The red rash covering Silvia’s face could not hide her blush. She folded her hands over her skirt and looked at her bare feet.
“Not you too,” Lucia said. She put both hands on her hips. “He takes you to bed. Valgerd sleeps with the commander and her Norseman.”
“I never slept with the commander!”
She shouted with force enough to silence both the girls. Suddenly her eyes began to sting. “He was like a father to me. Do not stain his memory with vicious rumors. I will not stand for it.”
Lucia stepped back and Silvia sneered at her. Valgerd took Silvia’s hand.
“Take me to Calixtus. Lucia, I need you as well.”
“I cannot—”
“If you want to live you will do whatever I say. Now follow.”
She led them out of their small room back into the fortress. She heard shouts echo from the front rooms where all the slaves were gathered. No swords clashed or cries of pain reached her. At least for now the soldiers had not broken through and the slaves had not attacked themselves. If Thorfast and Lucas had killed each other by now, she couldn’t determine.
The only day she remembered as more disastrous than today was the day she had been enslaved. In the end, being sold off to the commander had been a blessing. She doubted today would end in blessing. She had Alasdair first in her mind. He offered a new life for her. He would make a good husband and he did not care for her slave status.
But she had to free him before she could ever hope to realize that dream.
“Where are we going?” Lucia whined a like a child, following behind Valgerd and Silvia.
“Where do you think? The servant’s door. The soldiers are so confused right now, I doubt a single one has considered it. Their officers don’t even know we exist, never mind a special door for our own use.”
Valgerd arrived at the servant’s door. The room was empty but for stacked trays and sedge baskets used to carry food to the officers and commander during their meetings. She held up a hand to Silvia and Lucia to remain quiet, then listened at the door.
“I think it’s fine,” she said, not hearing anything beyond. “From here to the kitchens, and then through the dining hall. That’ll take us around the soldiers, who are probably scratching their heads at the fort stairs.”
The small door spilled into a cleared area covered in flagstone. Weeds and patches of brown grass sprouted between the cracks. She darted out, holding her skirt up as she ran. Silvia and Lucia followed, with the older girl moaning as if she were sick.
They passed in shade and out of sight from the front of the fort. No one wanted to see servants coming and going on their errands. Roman leaders preferred to think their slaves operated by magic, appearing and disappearing with their thoughts. Yet the hostile shouting flowed around the gray-brown walls of the fort to chase her along the path to the dining hall. The occasional slam of iron on iron punctuated the echoes, quickening her step.
The servant door to the kitchen was wide but short, almost square. It seemed like it had been added as an afterthought by the original builders. A dull iron bell was set into the wall beside it, but she would not ring it now. Instead, she pushed open the doors and slipped inside.
Once the other two gathered behind her, she closed the door. The main kitchen was across this small room. Yngvar and Alasdair often hid here while she led kindly old Narses away for them to raid the leftovers. She was certain Narses was not fooled by any of it, yet to admit he knew would be shameful. She leaned up against a crate and drew the girls closer.
“Once we get out of here,” Valgerd said, “I need Silvia to take me to Calixtus. It could be dangerous. They might be fighting and we could get caught in it. But you can do it.”
Silvia smiled brightly and nodded. She was not a smart girl, unfortunately, but a loyal friend. Lucia put both hands to the base of her throat.
“What about me? Why did you need me?”
“The weapons,” she said to Lucia. “You need to gather swords from the cart and take them directly to the Norsemen.”
“You want me to carry weapons? I can’t carry that much!”
Valgerd grabbed Lucia’s hands from her neck and pulled her close.
“I’ve seen you carry a full cask under one arm and have another free to slip between a soldier’s legs. I know what you’re about, too. We’re the only women in a fort of lonely men. You have those that protect you. I have mine. Silvia hers. Now stop acting like a child. You just need to bring a few swords and daggers. If we cannot get the keys to them, then they can ambush any guard that opens their cage. It’s the next best plan to getting them all free at once. Are you with us, Lucia? Or will you need to be—convinced?”
