Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  Ulfrik arrived at the riverbank. His left leg throbbed in such agony that he had to check for wounds, but it was the old injuries that had never left him. He waved on his men, who dashed toward him as if reaching him would make them safe from attack. Nothing could be further for the truth, for Ulfrik stood on the shore and watched helplessly as Einar and Finn fought to board their ships, which were already pushing into the river.

  As men arrived, they shared his realization, but like him simply scowled and turned to face the Frankish army. If they were trapped, then they would all die as heroes and take as many with them as they could. Ulfrik did not need to tell these men; they were the bravest and strongest of his hird and would rather die in glory than to drown trying to reach a ship.

  Between him and the approaching Franks, one of his men carried a wounded companion, arms looped across their shoulders as the injured man tried to hobble to their tiny line. Ulfrik cursed their pace, then ran out to help.

  "Thank you, Lord," said the injured man. "I didn't want to die under their feet."

  "If it's your day to die, then it will be with us at the riverbank," Ulfrik said, rushing the injured man to his line of nine men. "I don't think anyone is stopping to fetch us to a ship."

  They stood together and watched the Franks approach. When it seemed they would reach them, they turned their formation and rushed to join their brethren attacking Einar and Finn.

  "Over here, you fools," Ulfirk called out to them. "I'm your prize! A jarl! I'm worth more than anyone there."

  He shouted in Frankish, but his words could not overpower the din of battle or their lusty cries for blood. He would have made a fat prize for someone, being Hrolf's second. Yet the Franks were more interested in breaking the back of Hrolf's power.

  "We're not that tempting," said the injured man, who supported himself with a spear. "I don't think they'll bother."

  Ulfrik picked up a broken spear and hurled it in frustration. The only bright spot was that his banner and Einar's were on their ships, and the bulk of Hrolf's ships had slipped away. At least Hakon would be aboard one of those ships.

  Now, a line of ships drew close to the shore, and he recognized Gunnar's sleek hull. The sides were bristling with bowmen, and he led six ships' worth. These bowmen launched a volley into the attacking Franks, a blur of black arrows humming across the water to land among the enemy. They screamed in fury, their own archers dispersed and their relief not yet fully engaged. Gunnar's ships sent another volley and the Franks recoiled. It was enough to allow Einar and Finn to launch out of reach.

  "That's my son," Ulfrik said, then ran to the shore and began waving. The ships sailed past, strafing the Franks and driving them from the shore with howls of frustration. Ulfrik waded out into the water until it was up to his waist. His men followed, two of them carrying the injured on their shoulders. Gunnar steered his ship close to the shallows, but not close enough to run aground on mud. The crew cast out ropes so that the men could haul themselves to the sides.

  Ulfrik was the last one, and now that the shooting had ceased the Franks charged to the shores and sent their own arrows after them. A shaft plunged into the water as he dragged himself to the hull. The fetid taste of it filled his mouth and his hair hung over his eyes. He realized his helmet had fallen off in the water. As he clambered up the sides, Gunnar reached down to haul him over the rails.

  "That's the last of these fat walruses," he shouted to his crew. "Get on an oar and row."

  The sky streamed past Ulfrik as he wiped water out of his eyes and blew it out of his beard. Gunnar's dark shape hovered over him. "That was too near for my taste. I'm glad they have no ships or we'd be in a bad way."

  "Don't be so sure we've escaped yet," Ulfrik said, content to lie on the deck. "It's not like we've broken into open sea. They only need follow the shore to wherever we land."

  "Why not keep sailing all the way home? They'll never catch us."

  Ulfrik stared up at Gunnar and blinked. "Because we're not done fighting."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ulfrik sat around the campfire with Hrolf and his jarls and hirdmen. He did not need to hear the scouts' reports to know they were now encircled and trapped. His only curiosity was to learn if the Franks had expended any energy to search for their ships. The lack of any major fires from the south told Ulfrik they had not taken this key step. Yet to glance around the fire he saw every face drawn in tight anguish, as if their beloved ships had been sent to the river bottom. The fire crackled loud against the silence of the early evening. With hundreds of fighting men both on and around this hill, the stillness of the night unsettled Ulfrik.

