Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  "We don't want to build a church over the bodies of the dead," he said.

  "Why not? Wouldn't be the first time. If my methods bother you, don't come to me for aid. Hrothgar has been like a pimple on my ass, and it's time he be squeezed." His hirdmen chuckled at the coarse joke, but the priest wrinkled his nose. "Go hide somewhere while my men solve your dispute, and once the embers have cooled you can begin laying your foundations."

  The priest blinked half a dozen times, then inclined his head and left with his laymen in tow. Mord watched the hall door flash with yellow light as it opened and then close the room back into gloom once more. Only hirdmen and slaves remained, and they kept a heavy silence. As he was about to leave the hall and seek his wife, Magnus the Stone stepped forward.

  "Jarl Mord, may I have a moment with you?"

  "I was just about to go seek Fara. Walk with me."

  They exited the gloomy hall for the bright day. Since acquiring the hall and lands, Mord had not experienced the anticipated thrill. He had a wider swatch of property and more people to plague him with complaints. Even his wife had not seemed happier. They walked from the hall and the surrounding fields were wide and empty. Ulfrik's former people were as suspicious of him as he was of them, and they avoided him. A sunny afternoon should have brought people to the fields, but instead he saw them all in retreat.

  "Your father's messenger arrived early this morning," Magnus said in his gruff, rocky voice. "I did not want to disturb you, so I heard his news."

  "Where is he now?"

  "In the stables tending his horse. His news was not urgent but important."

  They stopped once Mord noted Fara returning with her women from the stream nearby. They had baskets of laundry on their hips, and Fara's golden hair blazed in the sun as she approached. She smiled at him, but he instead looked to Magnus. "So what news from my father? Does he have another list of demands that I accomplish on his behalf?"

  Mord could not help the bitterness seeping into his words. He had done all his father had asked of him and yet the old man was not happy. He would never be happy until Mord became someone else.

  "His spy in Einar's hall has confirmed Ulfrik's son, Aren, still hides with him."

  The news turned Mord's hands to ice, and he studied Magnus's face. This was no jest. "He did not flee with his brothers?"

  Magnus shook his head. "He did not return home after spotting him in Rouen, and must've sought shelter with Einar."

  "So they must have killed my messengers, and not bandits." Mord began to pace, worried at this new wrinkle. Aren was Ulfrik's weakest son, sheltered and unwilling to fight. His only threat lay in an inexplicable friendship with Hrolf's son, Vilhjalmer. For that relationship alone, Aren had to be handled carefully.

  "What is Aren doing exactly?"

  "I asked the same. No one knows for certain, but he appears to be working in a great deal of secrecy. Your father believes whatever his plan, it will be disruptive to you. It is best to eliminate him while no one knows he is there."

  "Is that your opinion or my father's?"

  Magnus blinked in a rare moment of surprise. "Your father's, of course."

  "Of course, I could kill him, or expose Einar for harboring Hrolf's enemy, but I think it is better to learn what he is planning. You know I've also heard Ulfrik is raising a great fleet in Hedeby. Have you heard the same?" Magnus shook his head. "Well, I wonder then if even my father knows. He must, for the traders who shared that news are sure to have visited Rouen. Ulfrik claims he wants to settle in the Danelaw, but does one need to raise such a large army for that purpose?"

  "If he wants to ensure his place," Magnus offered. Mord scowled at him.

  "He plans to return here, and his son lingers behind to make the way for him." Mord rubbed his face and sighed. "If I kill Aren, it will alert Ulfrik and cut off our spy from Einar's hall. I'd rather know Ulfrik's next step and be prepared for it rather than gloat of the death of his weakest son."

  Magnus shrugged, a careless motion that dismissed Mord's words. "Your father wants to kill him, or at the least expose him so Einar is caught in the trap as well."

  "Are you sworn to me or my father?"

  Magnus did not answer, but his flinty gaze did not falter. Mord continued to hold it until the old hirdman relented. "I am your man, Jarl Mord."

  "Then we will wait to see what else Aren might reveal to us. If we cannot learn more then we shall have him killed. That will satisfy everyone, would it not?"

