"You're right, of course." Yngvar leaned on the rails. "But I still cannot accept anything from his hand."
They both sat in silence, staring at the beach fading away. Nothing moved and no sound came from the distant village. It was as if no one lived in this place.
"Get to your oars," Bregthor hollered from across the deck. "I want this ship to fly like an arrow across the water. We've got gold to claim."
And murder to commit.
Yngvar spit over the rail into the foamy sea, then took up his hated oar.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They arrived at the church after traveling overland from the beach. They had sailed down the coast and landing at whatever landmark the doomed villagers had provided Bregthor. Yngvar scanned the barren coastline and could not guess what had been the indication to land here. A heavy patch of spruce trees, dark and swaying against the deep gray of the sky, perhaps had been the sign. This place was a world of grass and little else. The wind smelled of rain and foul weather, reflecting Yngvar's mood as they tramped inland.
He had offered to remain as a guard for the ship. Bregthor nearly doubled over with laughter, accusing him of planning to steal the ship. Yet Yngvar had merely hoped to avoid repeating the mayhem of earlier in the day. He had not even considered stealing the ship. He would not have enough men to pilot it anyway.
"You're under my protection, boys," Bregthor said, then shoved Yngvar forward. Ander Red-Scar had looked on with a slow shake of his head. Yngvar had no idea what it meant, but Ander seemed less friendly as the day wore on. Well, he did not need friends among this rabble. He was headed home to his father's hall, where the men had honor and fought real enemies and not toothless old men.
The church was surrounded with spruce and pines, and a well-trod path wended across the grass. It would likely trace back to more hapless villagers. Yngvar hoped the church would be guarded by men worthy of carrying their swords. He would welcome a clash with a real warrior. He thought back to the attack on Uncle Gunnar's ship. The terror and bloodshed of a true battle had sharpened his wits and revealed the best in him. The killing of women had simply turned his stomach.
"Here's what we'll do," Bregthor said, stopping the line of almost twenty men by raising his hand.
"We will rush the front entrances." Bregthor swept his hand across a group of dark-faced men, including Ander Red-Scar and his lot. "You will circle around back to where the priests will flee. Kill anyone that gets away from us. We don't want them warning the area that we're here."
Yngvar's stomach burned when Bregthor's lazy gaze encompassed him and his companions. Three others were given the task as well.
"Looks like there's more people in there than priests," said Davin. He pointed over their heads, where all turned to see men entering the front doors. Almost everyone flinched down, as if being caught in the open was dangerous. Yngvar did not move. This place was poorer than any he'd ever seen, which admittedly wasn't much. Could these people even possess a single sharp sword among them? It seemed unlikely they'd face anything worse than being pelted with the parchment books priests so loved.
Yngvar and the others began jogging at Bregthor's command. Bjorn laughed as he ran, and Thorfast's smile was wide. Yngvar trotted with the group, feeling as though he were watching everything happen to someone else. The grass swished across their feet, and Yngvar felt a cold prick of a raindrop strike his cheek. Would Thor send a storm to show the Christian god his power? That also seemed likely. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
They looped around the church in a wide arc. The sparse trees offered no cover to them. Had the priests posted sentries with bows, the massacre would've been the opposite of what Yngvar expected. In Frankia, the priests commanded men like jarls and protected their gold with bloody-minded jealousy. These priests huddled in their stone building, oblivious or cowering.
Or they had nothing worth defending. Yngvar bit his lip at that thought. With no spoils, Bregthor would keep them at sea longer. As he completed the loop to the rear of the church, he found himself hoping for success. It would be his fastest route home and away from this madness.
A steep hill fell away from the back of the church. It hid the thicker growth of pines from the forward approach. The top of a small woods stretched out into the ever-darkening horizon.
"Looks like there's plenty of places for the priests to hide down there," said Thorfast. "We should spread out in case they scatter."
Yngvar nodded. Both Bjorn and Thorfast exchanged glances. Thorfast lowered his voice. "Look, we have to kill whoever runs this way. We don't want to give Bregthor any excuse to be dissatisfied with us. He'll figure a way to use that to break his oath to return us home."