  Hrolf especially seemed drawn after a day of hasty retreat. He squinted into the dancing flames, rotating a drinking horn in his heavily jeweled hand. Beside him Mord stole glances, like a child expecting his father's displeasure. The other jarls rubbed their aching muscles or sipped at their drink. No one would dare a word, and Hrolf would not speak until the scouts had confirmed what everyone guessed.

  Finn appeared behind Ulfrik, plucking his shoulder for attention. Even in his mail, Finn could be more of a ghost than a person when he wanted. Ulfrik twisted around to look into his friend's freckled face.

  "The scouts are coming, but I already had a look for myself."

  Ulfrik glanced warily back at Hrolf, who did not shift his expression. Mord, however, squinted at him across the flames and frowned. Ulfrik got to his feet with a low groan, using Einar who sat beside him for support. Finn guided him away from the others to where the common men huddled and mumbled about their plight.

  "What have you seen?" Ulfrik whispered. Finn checked over his shoulder.

  "The ships are untouched, at least for tonight. I went down myself and warned the guards. They'll be ready to launch if the Franks attack them."

  "These Franks are smart enough not to turn their backs on us to burn our ships. A cornered wolf fights to the death, after all. How bad is it around the hill?"

  Finn's bright face darkened. "They must have used the bridge south of Chartres to cross. I guess almost all of their army is here."

  Ulfrik rubbed his neck. He had argued with Hrolf to destroy that bridge, but it was stone and guarded with a tower. He carried bad memories from Paris of such bridges. Mord, who was no more than a boy then, weighed in against Ulfrik, too. Now they paid the price for their fear.

  "They will have left part of their force to relieve Chartres." Ulfrik stared north at the moonless night where the faint glow of the city stained the sky. "No doubt they will celebrate all night. There's no hope for taking the city now."

  "What should we do?" Finn asked. "Gunnar and Hakon want to sneak away tonight, before the Franks attack tomorrow."

  "Don't we all? But it's one thing for a single man to move through a forest in complete darkness, and quite another to shift armies in the same conditions. We are stuck here until dawn, when the Franks will attack."

  He and Finn stared at each other in the flickering ambient light of multiple campfires. Hrolf had ordered more fires set than needed to make their force appear even larger to the enemy. At last Ulfrik put his arm on Finn's shoulder and squeezed it. "Good work this morning getting the men aboard the ships. Have you counted our losses yet?" Finn shook his head. "Well, time for that when all is done. If we don't escape this trap it will have been wasted effort. But gather my sons. I have a plan, and I will need their help to make it work."

  "Really? What is it?" Finn's face lit up again, a return to boyish enthusiasm that the years had ground away.

  "I need to convince Hrolf and the others first," he said as he turned back to the campfire. "Or explaining it will have been wasted effort."

  Returning to the campfire he drew suspicious looks from a few men, particularly Mord, who in recent years had revealed himself to be a sour and petulant man. Ulfrik blamed his young Frankish wife, being a Christian shrew who thought she was some kind of princess. He had turned out so unlike his aged father, Gunther One-Eye, who wou
ld have exulted at the challenges of this battle.

  The tableau had not changed and Hrolf continued to stare into the flame. Einar raised his brows and sighed. Ulfrik had seldom seen such defeat in the faces of his peers, but they had also seldom backed into a trap from which escape appeared impossible. The campfires twinkled behind Hrolf as men shuffled back and forth. When the scouts finally arrived with their reports, their white faces told the story before their mouths could. Most hovered at the edge of the circle, but one leaned to Hrolf's ear, appearing like a floating head lit by yellow firelight. When his whispers were done, he withdrew to the darkness and Hrolf closed his eyes.

  "As we feared, they have come with enough strength to surround the hill. By morning, whatever can be spared from Chartres will reinforce them." Hrolf drained the contents of his horn, then dropped it at his feet. "We will have to fight to reach or ships, and pray we escape."

  Ten men circled Hrolf, each face adorned with the memories of battles: white scars, broken teeth, or missing ears. These were the best of his hirdmen, and the leaders of his warriors. They slumped in defeat at Hrolf's pronouncement, and Ulfrik could scarcely believe they were veterans.

