For a moment the two of them stared at the distant sail. “For us, I don’t know which is the better fate,” Louis said. “Taken by these Norse dogs or left to suffer Brunhard’s will.”
“There’s only one Norse ship, and we are three,” Conandil said. “Do you think they could take us still?”
“Certainly,” Louis said. “There are likely more men on that one raider than there are sailors on all Brunhard’s ships. And the Northmen are warriors, armed and trained. The sailors are not.”
“The prisoners are,” Conandil said.
“What do you mean?”
“The prisoners. The Irishmen at the oars. They are warriors mostly, taken on the battlefield.” Conandil, apparently, could not bring herself to use the word “slave.”
Louis nodded. He remembered now. Brunhard had bragged of it. The Northmen and the rí túaithe of some little kingdom had conspired to launch an attack on those poor bastards so that they might be taken and sold, slaves being one of Ireland’s most abundant and valuable resources.
Now there’s an irony…Louis thought. They had men enough to put up a real fight, maybe even defeat the attacking Northmen, but those men were in chains. If the raiders did manage to run Brunhard’s ships down, those men could do nothing but watch as the Frisians were slaughtered, and then wait to see how their new masters disposed of them.
Or maybe not, Louis thought, as a new idea began to form itself out of the swirling fog in his head. He was about to speak when he heard the heavy thump of Brunhard’s feet as the master came aft again, heard the booming voice.
“Louis the Frank! Are you staring at your beloved Ireland? Sorry now you left it?”
“No,” Louis said. “I am looking at the Northman who is still chasing us. It seems you did not frighten them all away.”
“Bah!” Brunhard said, waving a dismissive hand, though Louis was all but certain the Frisian had not seen the ship in their wake. He himself had barely seen it, and he reckoned his eyes were better than Brunhard’s who had ten years on him at least. “I’ll find some way to bugger this one as well.”
“Will we sail through the night?” Louis asked. “Try to get clear of this fellow?”
“No,” Brunhard said. “I’m tired of sailing. There’s a fine beach a few miles ahead of us. We sail until it’s dark enough that this bastard following cannot see where we go, then we’ll run her ashore. Have a decent meal, sleep on solid ground. Does that suit you, Louis the Frank?”
“That would be fine,” Louis said. “As ever, your ship seems more like a royal barge than a slaver.”
“Well said!” Brunhard yelled. “I swear, it will break my heart when I finally slit your throat!”
Just as Brunhard had said, Wind Dancer and the other ships continued on south, skirting the coast a little less than a mile off, as the sun dropped toward the western mountains. Once it was gone they used the last of the light to turn landward and Brunhard brought his ships through the dark water and onto a stretch of beach as easily as if it had been midday.
Wind Dancer ground up onto the sand and the other two went aground on either side of her and the sailors leapt over the sides and took ropes and anchors up the beach and secured them. A gangplank was put over the side and the slaves, still chained neck to neck, were led off the ships for the first time and set under guard. A fire was lit with the ships mostly blocking it from sight from the sea.
“So, Louis,” Brunhard said later, sitting on the sand by Louis and facing the tall and exuberant flames, “I hope tonight you’re planning on humping that little Irish bitch you bought. You know, my men are sore disappointed they didn’t get a chance at her. At least they should be allowed to hear you doing it, don’t you think?” The words came out as humor, and there was a smile on Brunhard’s face, but as was so often the case there was something ugly just below the surface.
“What I do with my slave is my affair,” Louis said. “But it will not be for the amusement of your men. But see here, Brunhard, I had another idea, one that might be of great profit to you.”
As Louis suspected, there was no word that could grab Brunhard’s interest more than “profit,” though he did a good job of looking as if he did not much care. He stared off into the fire, put his fingers in his mouth and fished out some detritus from his dinner and pitched it into the flames.
“What idiot idea have you come up with, Frank?” he asked at last.
“Here’s the thing,” Louis said. He had practiced this talk in his head and tried now to not sound too prepared, as if he had just thought of it. “Your trick with the flaming arrows was brilliant, but you know that.”