"I'll gut anyone that crosses me." Both Thorfast and Bjorn widened their eyes and flinched from Yngvar. He must have spoken harsher than he had thought. He dropped his voice. "I know what we have to do here. Don't worry for me."
They ranged in a wide arc so that anyone fleeing toward the safety of the woods downhill would have to run between a pair of them. No unarmed priest would escape that trap. Yngvar watched the squat stone church. A wooden door sat in its stained rock walls. Rain drops tapped his cheeks and hands, cold and infrequent pricks as if the sky were trying to keep him awake. His sword trembled in hand, and he squeezed the hilt to steady himself. He did not mind sending priests to their deaths. They worshiped death, as far as he knew, and were always ready to go to the hall of their dead god. He hoped none of the others inside the church were like the victims from the morning.
Muffled shouts and screams announced that Bregthor had stormed the front. He saw Thorfast glance at him from the corner of his eye. Bjorn had set himself at the center and was out of sight. Yngvar put aside what they thought. He only had to pass these next moments.
The door slammed open against the wall, wood clapping raw stone. Yngvar jumped as if someone had shouted from behind. Now men in brown robes tied with rope belts streamed out of the church. The howls of Bregthor's raiders chased them out of the door. The priests scattered in every direction, some sprinting like heroic runners and others prancing like young girls. One priest lifted his legs so high as he ran that it seemed he was trying to not touch the ground.
At first it seemed no one was coming his way. Most were making a direct line toward the woods. Bjorn and the others now shouted and charged at the fleeing priests. Yngvar thought it unnecessary for him to join, as these unarmed men were as lambs.
A white-haired man in the same brown robes fled with a smaller man leading him. The smaller figure pointed to where Thorfast, Bjorn, and the others were running down the priests, then he snatched the older man's hand and began running toward Yngvar.
He raised his sword and charged at the pair. Time to show he had the nerve to kill the innocent. Surely his father and grandfather had done the same. It is a rite of passage, and Yngvar had to pass it.
The pair of priests spotted Yngvar's charge and pulled up short. But neither turned to flee. Instead the old man fell to his knees and threw his arms wide. He started calling out in a strange language.
Yngvar didn't slow. So the priest wanted to die on his knees. He could oblige him.
As he closed the distance, sword raised and shout rising in his throat, the old priest pulled the other to his knees. The shorter one was no man. He was a boy, perhaps four or five years younger than Yngvar. Both knelt in the grass as the old man called out strange words. The boy simply knelt with his wide, smooth face bloodless and moon-bright.
The roar burst from Yngvar's throat. He shuddered to a halt, sword raised. The old man's eyes streamed tears. His hair was thin and flying away in the breeze. His nose was bulbous and scarred, reminding Yngvar of one of his father's friends who enjoyed singing in the hall. The boy had squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his head down.
His sword hovered over them.
No. He had set sail to find real battle, heroic adventure, and glory. Hacking apart an old man and boy behind a time-weary church wa
s none of those things. If Bregthor would use this mercy to break his oath, then Yngvar would not hesitate to fight Bregthor to the death.
"Yngvar!" the shout came from Thorfast. His sword was already pointed at the ground and he could not look at his best friend, not now. Instead, he watched the boy dare to open a single eye. He had perfect skin, smooth and unblemished, so striking that had he met the boy in a forest he might've thought him an elf. His hair was cut short, and shimmered between brown and copper.
"Yngvar!" Thorfast shouted again. Yngvar hovered over the priest, who continued to babble as his milky eyes stared up at the cloudy sky. Was he calling his god?
"What's this?" Bregthor's voice was loud across the short distance to the church. Crashing and screams followed Bregthor and his men as they exited the church. "What did I tell you to do?"
All the other priests had disappeared, and only Bregthor's men remained. Yngvar absently realized they had not disappeared, but were now lying dead and hidden in the grass.
"Kill those two!" Bregthor shouted, now only a spear's throw away. "What are you waiting for?"
