by Unknown
Revenge of the Franks
Book 4 in the
Norman Genesis Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2016
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Cover by Design for Writers
Thanks to Simon Walpole for the Artwork.
Dedication
To my first two grandsons, Thomas Hosker and Samuel Hosker. Have good lives; have long lives. Always remember that your family will be there for you. You are both the future.
Also, dedicated to New Zealand and its people. You are a strong people and you will come through this adversity.
PART ONE
The Clan of the Horse
Prologue
Each night I had been dreaming more of late. They did not disturb me but they set me to thinking. I was no Dragonheart nor was I a galdramenn who could see into the future. My dreams did not foretell our future but they showed what was on my mind. Since my son, Ragnvald, had been born recently my life had changed beyond all recognition. Being married had changed me but when I looked down at my son I knew that I had left a mark on this earth. He was part of me. He was not Norse. He was like the others who live in Haugr; he was a mix of Frank and Norse. My wife, Mary, had been the daughter of a lord. She had noble blood. Taken as slave by my clan I had freed and married her. It was one of the better decisions I had made. I had been born the son of a poor Norse farmer who had been taken into slavery. I had escaped. What would the future hold for my son?
My dreams were of my son and I riding horses across the land of the Franks. It was the land of the Franks at the moment. We held a tiny part of it but we were growing as a clan. Soon we would need more land and the land of the Franks would shrink. I had not attacked the Franks. They were Mary’s people. The King of the Franks, Louis, was losing his grip on the land. That was partly the fault of warriors such as us. Danes and Norse came to raid. The Franks left the coastal and river areas where we raided. If there was empty land, then we would take it. That was how I captured my new home. Riven by civil discord there had been no order until we came. Now there was order, peace and prosperity.
I was Jarl Hrolf the Horseman. I was young to be a jarl; I knew that but my people, the Raven Wing Clan, had chosen me. We were the remnants of the clan which had followed Jarl Gunnar Thorfinnson and his drekar Raven Wing. That drekar was now sunk. Many people thought it was unlucky to use the name of a dead ship for our clan. That was not for me to say. Older warriors, like Harold Fast Sailing and Sven the Helmsman, chose to serve under me. Newer warriors such as Gudrun Witch Killer had sailed from other lands to serve under me. Then there were the Franks who had lived close by my new home. Bertrand was a Frank but he followed my banner. It was wyrd.
Now my dreams showed me a new world. It would be a world built by my people. We would sail and we would raid but we would also use horses. Already we had begun to learn how to fight from the backs of horses like the Franks. When enemies came to harm us, they would find a new breed of Vikings. Already the Franks had a name for us. They called us the Northmen; sometimes it was the Northman from the Dragon Ships. It seemed to suit us. Our time on Raven Wing Island had helped us to become what we were. Now that we lived on the mainland I knew that we would change even more. I was lucky. I had a clan who were happy to follow me and to change as I had changed. Born a slave in the land of the Franks I had been freed by the clan of the wolf and I had learned what my destiny was. The visit to the witch in Syllingar had changed my life. Now we would change the world.
Chapter 1
Ragnvald was on his first solid food and was almost walking when the clan held the feast to celebrate our first harvest. We had spent our first year consolidating what we had. We made our home safe and we tilled land. The Franks who had lived here had prepared the fields and we utilised them. Now we reaped the rewards. Our animals had produced young and the ground had borne both fruit and grain. As I rode around my land on my horse, Copper, I was greeted with waves and smiles. They had all followed me from the Raven Wing Island to this new home. We had had to battle the Franks when we had first come but we had won and we now clung on. Other Vikings had come to take the land from us but we had stood strong. It was not just the Norse who seemed happy to see me; the Franks were equally content.
I reined in at the farm of Rurik One Ear. He was one of my oldest friends. He was a rock in the shield wall and always stood to the right of me in battle. He had taken a Frank as a wife. Agnathia was not young but they made a happy couple. She was now with child. Rurik took this as a good sign. The Frank she had been married to had been unable to sire children. Rurik had yet to father a child and this happy event had changed him beyond all recognition. He had left the Haugr and taken a farm a few Roman miles from our walls. It was a fine piece of land which was close to the sea and within sight of a large forest. He had two slaves who helped him till the land and he also harvested the sea. He was happy.
He stopped work when I reined in. “A fine morning, jarl.”
I shook my head as I dismounted, “We are old friends. My name is Hrolf or have you forgotten?”
“I will never forget my friend who stood alone with me on the island and fought off many enemies but now you are jarl. You are due the respect.”
I would not win the argument with him. “How is your wife?”
“She will be ready to give birth by the end of the month. She is well.”
“We hold the feast of the harvest in six days. It would be good if you would come. Brigid the ale wife has brewed some fine ale.”
“Then I will be there. Agnathia is a good wife but she cannot brew ale like Brigid.”
I looked at the stacks of wheat he had drying in the late summer sun. “A good crop?”