  "We will not beg the gods," Ulfrik said, quietly but with as much conviction as he could put into his voice. "But we will delight them with our cunning and bravery."

  "Cunning?" Mord said through a sneer. "Shall we all dress as Franks and walk off the hill unopposed? Cunning is a poor substitute for fighting strength."

  "And will you be sweeping the Franks away with one slash of your magnificent sword?"

  Hrolf stamped his foot on the ground. "Enough! We've no time for this. If Ulfrik has a plan, then I shall hear it."

  Mord leaned back with a scowl, but Ulfrik ignored him. He leaned forward, the campfire hot on his face. "We have set these fires to appear even mightier than we are. At the foot of this hill hundreds of Franks are sitting in stone silence afraid we will crash down on them at any moment. I say let's make their worst fears come true."

  "You call attacking in the dark cunning?" Mord said, arms folded over his chest. A few chuckled, but the others listened intently. Hrolf peered at him as if trying to guess his plan. Ulfrik licked his lips and continued.

  "We cannot let dawn break and reveal our true numbers. Worse still, we can't let them reinforce, which they surely will once Chartres is safe. Tonight we leave with the night for cover. But to succeed, the Franks must believe they are under attack. I will lead picked men into the Frankish camps when their campfires are low and they drift to sleep. Then all at once we will sound our horns and raise the alarm. They will believe we have attacked and are among them. We will set fires and sound warnings, everything to strengthen appearance of attack. In the confusion, the rest of you will charge not for the Franks but for the riverbank and follow it back to the ships, then slip away. Come dawn the enemy will pursue, but they will be on foot. I suggest a barricade thrown together along the riverbank will hinder their advance long enough to allow a peaceful withdrawal home."

  He sat back, staring at Hrolf who rubbed his chin in consideration. Mord and any other detractors waited for Hrolf's reaction. Even Einar, usually his staunchest ally in Hrolf's circle, only offered him a quiet pat on the back. Ulfrik had just suggested defeat to the greatest jarl ever to challenge the Franks. He did not care. Hrolf had lost plenty of battles before this one, and to remain on the hill come dawn was not only another path to defeat, but one fraught with death. He preferred escape and trying again some other day.

  "That could work," Hrolf said, still staring into the fire as if mulling the plan. The wisps of gray in his beard and the shadow-filled lines around his cheeks lent him a fearsome and kingly demeanor. His jeweled hand sparkled as he continued to rub his chin. "If this plan succeeded, you and your men risk being caught or separated from us. I would not risk a man as valuable as you."

  The compliment made Ulfrik's chest warm, and he strained not to watch Mord frown in response. He merely inclined his head. "I have experience in this. I once had to hide among the Franks in order to free your son who was allowed to fall into their hands."

  He smiled at Mord, who had been responsible for the grievous error that resulted in the Franks taking Hrolf's son, Vilhjalmer, as a hostage. While that had been more than six years ago, it was still a bleeding wound for Mord. Given his former friend's attitude, Ulfrik could not resist the jab. Mord's face reddened and he decided to study the starless night sky.

  "That is true," Hrolf said. "And you've shown a remarkable knack for escaping their grasp. I trust you will do everything to keep up with us, but if you are delayed, I will leave men to cover your escape and a ship to speed you home. I like your plan."

  Ulfrik clapped his hands together. "It will work, and we will all be telling this tale to our children's children one day. I will select the men for the task. My sons will be with me, as will Finn. I need only a handful of other crafty men to make this a success. I will need help organizing the rest of the force to retreat in time with our ruse."

  "Leave that to me. You worry about getting the Franks to believe we've attacked." For the first time in days Hrolf smiled. He stood and all the others followed. Einar assisted Ulfrik to his feet, the bones in his knees cracking. As each man left the campfire, Einar held onto to Ulfrik's arm.

  "You can't run as fast as you used to. Will you be able to escape in time? Do you need me with you?"