More crashing and smashes echoed from the church. Rain continued to patter over Yngvar's shoulders. The priest continued his stream of words, maybe a spell or a curse, and the boy had opened both eyes but remained perfectly still.
Bjorn and Thorfast joined him. Fresh blood dripped from their swords. A line of blood had splashed across Bjorn's cheek. So they had the nerve, but he did not.
Ander Red-Scar now arrived with Bregthor and several of his closest men. Davin, the fish-eyed bastard, swept forward with his bloodied sword.
"You've no stones at all, do you?" Davin grabbed the priest by his wispy hair and put his sword to the old man's neck. The priest squealed, but continued to spout his nonsense.
"Wait," Bregthor said. "Maybe he'll find his courage yet."
The laughter of the crew brought heat to his face. Men who were only just complimenting his bravery now derided him because he wouldn't murder innocents for no reason other than greed. Perhaps the praise of men was not worth as much as he had thought. Did it not take more bravery to hold to one's principles than it did to follow the group? These so-called men would never see that. Even Ander Red-Scar glowered skeptically at him.
"Yngvar?" Thorfast's whisper had said volumes more than he had spoken. He heard the compassion in his best friend's voice. Thorfast knew what conflicts raged within him. But he also heard the reproach, the plea to take action, the frustration at risking their lives for his beliefs. Yngvar could not look at him, but stuck his sword in the earth.
"I'm taking these two as my captives. That is my right."
"What foolishness is this? I ordered you to kill anyone fleeing out the back."
"Have a care," Yngvar said. "I am of noble blood, far nobler than whatever bitch's cunt dropped you on this world. I take orders from you that are necessary for the safety of our crew and ship. That is all."
"You whelp," Bregthor said, pointing his blood-splattered sword at him.
"Put that down," Yngvar said. "Do not mistake me for fearing to battle you again. For I will gladly, and this time it will be to the death. No constraints of the holmgang to keep my sword from your neck. Shall we see who the gods love more? Look at my family, and I think you will see who they favor."
"Yngvar." Again Thorfast's single word spoke much more. It told him to not get carried away, to step back from the edge he had taken them all toward, and to refocus on the immediate problem.
"These are my captives," Yngvar said. "You gave a woman slave to one of your men this morning. I take these two for my slaves."
"He took her for a wife," Bregthor said, lowering his sword. "And you can't take two slaves. That's more than your share."
Yngvar glanced at Thorfast. "He'll take one as well."
"What? I don't--"
"No," Bregthor said. "One slave. If you defy me in this, then I will fight you to the death. You've tried my last nerve, boy."
Bjorn and Thorfast both pleaded with their eyes. Yngvar knew he had gone too far, and likely all three of them would accidentally fall overboard now. Probably with help from the rest of the crew, too. He nodded his agreement.
"He let a girl escape him this morning," Davin said, putting his sword back to the old man's neck. The old priest closed his eyes, but continued to mumble his prayers. Yngvar hadn't noticed he had quieted. "I don't think he has it in him to kill. He made it seem he was saving us when our ship was attacked, but he was just helping himself flee. He let his guard fight and die for him. He's a coward and should give back that armband."
Every eye turned toward him as if he were expected to explain. He shrugged. "She bit my wrist and got away. I guess I'm not as bold as Davin to run down and kill a child. I just let her go."
"She was my property," Bregthor growled.
"I didn't see any other--property--come back to the ship. So what does it matter that one got away? If you're so concerned, we can sail back and you can show me your battle prowess against the little girl. I'm sure she's a challenge for you."
Bregthor again lifted his sword. "One slave. You kill the other. You kill the other, or I say you are no man and I owe you nothing. I will leave you here to die. I will sail to your father's hall and tell him myself that his son was an embarrassment to his name. He'll reward me for it."
There was no choice, of course. Yngvar smiled and raised his sword. The boy blinked at him, then looked at the old man. When the boy started speaking fluent Norse, Yngvar nearly fumbled his sword in surprise.
"Please, lord. He is an old man. Send me to God."
"Sorry, boy, but for a slave you're more useful than an old man."