  Magnus nodded. Mord waved him off, and he went to meet his wife, content that Ulfrik's whelp would unwittingly betray all his father's plans. The afternoon had ended much better than it had started.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  "I can't believe you led us into a trap."

  Hakon sat against the rough wood wall of the small hut where he and Gunnar had been placed. He felt the cool damp seeping through his shirt, and the small of his back hurt from sitting on the hard-packed dirt floor. He pushed his feet against the stone of the empty hearth. The small room was gloomy, lit only by the light filtering from the smoke hole above. Gunnar was still trying to peer through cracks in the door, and for the twentieth time he pushed on it. The door rattled against the outside bolt, and he let his one good hand slide down the door.

  "So much for all the goodwill and friends you had waiting for us in England." Hakon had held his tongue for as long as he could, but now that he was no longer certain of the days he had been imprisoned, his willpower vanished. He was going to beat Gunnar senseless once he regained his strength. They had not been fed more than hard bread and mead.

  Gunnar did not turn from the door, but kept his head lowered and listened.

  "Do you really think they're going to open the door and free us?" Hakon snorted a laugh. "You fucked the jarl's wife how many times? There's no misunderstanding that. Wouldn't that have been a good thing to tell all of us before we accepted an invitation to his hall?"

  What little Hakon understood of the situation had all come from Jarl Aslak when his feigned politeness erupted into raging violence. He had accused Gunnar of too many horrible acts to comprehend, but it was clear Gunnar once had a tryst with his wife that ended in a child. Gunnar had a bastard son in Northumbria.

  "She was not his wife at the time," Gunnar said to the door. "Nor was he a jarl. I should've known better the moment I saw his smug face instead of Jarl Hord's."

  "Knowing better is the very story of your life, brother. You should've known better before you carved up a priest, or before you burned one alive with an entire village. And that's only your recent achievements. Since we have the time, I may as well count them out for you."

  Gunnar leaned his head against the door, and Hakon was glad his verbal beating hurt, for he had to conserve strength for whatever ordeals Jarl Aslak had planned.

  "You are right to blame me," Gunnar said, his voice quiet. "This is all my fault. Mother is dead and Father has lost everything, all for my foolishness. I have never done a right thing in my life."

  "Are you joking with me?" Hakon straightened his back against the wall. "It's not funny, if you are."

  "No," he said, finally turning from the door. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his face seemed to sag as if about to slip from his head. "It is all true. I am sorry for all that I've done. I fear I may have led you to death as well. This is bad."

  Hakon leaned forward. "Hold on. Aslak sent to our ship for ransom. They've got the gold to pay for it, and it's not like they're a mercenary crew. They'll pay it. So why should we worry for death?"

  "Aslak is a jealous whelp," Gunnar said, slumping down to the floor beside Hakon. His brother's shoulder touched his, but Gunnar stared at the opposite wall. "He hates me for my success, if you can believe that. He'll take the ransom, kill the crew, and burn us alive in this shack."

  "I don't think so," Hakon said. "He'd have killed us already if he wanted that. Again, you think you're more important than you really are. He sees a chance at a profi
t, and we foolishly gave him the chance."

  Hakon paused and listened to the muffled talk of men outside the walls, but nothing intelligible penetrated. "To be honest, this is as much my fault as yours. I should've insisted we take more than three men."

  Rather than disagree, Gunnar remained silent. They sat quietly and Hakon studied the room. Too much time had passed since their capture. The ransom should have been settled and they should have been freed. Hakon wondered if Gunnar was right and he was being foolishly optimistic.

  "You know, I blamed you for this," Gunnar said, holding up the stump of his right arm. The skin was burned over the wrist bone, appearing as if it had been roughly pulled taut over the stump then pinched shut. Hakon had seen it enough so that he no longer felt revulsion at the disfigurement. He had witnessed far worse in the aftermath of battle.

  "Me? Clovis took your hand. What would it have to do with me?"

  "Uncle Toki and and I were rescuing you when I was captured. Clovis may have taken my hand, but it would've never happened were you not his prisoner."