“Of course I know that. Even the damned Northmen know that!”
“The Northmen that are still alive, at least,” Louis added. “So, it seemed you wrecked one ship and the second went to their aid and no doubt wrecked as well, or at least are so far behind they’ll never catch us now.”
“That’s true, very true,” Brunhard said. His eyes were on Louis now, his feigned lack of interest dropping away.
“But there’s still one of the Northmen following us. You saw that. One of the smaller ones, we know, because the two big ones were the ones that went up on the beach. We lost him in the dark, but come morning he will be after us again, I have no doubt.”
Brunhard waved a dismissive hand. “That sorry bastard will never catch us now,” he said.
“But maybe we should let him,” Louis said. “Those raiders, if they’ve been at it long, they could be stuffed with silver, gold, jewels, all the things the heathens have plundered. Take the ship and you take the plunder. And the Northmen still alive, well, they can be sold as slaves as well as any Irishman.”
Brunhard was nodding but frowning. “This is true, what you say. But those heathen bastards are warriors, and there are many of them. My men, they’re tough as old leather, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t have half as many men on my three ships as the heathens have on the one. And my men are sailors, not warriors. They’d butcher us.”
“Yes, true,” Louis said, leaning a little closer to suggest he was now reaching the crux of his argument. “But here’s the best part. These Irish slaves, they are warriors. You said so yourself. Taken on the battlefield. And…I did not tell you this, but I was head of the house guard for the Count of Roumois. Most of my time was spent fighting these heathens as they came up the Seine. I know how to fight them and beat them.”
Louis could see he had Brunhard’s full attention now, so he went on. “Here’s what we do. We take one of your ships…not Wind Dancer but one of the smaller ones, and we make it seem as if there is something wrong, as if it cannot keep up. Let the heathen come up with her. I’m on board, and a few of your sailors. Those archers who shot out the other ship’s sail as well. And the Irish slaves, but armed, their arms hidden. When the heathens come aboard, thinking they’ve made an easy catch, we go at them. We’ll kill half of them before they know what’s happened, and their ship is ours.”
Brunhard frowned and looked away and Louis could almost hear his thoughts, the temptation, the skepticism. “You arm the slaves?” he said at last. “They’ll kill you before the heathen has come a mile closer.”
“We don’t have to unchain them. They can fight with the chains around their necks, but they would not be able to take the ship from us,” Louis said. “You could promise them their freedom if they fight and win. You don’t have to mean it. They don’t really have to believe you. Hope alone would drive them. Plus, if they don’t fight, the Northmen will kill them. If they really are fighting men, they won’t let that happen.”
Brunhard nodded. “An interesting idea,” he said.
Louis nodded as well. He had struck the right tone so far, he thought, and did not want to seem too eager.
“You would lead this?” Brunhard asked next.
Louis nodded again. “You saved me from your men, from Áed who wanted very much to cut my throat. I appreciate that. And I expect a share of the plunder.”
; “Of course you do, you greedy Frankish turd,” Brunhard said.
“We would need to make certain the slaves we have on the ship are really fighting men, not farmers,” Louis said. “You can pick the sailors who’ll go with us. If we win, it could make us very rich. If we lose, you lose only a third of your slaves, a few men, a ship, and my company. A risk worth taking, I think.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Brunhard said. “I’ll sleep on it, if you and your Irish bitch don’t keep me awake all night making the beast with two backs, and I’ll tell you in the morning what I think.” He stood abruptly and walked off to where the men of Wind Dancer were bedding down.
“In the morning, then!” Louis called out. But he did not need to wait until morning for Brunhard’s reply. The plan Louis had laid out was a good one, the risks to Brunhard small, the potential for profit great. He had seen the avarice shining in the Frisian’s eyes. He knew what the answer would be.
And that in turn gave him hope. Because it meant that now there was at least a chance that he and Conandil would not be butchered by the time the sun rose and set once more.