  "I learned this morning that if a Frankish army is chasing me, I run just fine. No, you have your own men to worry for. Gunnar will lead my men home, while Hakon will attend me. Just ensure Gunnar does not do anything foolish, and keep him focused on escape. You know his temper. He's his mother's son, only a thousand times more fiery."

  Einar laughed and clapped Ulfrik's back before they parted. Now Ulfrik turned to Finn, who paced at the outskirts of Hrolf's campfire.

  "I can tell you the plan now. You'll love it. It will probably get us both killed."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Between the top of the hill and the Frankish camp, total darkness ruled. Ulfrik set each foot down with all the care of laying a sleeping baby to bed. Whatever light thrown by both Frank and Northman camps was scattered by the thin woods covering the area. Each snapping twig or tumbling rock sounded like a crash to him. Yet no sentry challenged him nor did any enemy stir at his approach. From the dead silence he surmised the others of his picked men shared his success.

  He crouched behind a tree, watching the low fires for shadows passing before them. He imagined Finn doing the same only with more grace and skill. His knees throbbed and his leg ached, and he leaned on the tree more for support than cover. His mail coat was no longer a welcoming old friend but a heavy ogre riding his shoulders. He and all the others had selected dark cloaks and rubbed their mail with mud to prevent a gleam from giving them away. Finn had daubed his own face with grime, but Ulfrik thought that was too much. They would be blaring horns, after all, with no chance of remaining hidden after that moment.

  Satisfied no one moved in this section of camp, he crept toward the next tree. His heart throbbed with the excitement of the stealthy work. He had seldom employed the skills he learned infiltrating the Franks years ago, spending the last six years in a shield wall. Tonight he returned to the heady mix of danger and deceit, and he relished the thrill.

  He stepped to the next tree, then a small clearing marked the center of this segment of the camp. Only a few tents marked where the lords slept, and they were billowing masses of gray in the low light. Most of the ground was covered by slumbering men with their cloaks pulled over them. Their snores droned in the night and the odd man shifted in his sleep. He searched for a path through the bodies, but found none. Indeed the Franks had come in the hundreds, and were carefree enough to sleep with enemies nearby.

  Sentries would be close, and he waited until the low orange light of small campfires revealed them to him. One sentry wrapped in a cloak and leaning against a tree resolved into view. He was barely vis
ible, but revealed himself when he wiped at his nose. Ulfrik continued to wait until no other shadows revealed more guards, then he made a careful dash to the next tree all while staring at the sentry.

  He arrived safely, but decided he had to draw the guard away from the edge of his sleeping companions. He tossed a rock to where he had just been, and it thumped against the trunk. The sentry stood straighter and stared at the tree. Ulfrik threw a second stone when the sentry's interest appeared to fade, then the Frank grasped his spear in two hands and approached the tree. He stopped and stared, shook his head then continued. The sentry examined the tree and began to prod the earth with his spear. Ulfrik had no idea what that would do to detect him, but he was already sweeping up behind the guard.

  In the final step he cracked a branch and the sentry whirled, though his spear was not too long for the job. Ulfrik grabbed it with one hand and pulled forward. The guard instinctively tried to hold onto the shaft and thus he fell forward into Ulfrik's waiting dagger. He punched it into the sentry's ribs, then released the spear and clamped his hand over the Frank's mouth. He led him to the ground so the crash would not awaken anyone, then cut the sentry's throat for good measure.

  Again he paused, but no one investigated the brief struggle. Across the camp he saw another form slowly pacing, but the distance was great enough to be of no concern. Stooped as if walking behind a fence, he glided toward the edge of the sparse trees where the sleeping men lay. He pulled out his horn and imagined Finn, Hakon, and a dozen other men waiting for him to sound it. Once he blew the horn, he had moments to unleash chaos and make his escape.

  There would be no turning back and he would be surrounded by alarmed foes.

  The horn pressed against his lips and he drew his sword.

  He blew with all his might and the sound burst over the sleeping men. Unseen sentries standing only a few spear-lengths distant jumped in shock. The sleeping men shot up in confusion. In answer to his horn, all the others sounded. Then from the top of the hill, Hrolf sounded his own horn and his men screamed for blood.