She drew the girl closer to her face, taking a lesson from Thorfast. A threat of violence has its uses.
Lucia pushed her back. “You wouldn’t dare, you bitch. I’d break both your thumbs.”
Valgerd smiled and let her go. “Good. I was afraid you were losing spirit. After you give them weapons, you’re free to do whatever you will. Just don’t get caught.”
The pale, weak cast returned to Lucia’s face. “This is madness.”
“It’s a day of madness,” Valgerd agreed. “Now let’s go. Silvia, show me to your friend.”
They entered the kitchen and crossed toward the arch leading to the dining hall. Less than an hour ago it had been filled with the comforting sounds of Frankish speech. Now it was empty. Even Narses had vanished in the chaos. He was an old soldier. So perhaps he had gone to pick his side. She hoped he chose wisely.
Outside, Valgerd surveyed the situation. The walls were now emptied of guards. Every able man had gone to the battle. The fighting from earlier left men lying dead where the clash had been. Some were not dead but severely wounded, and these cried out for help. Yet they were abandoned by their companions, who had migrated away from the initial clash to gather by the fort doors. Some looked back as if wanting to answer the call for help, but officers at the rear yelled at them to stay in their loose formations.
Two forces had formed. From Valgerd’s vantage point, she could not tell if one outnumbered the other. But if she could not determine this, then she guessed both sides were roughly matched. Neither group wanted to siege the door, it seemed.
“There’s the wagon of weapons,” she said, pointing to where the wagon sat before the tower. “No one is there, Lucia. Just get as much as you can into the cells. You know where they are?”
“Of course I do,” she said. She did not look at Valgerd but stared across the parade ground with her hands on her hips. Her face was scrunched into a squint against the midmorning sun. “I could get there and grab a sword or two. It should not be a problem.”
“Good,” Valgerd said. “At least they’ll have a way to free themselves if we cannot succeed. Now, Silvia, you must lead me here.”
“I will,” she said. “But we’re not going to hurt Calixtus, are we?”
Both Valgerd and Lucia laughed. “He’s wearing chain armor and carrying a spear. I’m more worried he’d hurt us.”
“Oh no,” Silvia said. “He’s very nice.”
“Right, a nice and gentle jailer,” Valgerd said. “Every prison must have at least one.”
They split up. Lucia’s whining and weak attitude had vanished. She now trotted with confidence toward the wagon. The light caught the frizz of her hair and imbued her with a golden halo. Valgerd took it as a sign of God’s favor. She now grabbed Silvia’s hand and they walked toward the soldiers.
“Why aren’t we running?” Silvia asked. “I thought we have no time?”
“We have no time. But if we run we will attract too much attention. So let’s just move calmly and let them ignore us. We can’t help but be spotted, but the fewer who notice us the better.”
They arrived at the edge of the nearest gathering of soldiers. The officer at the rear of this mass glanced at her, curled his lip, then turned back to cursing his men.
“Don’t a fucking one of
you move,” he shouted. “Don’t let the traitors get the best of us. Steady! Steady!”
“All right, Silvia, find Calixtus. When you do, just point him out to me. Don’t yell or anything of the sort. In fact, don’t go to him until I tell you.”
Silvia nodded and began to walk around the edges of the crowd. With both hands folded behind her back, she seemed as if she were on a mere stroll. Valgerd shrank away and turned her side to the soldiers. She knew that her relationship with the commander might cause problems if they recognized her. Many thought she enjoyed too much status for a mere slave. Yet she had to monitor Silvia in case the young girl did something foolish.
Silvia stood on her toes to look over the heads of both groups. Neither side had mounted the stairs and left it as neutral space between them. She walked between them on the stairs, twisting back and forth to study both sides. It was as if she did not even exist. The soldiers were too worried for what the other side would do.
At last, Silvia trotted back, skipping happily.
“I found him,” she said. “He’s in the middle of that group.”