Chapter Twenty
Never a whit should one blame another
whom love hath brought into bonds…
Hávamál
Louis spent the night with Conandil at his side and his sword, unsheathed, between them. But he slept soundly, and as the dark hours rolled past he did not feel the need to touch either of them. It was not until he realized something was poking at his shoulder that he came awake with a start.
He opened his eyes. It was still dark. His hand moved reflexively for the hilt of his sword. His fingers wrapped around the wire-bound grip and he heard Brunhard’s voice, gruff but speaking low, say, “No, no, you idiot, you have no need of that. Get up and follow me.”
Louis sat up and looked around. There were small flames flickering in the fire pit, enough to illuminate the Frisian’s face and beard with a soft orange light. Brunhard had been poking Louis’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe.
“Where are we going?” Louis croaked.
“To talk. Come on. Are you some sort of Frankish princess? How long are you going to sleep?”
Louis kicked his way out of his leather sleeping sack and climbed to his feet. He picked up his sword as he did and slid it into the sheath hanging from his belt, a belt he had not bothered to remove. Brunhard was already walking away and he stumbled after. He was surprised Brunhard had made no bawdy jokes about Conandil. He guessed the Frisian had other things on his mind.
They stopped by the fire where half a dozen men were gathered around. Áed was one and the sailor, Silef, was another. The rest Louis did not recognize so he guessed they were from the other ships in Brunhard’s fleet.
“This is Louis the Frank,” Brunhard said to those others, jerking a thumb in Louis’s direction. “He says he’s some sort of fighting man. Louis, this is Merulf, master of the Galilee, which is the smallest of my ships.”
Louis nodded his greeting and Merulf, whose slight scowl was visible though a scraggly and unkempt beard, nodded back, a gesture that carried not the slightest welcome.
“We have been talking among us about this plan of yours,” Brunhard went on, “and we agree it’s a good one. Surprising, coming from the likes of you, but good, still. Merulf has stepped up and offered his ship as the one we will use to bait the Northman.”
Merulf did not speak, and Louis suspected that he had offered nothing of the sort. Brunhard had referred to Galilee as Merulf’s ship, but of course it wasn’t. It was Brunhard’s ship, and Merulf was simply a master hired on, a man who was easily replaced if he did not yield to Brunhard’s wishes.
“What do you have for weapons?” Louis asked.
“The archers, as you said,” Brunhard replied. “We have a few swords, axes, but we also have two dozen spears. They’re cargo, I was bringing them to Frisia to trade, but we could put them to use.”
“Good,” Louis said. “Perfect. Since we mean to keep the slaves chained, even as they fight, so they don’t turn on us, spears are the best weapons for them. Pole arms. Gives them reach, even if their movement is limited.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Brunhard said. “Now, Merulf will have command of the ship, as he does now. His word is law. You, Louis, will be in command of the slaves and the others who are there to fight. And you had better know what the hell you are about. You better not be lying when you say you’re some sort of warrior. Áed will go with you as well.”
“No,” Louis said. The last thing he needed was that great Irish beast standing behind him with a weapon in his hand. “If Áed is there, then there is confusion as to who commands. That could be the death of us all.”
“Áed can speak to the slaves. You cannot,” Brunhard said, which was not true but Louis did not want Brunhard to know that.
“I’ll bring my slave. Conandil. She speaks Frankish.”
Louis saw the surprise on Brunhard’s face. “Really? The little bitch speaks your language? I wonder what other skills she has that I don’t know about. You make me sorry I sold her to you.”
“I must also look over the slaves who are on Galilee now,” Louis went on, ignoring the remark. “Not all of these Irish are warriors. Some are farmers who were called up to fight. We cannot afford to have any man who isn’t good with a weapon. I’ll need to replace any like that with better men. And I’ll need to take others as well. Galilee doesn’t carry near as many men as Wind Dancer. We must have more if we’re to beat the heathens.”