The sword slid through the priest's neck. His eyes widened and blood gurgled from his mouth like dark wine. His pulse throbbed up the blade into Yngvar's palm. He flicked the blade to the side, so that it tore the skin and severed the artery. A geyser of bright red blood shot over everyone's heads, sprinkling them with a mist of gore. The old priest's babbling faded and he collapsed on his back. The artery jetted blood in time with the slowing beat of the priest's heart.
"I claim this one as my slave," Yngvar said, pointing his bloodied sword at the boy.
"Then it's done," Bregthor said. "That's your share of the treasure. And you take no extra food or water for him. You feed your slave from your own bowl."
Yngvar looked at Thorfast and Bjorn, who wore no expressions. Ander Red-Scar seemed to consider the events, but gave no hint of his opinion.
At last the clouds released the rain they had harbored, and thunder rumbled close by. Thor was victorious. But was he pleased? Yngvar did not know.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Yngvar pulled his cloak tighter against the wind blowing from the sea. He huddled with Thorfast and Bjorn against the hull of their beached ship, the hard wood shielding them from the worst of the cutting wind. The sky remained rolling with gray clouds from two days of rain, the sun nothing more than a vague brightness behind it. Yngvar's stomach growled and he looked up the long, rock-strewn slope as if expecting to find food there. Bregthor and his raiders had left them with scant supplies. No doubt they were plundering meals for themselves and gorging over the bodies of their victims. But he saw nothing but rolling folds of grass that in places fell away into ditches. It was a bleak and hard land.
"What if he doesn't come back?" Thorfast asked. The flat light turned his hair nearly white, and he brushed it out of his face as the wind gusted around the hull. "Do you think we can get the ship back to sea?"
"He'd not leave us with the ship if he thought we could sail it," Yngvar said. He continued to scan the long, shallow slope of grass dotted with white rocks. "Let's hope they return before our supplies run out."
"I'm sick of salted fish," Bjorn said. He leaned against the hull, his gray hood and cloak wrapped around him so that he seemed like a baby in swaddling. "Ale is running low, too."
Yngvar nodded. Of course he felt the sting of having a
dded to their burden. The young boy he had taken as a slave remained on the ship, where the other woman captive stayed tied to the mast by a rope that let her roam the deck. It was like tying a hound to a post. Yngvar let the boy go unfettered. In fact, he hoped the boy would flee during the night, but each morning he awakened to find him curled up like a cat under a cloak.
Bregthor had decided the storms made sailing too dangerous, and so chose continue to search the area for more valuables. Yngvar was glad to have been given guard duty for the ship. Yet he was frustrated the others appeared to think he was undependable. Their opinions should not have mattered, he knew. Soon he would be rid of all these men. Still, there were many among the crew he considered competent warriors. He hoped those men understood he was not weak, but instead standing for what he believed in.
"If Bregthor does not return, then we are stuck without a crew for this ship." Yngvar put his hand upon the green gem on the pommel of his sax. It was cold and hard against his fingers as he considered what to do next. "With just us three and two slaves, we have no way to make it home. I'm not even sure I'd know how to get us there. It's not like my father spent much time with us aboard ships."
"Well, it's a long walk home," Thorfast said. "We could hire a crew."
"Bregthor's got all the gold with him," Yngvar said. "And my armband won't raise us enough men to crew this ship for so long a journey. Anyone finding us will likely take the ship and add us to their count of slaves."
"Not me," Bjorn said. "I'll die before I'm captured. No way I'll ever become a slave."
Yngvar nodded. "But we will not be so fortunate. Bregthor has Loki on his side, and his mischief is not done. He has somehow caused men to forget Brandr's murder. I even gave him this ship, which is what he wanted from the start."
"Not your best idea," Thorfast said. "I'd have bargained for more. You gave him an ocean-going ship--and for what? For the insult of revealing him as a murderer?"
"What would you have me do? He wanted to claim our heads, if your memory can go back so far. For this ship, he was like a dog begging food from the table. I just gave it to him, and he shut up. Do you think my father will really let him sail off with it?" Yngvar kicked the hull with a dull thud. "If Bregthor thinks this is his ship, then he's a fool."
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