“The middle,” Valgerd repeated, putting her hand to her brow. “Well, it’s better than the front.”
Silvia had pointed to the farther group, which had a smaller number of men in it. She could see this now. A glance back across the parade ground showed Lucia picking out weapons from the wagon.
“Let’s go fetch those keys.” Valgerd took Silvia’s hand and led her toward the soldiers.
She kept a distance from them, wishing she could make herself smaller. Yet the soldiers were so intent on their standoff that two young slave girls were not enough for their attention. This group had the fortress walls and forge to its rear. They had no officers goading them into formation. Valgerd guessed this might be the rebellious faction. In any case, she led Silvia around to the rear and taught her the plan as they walked.
“Call Calixtus to you. Tell him you are hurt or whatever you think will make him come to you.”
Silvia nodded. “I will tell him I am ready to sleep with him again.”
“Well, let’s not draw that much attention,” Valgerd said. “Too many soldiers would want to answer that call. Just sound desperate for him. If he is truly so gentle, he will answer. You say he is a kind man. Would he ever strike you?”
“Oh no,” Silvia said. “Only if I don’t mind my place. He’s only had to strike me twice, but now I know how to behave.”
Valgerd winced. They arrived behind the group. “Well, once Calixtus comes to us, I want you to hug his leg and not let go. I mean you hang onto him until I return. Even if he strikes you, or falls down, or begs you to let go. Can you hold onto his leg so long?”
Silvia frowned at her. “That’s a strange question. Of course I can hold onto him.”
So Valgerd nudged her forward. She stood on her toes again and called out his name. She called until her voice grew shrill and aggravating. It seemed every man but Calixtus turned toward her, most cursing her to silence. At last Silvia stomped her foot and balled her fists. She shoved into the crowd before Valgerd could stop her.
For a heartbeat she wanted to run, expecting the soldiers to finally tire of their distraction. More than one mumbled that they were sent from the other side as a trick. Yet they parted ways for Silvia to exit with Calixtus dragged by the hand.
The soldier stood like a giant beside her. He was not particularly strong, but his armor bulked him into a formidable shape. He was young, too. His face was covered in pimples that seemed excruciatingly painful. They turned his nose into a deformed knob. He seemed bewildered. The men at the rear looked on as well.
This was not going to be easy. But the task itself was simple.
A ring of keys hung at his side. There had to be a dozen of various lengths. Some were old and others gleamed as if freshly made. The long ring was attached to his belt with a thin leather strap.
“What is this all about?” Calixtus’s voice was as rough as his skin. He looked from Silvia to Valgerd.
“Silvia, please do what I asked you to do earlier.”
Calixtus raised a brow.
Silvia knelt down and dutifully wrapped her arms around his left leg.
“What is going on?” he asked. He tried to step out of Silvia’s hug, but she clung to him. His companions at the rear now turned to face them.
“Don’t let go, Silvia.”
Valgerd snapped the ring of keys from Calixtus’s belt. They were cold and firm in her hand. She spun around as Calixtus shouted a protest.
She started running for the tower.
“She’s got my keys,” Calixtus shouted. “She’s going for the Norsemen. Stop her!”
Valgerd held onto the keys with one hand and hiked her skirt with the other. She pumped her legs with all her strength.
The soldiers behind called out and gave chase.
12
Yngvar was the first to rush to the cell bars when he heard the doors above snap open. Bjorn and Alasdair were both at his side. Gyna was in the other cell, and dominated the front of her group. The cold and rough iron grill rubbed up against his face as he pressed his eye to see who was approaching. Everyone who could did the same.
He had informed them all of his plans. The Franks did not really know Thorfast. So when Nordbert proclaimed that “the whole plan smells like a barrel of day-old fish left in the sun,” he voiced everyone else’s concerns. But Bjorn, being the nominal leader, declared Thorfast could get this done. It had silenced further protest from the Franks.
The yellow light from above flickered down the hall, and cast a long and thin shadow before the figure approaching. A heavy clank against the stairs sounded and a feminine curse followed.