Louis looked from man to man. None of them looked happy to have this Frankish interloper making demands, but neither did they look as if they wanted to argue with him or Brunhard.
“Very well,” Brunhard said at last. “It will be as you wish. And either you’ll make me wealthier still, or you’ll be dead, and either way I’m a happy man.”
“I’m sure,” Louis said. He wondered if Merulf felt the same, given that if he, Louis, was dead then Merulf would no doubt be dead as well. He wondered if he should be concerned that Brunhard had not put up more of an argument.
Well, there’s nothing for it, he thought. If they did this thing, there was a good chance he and Conandil would die at the hands of the heathens. If they did not, then he would most certainly die at Brunhard’s hands, and Conandil, he guessed, would find herself praying for death.
Most of Brunhard’s sailors and the Irish slaves were still asleep, but those who were awake began to fan out among the heaps of slumbering men, delivering kicks just hard enough to wake them and elicit the occasional curse. Soon they were up and shuffling around, the few women among the slaves set to stoking up the fire and getting oat porridge on for breakfast. Someone had pulled out the spears from among Wind Dancer’s other cargo and put them aboard Galilee.
Louis roused Conandil and led her over to where Brunhard and the sailors chosen for this task stood by the chained Irishmen, still sitting on the ground
“Now, Frank,” Brunhard said, “Merulf and me, we figure Galilee will bear forty of these Irish dogs, no more. Will that be enough to beat the heathens?”
“Yes, it will be,” Louis said. “If those Irish are good fighting men.”
He turned to Conandil. “I need to pick out the best warriors of this lot. Forty of them,” he said. He spoke Frankish. Conandil nodded her understanding, but of course Louis already knew that she understood. They had talked all of this through, in the dark, lying side by side, their voices no louder than breathing.
“Why are you talking to her about this business?” Brunhard demanded.
“Because she’s one of them. She lived in the rath of the rí túaithe where these men are from. You know what that is, a rath?”
“Yes, I know what that is, do you think I’m as stupid as you?” Brunhard snapped.
“Then you understand she knows better than you or me which men here can fight.”
When Brunhard did not reply, Conandil said, “Shall I tell you, master, which are t
he best of the warriors?”
“Yes,” Louis said.
Conandil stepped forward, walking slowly down the line of chained men. She pointed at those she deemed the best of the men-at-arms. Two of Brunhard’s men followed behind her, and as she chose they removed that man from his neck chain and placed him in another. Louis and Conandil stepped up to Conandil’s husband, Broccáin in the red tunic, and she pointed to him without the slightest hint of recognition, and he in turn showed no recognition of her.
For ten minutes they moved down the line of men and finally they had selected forty and Louis told her that was enough. They seemed to be good men, tall, strong, well-formed. They had some pride left; he could see that in their bearing. They had not given themselves up to despair, and that was important, because men who were in despair were not men who would fight well.
“Very well, Brunhard, these men will do,” Louis said at last.
“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” Brunhard said. “Now, Merulf and his men have been told of your plan, and you can see they’re damned pleased about it all. Wind Dancer and Two Brothers, we’ll get underway now. Just as the sky is turning gray in the east Galilee will get underway. Merulf will have the yard cocked and the sail hanging like it’s torn, some nonsense like that. Let the Northmen think she’s disabled, somehow. They’re like wolves, they’ll likely shit themselves they’ll be so excited.”
“Good,” Louis said. “We’ll be ready for them. Once the Northmen are our prisoners, then we’ll set sail and catch up with you. But you must not hover too near. If the heathens think you can come to our aid they may not attack.”
“Yes, I’m not some Frankish simpleton, I understand that,” Brunhard said. “You just fight like you mean it, and if you try any tricks to betray me, you’ll wish the heathens had cut your heart out, trust me.”
With those words of encouragement Brunhard took his leave, ordering Wind Dancer and the other ship, Two Brothers, pushed back into the water. Soon they were no more than vague shapes in the light of the stars, and then they were lost entirely.
Raider's Wake: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 6) Page 19