He shrugged, “It is my first harvest but I think so. The apples are also doing well but our beans are going better than anything else. Even if we have naught else we will have beans for the winter.”
I looked south to the distant forests. They were in the land of the Franks. We had avoided hunting in them as we did not want conflict but I knew that many of my warriors wished to augment their diet with the wild boars they knew roamed there. “Perhaps when the leaves have fallen we might take a party and hunt. Many of our men yearn for wild meat.”
“That kind of wild meat can cost a high price. Does it do to rouse the Franks, jarl?” Marriage and fatherhood had made Rurik more cautious.
“We hunt; we do not make war.”
“But you know what the Franks are like about their hunting and their forests. They belong to their king.”
“Then when you come for the feast we will talk of such things. I would not bring danger to you. There are none who live closer to the Franks.”
“Do not fret for me. I now have two good horses. I have learned from Hrolf the Horseman. When first I met you, I could barely ride. Now I ride more than I walk.”
I reflected on his words as I rode home. It was true. I had the best herd of horses. I had ten of them and two stallions. Already my mares were with foal and my herd would increase. Others had either bought or found horses and emulated me. My people were becoming horse
men. The Franks with whom we lived were also horseman and the change seemed natural like the leaves turning to brown when summer ended. The land we had chosen was find horse country with soft rolling hills and verdant, rich pasture.
Mary and I spent some time planning the harvest feast. She was a Christian. I had built her a church on the island which was attached by a causeway. She had managed to find a couple of priests who were happy to live on the island and to hold services. We fed and protected them. It seemed a small price to pay for my wife’s peace of mind. She worried about what she called her soul… whatever that was. She wanted me to convert but the old ways were in my heart. We did not argue. I would not have won such arguments but I had tried to assimilate our celebrations with those of the Christians. It was a compromise but it seemed to work. The end of Tvímánuður was when we celebrated the corn cutting. This fitted in with my wife’s church for they also celebrated God’s bounty. We married the festivals. It was a happy time for all. It was also the time when many babies were born. Conceived in the long winter nights it was a good sign. The earth and our mothers gave birth at the same time.
Mary handed Ragnvald to a slave to put to bed and she sat before the fire with me. “We are short of spices, husband. It is soon the time to preserve the meats and the fruits.”
“You would have me raid for them?”
She shook her head angrily. She did not like us raiding, “No! You can trade! Not everything is about raids. We have coin; let us spend it wisely.”
I pointed to the slave who was carrying Ragnvald to his cot, “If we do not raid then how do we get slaves to work in our homes?”
She frowned, “We have enough for now.”
“But there will come a time when we will not have enough. And what do we trade? We produce enough food to keep us during the winter. There is little enough to sell. The gold and the treasure we captured from the Franks and the Norse who attacked us is almost gone. Where do we get the coin to improve the church and give to your priests?” I had a wry smile on my face. Mary and the other Christians gave money each Sunday to the priests. They did not grow rich because of it. The coin enabled them to live and augment that which they grew on their island. They lived better than most for my people also gave them a share of our food and our beer.
“We do not need to raid yet.” She nodded emphatically.
I had won and I could not resist having the last word. It rarely happened, “But we shall need to raid soon.”
With smoked and salted fish, freshly slaughtered mutton and the first of the apples we had a good feast. The ale was amongst the best Brigid had ever brewed. As we filled the last holes with fresh bread and runny cheese we sang songs and told tales of the dead members of the clan. It was our way and it seemed to make them still alive.
Gunnar Stone Face had had more of the new ale than most and he became loquacious. “I will say what others think, Jarl. This is a better home than Raven Wing Island and I never thought to say that!”
Rurik nodded as he cuddled his heavily pregnant wife. “More than that I think it is better than the land of the wolf.”
I shook my head, “The land of the wolf is a wondrous land, Rurik. They have Waters and Meres and they have mountains. The land is filled with iron and precious metals.”
Rurik laughed, “And the fields are filled with rocks! Do not misunderstand me, jarl. I like that land of the wolf but I am saying that this land is perfect. Or it would be if we hunted in the forests.”
Gunnar nodded eagerly, “Aye! I wish to hunt in the forest of the Franks! I have heard that only their lords hunt. That is not right, jarl!”
I had hoped to avoid this discussion but Rurik had remembered my words. “We can hunt but we must all be aware of the consequences.” Everyone had stopped speaking and was listening to what I had to say. Many of our women were Franks and they understood the laws which governed hunting. I saw fear on their faces. My men, on the other hand, saw hunting as every man’s right.
“We do not make war on the Franks, jarl, but if they dispute our right to hunt then they will feel the edge of my sword. We are warriors!” Sigtrygg Rolfsson had grown into a powerful warrior. I knew that he, along with many of my men, wished to make war.
“Then if you are all decided we will hunt when the last of the crops are collected in.”