  "Really? Well, it was Fate's plan to take your hand. Were it not Clovis then you'd have lost it in battle."

  Gunnar nodded and raised his brows, but still stared listlessly ahead. "You're right, of course, yet that did not prevent me from blaming you. I think I still do, even now that I know better. Old habit, I guess."

  Silence again took over and Hakon rubbed his own wrist, feeling the itch of an imaginary dismemberment. His voice was a whisper in the still room. "I'm sorry for it."

  "Mother was as cold as an iceberg to me, even after I lost my hand. She blamed me too, said I had been irresponsible with you. I think she actually believed I deserved to be maimed. She was right, of course."

  "I don't remember that," Hakon said. "I think you imagined it. All she ever did was worry for you and dote over your hand. This is going to sound foolish, but I was jealous of you."

  "For losing my hand?"

  "You had all of Mother's attention, and with Aren being such a strange child, it was as if I didn't exist."

  Gunnar chuckled. "I had her attention because I was always bringing the family troubles. Remember, I had fallen for that girl who was Throst's spy? Even back then, I was the doorway through which all bad things entered our hall. Look at us now. It's no different. It would be better for all that I did not live."

  Hakon leaned his head against the wall. "A moment ago, I wanted to beat your face bloody. Is this some trick of yours to get out of that?"

  "No, I've earned it." Gunnar ran his one hand through his wavy, dark hair. Hakon saw the gray mixed in with it, and despite it Gunnar still seemed no more than a lost boy. "I hope father will see to Morgan. She's a good girl, you know, better than I deserve."

  "Now that's the last desperate word I'll tolerate from you." Hakon struggled to his feet, then rubbed his thighs. "We can't sit around and wait to die. You're right about Aslak, I fear. Paying a ransom should not take so long when our ships are only just at the river. We have to escape."

  "Leave me behind. Aslak will be satisfied and you can get away."

  "Gods, man, you are either as mad as a rabid wolf or as limp as boiled dandelions. Nothing in between with you, is there? Would you stand up and help me think of how Father would break out of here. How many escape stories has he told us? Got to be something we can use from them."

  "Do you think they were all true? I have my doubts for some."

  "Truth doesn't matter, it's the idea in the stories we need." Hakon dismissed the obvious ploys of luring guards with a fake emergency, or a heroic breakout when the door opened. Both would end in ruin. Nothing else came to mind, and Gunnar remained despondent. Hakon stared at the empty hearth. Not even ash remained, and whoever had lived in this hut had long ago abandoned it.

  Then he looked up and laughed.

  "I wonder who is more stupid, Aslak or us?" Hakon grabbed Gunnar's shoulder then pointed at the smoke hole. Blue light shined down between the rafters. "It seems one of us should fit through, or could widen it if we don't."

  A smile formed on Gunnar's face. "If I did not feel stupid before, I do now. It's not so high that you can't reach it. If you stand on my back, you should be able to pull yourself up."

  Strength returned to Hakon's limbs as he realized Gunnar was right. He would have to crawl through, since Gunnar had only one hand and could not pull himself up. He would drop down and unbar the door, then they would slip away. "All right, can you balance on the hearth while I get up there?"

  Gunnar got onto hands and knees like a table, and Hakon carefully stepped on his back. It was like trying to balance on ice and he jumped down twice rather than fall. The third time he held himself steady, then jumped for the rafters that were just beyond his fingers. Grabbing the rough, smoke stained beam, he pulled up, kicking his legs up until they grabbed another beam. He did not know what to do next.

  "Stop pretending to be a bat," Gunnar hissed from below. "Let go with your legs and just pull up onto the beam. It should hold you."

  He followed Gunnar's instructions and hauled himself onto the beam. He now sat on it like a bird hiding in the bough of a tree. He had to stoop to keep his head from hitting the thatch. The smoke hole's edge brushed his outstretched hand, and he had to jump to it and hope he could catch the rim. The fall was not far, but he did not want his struggles to attract guards. "Pray the gods this works."