“That’s not Valgerd,” Alasdair said.
The new arrival struggled to recover whatever had fallen. Then the shadow grew closer until Yngvar saw a mousy woman with frizzy auburn hair. She cradled swords in her arms. Daggers hung from her rope belt. She was dressed as a slave and Yngvar recognized her from the commander’s serving staff.
“Lucia,” he called out. “Where is Valgerd?”
The slave stopped at his voice. She could barely see over the top of her burden. She seemed to shrink back from all the desperate faces looking out from behind the bars.
“Get back,” Yngvar said in Frankish. “You’re all scaring the girl. Let me and Alasdair handle this.”
“She’s got swords,” Bjorn said. “That’s either good or bad news. Hurry up and tell me which it is.”
After further insistence, the Franks backed away. Gyna did not heed Yngvar’s warning, but behind the bars she did not seem to intimidate Lucia. She now approached and let her burden slump to the floor before Yngvar. The rough treatment of the weapons set his teeth grinding, but he did not complain. He lowered his face to be level with hers. Her forehead shined with sweat and her cheeks were flushed.
“Valgerd is fetching the keys,” she said while catching her breath. “She sent me to bring you weapons. But these swords can’t fit through these squares.”
Lucia’s lips began to tremble.
“No, we can work them through,” Yngvar said. “You were wise in bringing us a few short swords. This long sword will fit too, though it’s not much use in these small spaces. But you did well.”
Lucia began to cry, but made no sound. She simply offered the two daggers she had taken, passing them to Alasdair. Then she fed the swords through until the cross guards caught. Being Frankish swords, their cross guards were longer than those made by Norse blacksmiths. But he had space to slip one side through then the other. It could never be done in a hurry, but they had no pressure now. At last all three were fed to the men waiting behind. Yet Lucia continued to cry.
“What is happening out there?” Yngvar asked. “Have Thorfast and Ragnar got the slaves?”
“I don’t know those names. The slaves have taken the fort. The soldiers are trying to decide what to do. They want to fight each other, but want to clai
m the fort too. So they’re just standing around. I don’t know what to do now. Where can I go?”
“Remain with us,” Yngvar said. “We are going to win this battle.”
Despite his positive feelings, Lucia seemed unconvinced. She sniffled and looked him up and down behind the bars.
“Lord, we are disadvantaged here,” Alasdair said in Frankish. “A few swords and daggers won’t let us bring down all our enemies.”
He waved away Alasdair’s concern and smiled at Lucia. “Go to the door and warn us when anyone approaches. You can hide at the end of this row. No one will look for you there, not while we are before them.”
She continued to snivel, but bowed slightly then went up the stairs. Yngvar watched her go, then turned back to the others.
Bjorn had claimed a sword. Nordbert and Hamar had as well.
“Give me a dagger,” Yngvar said. “And one for Alasdair.”
“I already have the other,” Gyna said from the other cell. Bjorn smiled.
“I thought you’d take the long sword,” he said.
“It’s not mine. Let whoever owns it claim it. I’ll hold that dagger for now. With luck we will soon be picking our own weapons from the cart. Seems like Thorfast has distracted the soldiers for us.”
He heard hurried steps descending the stairs. Lucia had returned and Valgerd was with her. Her cheeks were flushed red and her hair stuck to her forehead. She labored with her breathing, but held up an iron ring of keys.
“You did it!” Alasdair shouted, rushing back to the front. The Franks crowded around, even Ewald had decided to join this time. The keys jingled as Valgerd held them aloft.
“No time,” she said, between panting. “They’re coming.”
“Which key is it?” Yngvar asked.
She shook her head to show she did not know. Her hand trembled as she fit keys into the lock. The metal clinked and scraped, but none of the tumblers clicked. She withdrew the key and tried another to the same result. Yngvar guessed twelve keys slid around that iron ring, and none looked more likely than the other.
The Red Oath Page 11