That pleased the men who cheered and banged their knives on the tables. The women looked less happy about it. Rurik, it appeared, had not finished. He stood and held his hands for silence. “There is something else. I have thought of this each day as I tended my fields. We are no longer the clan of the Raven Wing. It is unlucky to name ourselves after a dead ship and a jarl who is now in Valhalla. The Raven Wing clan died when the drekar died.” He had the warrior’s attention now. What he spoke was almost sacrilege. “I know what you are thinking but hear me out. We joined the Raven Wing clan when Jarl Gunnar Thorfinnson led us. He is dead along with those like Siggi and Ulf Big Nose.” He pointed to Gudrun Witch Killer and Karl Anyasson. “We have warriors who joined us because of Hrolf the Horseman. I took, as many of you did, a Frankish wife. We have changed. We are no longer the Raven Wing clan.”
Sven the Helmsman was the eldest of the men and he said, “I agree but who are we? The name of the clan is not something to be changed lightly. Do we upset the spirits and our ancestors by changing the name?”
Gudrun said, “For my part I did not join the Raven Wing clan. I joined the clan of Hrolf the Horseman. I agree with Rurik.”
An uneasy silence descended. It was Mary, my wife who spoke, “It seems to me that you have your name already.” I saw Rurik frown. “Gudrun Witch Killer has given it to us. We are the clan of the horse.”
Sometimes it takes something as simple as that to make a change. Smiles erupted on people’s faces. There were nods and then cheers. Bagsecg Bagsecgson shouted, “And I will make the herkumbl for our helmets! That will be my harvest gift!”
His wife Anya shook her head, “Now that is the drink talking!” She was smiling as she said so.
“We will paint the jarl’s sign of the horse on our shields!”
“Aye and on the sail! This is wyrd!”
It was as though the clan had all gone berserk at the same time. Mary leaned over to me and kissed my cheek. “As you pagans say, husband, this is wyrd.”
Although I agreed to the hunt I did not allow all of the men to go. We would have looked like a warband. I allowed those who had served the clan the longest. Everyone took it well. The exceptions to this rule were Gilles and Bertrand. Bertrand was a Frank and his local knowledge was vital. Gilles was a horse master and we might need his skills. We took boar spears and bows. I allowed Rurik to accompany us. It seemed right for his land was closest to the woods. The weather, on the day we went showed the change in the seasons. The brisk wind from the south west helped to take more of the leaves from the trees. There were flurries of rain and we wrapped up well in our cloaks. I took my faithful dog, Nipper, with me. His keen nose would detect animals before we did and I rode Dream Strider. He had been my first horse and was still my favourite for there was an understanding between us. I also took three of my more trusted slaves. They would hold the horses. They were all Hibernians. I did not think they would flee. If they were captured by the Franks, their life would be as hard and we were fair to those we enslaved.
The slaves tied our horses to the trees in the eaves of the woods and we entered. As jarl, I went first with Nipper. Bertrand and Gilles flanked me. They had a great responsibility. They would have to protect me should a boar decide to attack us. The rest of my men spread out behind us. Their bows were slung and their boar spears held poised to strike. The wind took our scent away from us. The animals in the forest would be unaware of our approach.
Nipper’s nose suddenly made him stop and he went to ground with ears pricked. I held up my hand to stop the line. That was the time when you needed good eyes. Ulf Big Nose had taught me well and I scanned the trees ahead. It was a case of lookin
g for something out of the ordinary. The leaves moved as did the branches. That was to be expected but when I spied the branch moving the wrong way, away from the wind then I focused my attention there. It was a deer. It was grazing on the last of the summer greenery. When I spied one it became easy to see the others. I slid my spear head first into the ground without making a sound. I carefully took my bow from around my back and readied an arrow. My bow was a Saami one. Very expensive, it was far more powerful than even a war bow. My men saw me and emulated me. I made the sign for deer and pointed. Along the line there were nods as the clan prepared to moved towards them.
As we moved I watched where I placed my feet. The crackle of a crushed leaf might just alarm them. They were forty paces from us. I could have hit and killed one with my bow but the others just had ordinary hunting bows. They would need to be closer. I went three steps closer and one of the deer raised its head. I froze and it resumed its meal. I pulled back my arrow and aimed at the one I could see. I had no doubt that my men would have targets they could see. They were still moving although I was stationery. One of them made a noise. The deer’ heads came up and I released. Even as my target turned the arrow smacked into and through its skull. It dropped to the ground. I saw two arrows strike the deer next to it. I had another arrow ready but the herd had fled.
Pulling my spear from the soil I went towards the deer. We had slain four of them. One of them was still staggering, although mortally wounded. Gilles took his knife and ended its misery. Rolf Arneson said, “Sorry jarl. I stepped on a twig and it broke.”
Beorn Fast Feet chuckled, “Ulf Big Nose would have made your ears burn for such a crime.”
I nodded, “Take the deer back to the slaves and have them placed upon our spare horses. We will venture a little further in.” It seemed that our enterprise was going well and we would not incur the wrath of the Franks.