  His hand caught the edge of smoke hole and his feet were still braced against the rafters. He swung one leg to another beam and braced himself against both as he worked his hands through the hole. He pulled up and his head was through to the outside. Faded yellow thatch blocked his view of the surrounding area, but his shoulders caught as he struggled to shimmy through the hole. He heard Gunnar below, but it was all muffled words. His shoulders burned as he hauled himself through the hole and then rolled onto the roof. The thatch was hard and scratchy against his skin, and he had scraped his arms but was otherwise free. The cool Northumbrian air washed over him and he laughed.

  He sat up and saw a line of three men in padded leather hauberks and leather caps. A woman in a blue dress followed with a child she guided by her hand. Hakon felt his heart leap into his throat as they disappeared from view beneath the roof. Scrambling to the hole he stuck his head through and saw Gunnar staring up at him.

  "Three men with a woman and child."

  They both faced the sound of the bolt lifting from the door. Hakon knew his only weapon was surprise. When he heard muffled voices below, he scrambled to the edge of the roof and jumped down on the first man he spotted.

  The collision crushed the man to the ground with a cry of shock and pain. Hakon hauled back on the prone man's neck, but it did not snap. Instead he sought a dagger or other weapon on the man's body.

  Without an ax, Gunnar was not a good fighter. Hakon glanced up and saw he had a stone pried from the hearth, but the two men were not advancing on him. Hakon felt the man beneath claw his shirt and pull.

  The woman held both hands to her face, eyes wide with shock. Then she started to shout. "Stop it! We're here to help you. You fools!"

  "Olga?" Gunnar said. "What's happening?"

  The man beneath Hakon growled. "Get off me, oaf, or I'll change my mind about saving you."

  Hakon released the man's neck and stepped back. The man rolled aside and rubbed his neck, giving Hakon a murderous glare.

  "What are you two doing?" Olga asked. Hakon had not seen her at the welcome feast, mostly because Aslak was screaming death threats in his face. She would have been pretty in her youth, and before her nose had been broken. Her hair was thin and hidden beneath a stained head cover, but locks like golden baby's hair hung from the sides. Her eyes were puffy and small, making her seem as if she had been crying. From the red beneath her nose, Hakon guessed she had.

  "We're getting away before your mad husband decides to cook us alive," Gunnar said. "What are you doing? And who is the boy?"

  The question hardly ne
eded asking. The young boy had his mother's silky gold hair but Gunnar's curls. His bent smile was Runa's, and to see it nearly made Hakon cry. Olga pushed him forward.

  "He is Brandr, your son. He will be ten at Yuletide, if you can believe so many years have passed."

  Hakon sat with legs splayed out in the dirt, leaned back, and watched the play of shock, denial, then horror play out on his brother's face. He began waving his hands. "I have enough children."

  "I'm certain you have more than you know," Olga said. She spun Brandr around and hugged him. Tears leaked from her eyes. "Go with your Da. He'll treat you better than Jarl Aslak."

  "Will you come?" the boy asked.

  "I can't. You will be a man soon. Be a good one." She stood and shoved him off toward Gunnar, holding out a sack. "My cousins will take you to your ships. This is silver for raising my boy. Be good to him."

  Gunnar accepted the offered silver, his eyes still wide. "Why are you sending him with me? He needs a mother."

  Olga shook her head. "He needs a father. Aslak hates him, beats him. He will never have any kind of life here."

  "I'm an outlaw," Gunnar said, watching Brandr step to his side. The boy smiled up at him. "I'll offer him nothing better, and I'm not sure my wife will accept him. I might not accept him."

  Leaning in to Gunnar, Olga planted a brief kiss on his cheek. "If you are who I remember, then you will care for him."

  In the distance, the doors to Aslak's meager hall flew open and a bloodied man flew backwards into the dirt. The man that Hakon had tried to kill got to his feet and said, "That would be the end of the distraction we made for Aslak. We have to leave now or risk being caught."

  Hakon stood and in a whirlwind of confusion they were all rushing for the borders of Aslak's lands. When they came to the path through the woods, the men stopped but bade them follow the path until they reached the river.

  Olga gave a final hug to her son, then spun away in tears. Hakon smiled at Gunnar, who stared horrified at his newfound son.