I will be first among men to congratulate you. Now come with me, and be good. I won't be hard on you."

The men in the byre doorway chuckled, though Toki remained impassive. "You know Runa will not approve of taking a slave."

"He is already a slave," Ulfrik said. "Besides, he's a priest or a noble of some sort. Just look at him. We can ransom him to someone. He will be free and we will get a little richer."

"Or we'll be stuck with another mouth to feed."

"Then he'll go to the slave block," Ulfrik snapped. "What do you want me to do? He's a slave and we are free. When the gods wanted us free, they made us so. Same for this one. Runa will have to accept it, just stop worrying about it."

He pulled the slave, who called himself Humbert, which sounded Frankish to Ulfrik's ears. But Humbert pulled back, pointing at the ground. Ulfrik, his patience worn out, hissed and yanked Humbert forward. He yelped, and renewed his tug of war while still pointing at the floor.

"Please, master!" Humbert said. "On the ground, my cloak. Please!"

Ulfrik rolled his eyes and hauled Humbert out of the byre, flinging him through the door. He toppled like a child's doll, crashing into Einar who refused to step aside. The crew's laughter drowned out Humbert's pleas. He knelt in the grass, pointing at the byre with tears streaming down his face.

"Please, my father's cloak. Dear father. My father's cloak is all Humbert has. Please, just a small rag for Humbert. Please, master!"

Ulfrik's anger increased at the needless humiliation he had inflicted on the slave. He hated his sympathy for Humbert, but could not escape that weakness. He had suffered the disgrace of slavery and knew the pain this man felt. Some day slavery would bring him worse suffering, but at least Ulfrik would not be the originator of it. He felt his face growing hot as the others mocked Humbert's weeping.

"If you don't stop crying, I'll ram the fucking cloak down your throat!" Not the soothing words of a kind man, he knew. "Toki, fetch it for him. The rest of you, leave the poor bastard alone and let him have his cloak."

Toki handed Ulfrik the cloak, and he flung it on the tearful Humbert, who snatched it and rubbed his smiling face over it like a lost lover.

"I don't think he's going to be much use to us," Toki said as he watched Humbert weep with joy. "Why did you let him have the cloak?"

"I don't know. Before I met you, a hirdman of mine had lost his whole family to my brother, and after that wherever he went he carried a bearskin blanket that belonged to them. This reminds me of it. Anyway, if it shuts him up then let him keep it. We've a long journey home."

CHAPTER TWO

The blue strip of the southern island of the Faereyar grew on the horizon as Ulfrik stood in the prow of
Raven's Talon
. Gone for nearly two weeks, he anticipated reunion with his family. Sea spray wet his face and beard and the bracing air filled his lungs. Dolphins leapt through the waters as if in greeting. He stepped down from the prow, the sail full and cracking above his head. He smiled at Toki, who piloted the ship. It has been his since Ulfrik first met him, and no one else ever laid a hand on the tiller if he was aboard. He seemed equally eager to return home.

Towing the raiders' captured ship slowed the return journey to Nye Grenner. Ulfrik had taken great pains to hide along the coastal islands, realizing a towed ship was a beacon to other pirates seeking two fat prizes for one attack. Fortunately, numerous islands sprayed the northern coast of Norway with ample concealment. Once he hit the open sea, lookouts kept watch for following sails that never appeared.

Within the hour, the rolling slopes of Nye Grenner appeared. Despite strong winds, columns of white hearth smoke lifted over the green turf roofs of the village. His home and hall stood at the highest point of a slope that swept up from the beach, built on a strategic location that limited attackers' approach to the hall. The placement had saved it more than once, and Ulfrik believed it still discouraged enemies from trying its famous killing fields.

He waved from the prow along with others of his crew not busy with rigging or the sails. Everyone lined the shore in greeting. His heart beat faster, both from the excitement of returning and the anxiety of disappointing treasure. Runa's chiding words still echoed in his head.
You can't run after every promise of gold with no better proof than a stranger's say-so
. While others would see a captured ship and be mollified for a time, Ulfrik knew Runa would cut through his bluster with the keenness of a new blade.

He hated admitting she had been right. She almost always was right, and it drove him mad even if she was careful not to dwell on it. In fact, he wished she would so he could latch onto an excuse to become angry with her.

Raven's Talon
glided into dock to the applause and cheers of the assembled families. He spied Runa observing from higher up the slope, his second son Hakon sleeping on her shoulder while Gunnar stood close to her side. Groups of wives, siblings, and mothers shouted the names of their men. Ulfrik appreciated their worries, since many who go
a-viking
never return. The crew threw ropes to the boys on the dock and they lashed these around poles. The towed ship, a small vessel, bumped against
Raven's Talon
and jostled everyone aboard. One man fell off the rails into the shallows to the shouts and laughter of those watching.

Ulfrik met Runa's small smile and Gunnar's placid, almost disinterested gaze. Hakon's tuft of golden hair showed beneath the wool blanket swaddling him. Spirits lifted, he drew his breath and jumped to the docks. Several people rushed forward to greet him, patting his shoulders and welcoming him home. Ulfrik made a show of what little wealth he had carried back from the raid, throwing a sack of the silver plates over his shoulder. He had padded it with rocks to make it appear bigger to the casual eye. People needed to see success.

Wading through the press of welcoming arms, he arrived before Runa and Gunnar. She cooed to Hakon, rousing him from his sleep. Weeks away from home had refreshed his sight of her, and Runa's clear face bought a smile to his own.

"Welcome home," she said, a smile struggling to escape. She nudged Gunnar, who looked more like his mother each day. "Go on and welcome your father home."

Ulfrik dropped his sack of treasures and opened his arms for his son. Gunnar walked carefully, as if a hundred eyes followed him, then ran the last few paces and embraced Ulfrik. "Welcome home, Father."

"You've been good, lad. Protected your mother and brother while I was away?" He pulled back and ruffled Gunnar's hair, who nodded dutifully. "So let me see your mother, and ensure she is well."

Ulfrik slid to Runa's side, kissing her. "How I've missed you. It took longer than I thought."

"And you are well? No new wounds?" She leaned back, examining his face and brushing a few scabs and bruises suffered in the raid. Hakon shifted on her shoulder, raising his head a moment before sleeping again.

"Hakon sleeps for his father's return?" Ulfrik laughed as he peered into the swaddled bundle. His second son was barely a year old, ever hungry and sleepy. As much as Gunnar resembled his mother, Hakon's young face was Ulfrik's.