Dragons from the Sea

by Judson Roberts

  “Do you know of the town of Ruda?” I asked her. She frowned and shook her head. I muttered a curse under my breath. Ruda was the name we peoples of the North called the Franks’ town on the Seine; it was not the Frankish name. I could not recall the name Wulf had called it.

  “The town on the Seine River where the Northmen are camped—surely you have heard your father or your uncle speak of it?”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding her head vigorously. “You mean Rouen.”

  That was it. “Yes, I mean Rouen,” I agreed. “Is there a road that leads between Dreux and Rouen?”

  She shrugged her shoulders again. I was getting tired of that gesture. “I have never been to Rouen,” she said. I knew she was going to say that.

  “But,” she continued. “After my aunt’s health became improved, and I began speaking of returning to Paris, she told my uncle that he must not allow me to leave, because it would be too dangerous with Northmen abroad in the land. I remember he told her there would be no danger, because no Northmen had been seen south of the town of Evreux.” She paused for a moment, then her eyes narrowed and she added, “Why do you ask me these things?”

  “Do you know where Evreux is?” I continued, ignoring her question.

  “No,” she replied, sighing. “I have never been there.” I, too, let out a sigh. “But,” she added, “I believe it is between Dreux and Rouen. In fact, I am certain it is. The Count of Rouen stopped in Evreux after he fled Rouen on his way to Dreux. I heard him say so. He stayed at my uncle’s home for more than a week, until the king’s summons came and he went on to join the army.”

  If only she had said that to begin with. Still, I had learned what I needed to know. These towns—Dreux, Evreux, and Rouen—would be connected by a road, one that ran north toward the river. Therein lay my best hope for throwing our pursuers off, and reaching the Seine and the Gull safely. That road would hide our trail. We would travel it by night. The traffic upon it by day would obliterate whatever tracks our horses left.

  “You should try to rest now,” I told Genevieve. “Sleep, if you can. When darkness falls, we will ride again.”

  As the sun was setting, turning a pale rose color just before it sank below the horizon, I noted its position, then closed my eyes and tried to fix it in my mind.

  At dusk we set off, headed due west. I wanted to find the road as quickly as possible.

  As the night grew darker, my estimate of the direction we were traveling became more and more of a guess. Periodically I closed my eyes and tried to find, still lingering within my mind, the memory of where the sun had set. The Danes, my brother, Harald, had told me, were such fine sailors because they have a natural sense for direction, greater than other men. I hoped I had inherited my sense for direction from my Danish father, rather than from my Irish mother.

  The earth underfoot was thickly matted with fallen leaves, and our passing made no sound, save for an occasional click when a hoof found a stone on the forest floor. In the distance behind us, a wolf howled. A few moments later it was answered by two others. I hoped the Franks who hunted us would find Gunthard and Clothilde before the wolves did.

  It was still long before midnight when a road materialized across our path. This was more than a simple dirt track through the forest—it was broad enough for two carts to pass one another, and it followed a course that, for as far as I could see in the dim light, ran as straight and unwavering as the flight of an arrow. I wondered if it had been built by the Romans. The Franks’ land seemed filled with great, ancient works by those once-powerful people.

  I paused briefly among the trees along the edge of the road, listening and watching. The forest was silent, save for the distant hooting of an owl. I could see nothing but the dim trunks of trees, one after another, fading into the dark along either side of the lighter strip of bare roadway. I gave a tug on the reins of Genevieve’s horse, and we moved out onto the dusty surface and headed north.

  As the night wore on, I found it increasingly difficult to stay awake. Though Genevieve had dozed restlessly for several hours during our afternoon halt, I had not slept. I’d remained awake and on guard, fearing the Franks on our trail. But now the monotonous, rocking motion of my horse’s gait, and the fatigue that had been building through too many days and nights, wore away at my ability to remain alert.

  I do not know how long I’d been dozing. A muffled gasp from Genevieve, whose horse had been walking alongside mine since we’d reached the road, startled me awake.

  Ahead in the distance, just off one side of the road, the light of a fire was flickering between the trees. The figure of a man—he must have been a sentry—backed into the roadway, laughing. He was facing the fire and talking to someone I could not see.

  “Quickly!” I whispered. “Off the road.” I kicked my horse ahead of Genevieve’s and tugged on my reins, turning my mount to the right, crossing in front of hers and grabbing its reins as I passed. As we entered the woods Genevieve looked back longingly toward the light of the fire, then glanced at me with a frightened expression on her face. I feared she would cry out. Just then I heard a voice calling in the distance, “Halloo. Is someone there?”

  “Make no sound,” I hissed at Genevieve. “It will do you no good. By the time they could saddle their mounts and come after us, we will have disappeared into the forest. They will not be able to find us in the dark. But if you try to call to them, I will hurt you. I swear it.”

  She remained silent, and no further sounds came to us from the direction of the Franks’ campsite. Perhaps the sentry was uncertain he had seen anything. It was foolish of him to have been so close to the fire and looking toward it, when he was supposed to be standing watch. The fire’s light would have made the darkness seem even deeper to his eyes.

  As we wound among the trees, moving deeper into the forest and farther from the road, I wondered whether the Franks we’d seen had been hunters pursuing us, or just a patrol we’d happened upon by chance. Did I dare return to the road, or should I keep from now on to the forest? I decided the latter course was safer.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of quiet sobbing coming from behind me. Turning in the saddle, I called back to Genevieve in a hushed voice.

  “What is the matter? Why do you weep?”

  She did not answer. I saw her raise one hand to her mouth, as if trying to muffle the sound. I pulled back on my reins, slowing my horse, and waited for her to come up alongside me.

  “Are you injured? Are you in pain?” I asked.

  “I am ashamed. I am disgusted with myself. I am a coward.”

  “You would have been foolish to have cried out,” I told her. “It was not cowardice to choose the wiser course.”

  She said nothing more, but the sound of quiet weeping continued for some time.

  I must have dozed again as we rode on through the night, even though my eyes remained open, for suddenly I realized that the forest around us had grown much lighter. Morning was approaching. Individual trees were visible in all directions, where before they had been but deeper shadows that would loom suddenly from the dark as we passed, only to disappear again behind.

  I glanced behind me. Genevieve was wide awake and staring defiantly back at me.

  Ahead, off to the right, the growing light seemed strongest. Perhaps there was a clearing there where I could see the sky and take my bearings.

  It was no clearing. The light marked the edge of the forest. The plain beyond was bathed in the grayness that lies upon the earth just before the sun shines its first light across the land.

  Part of me longed to head out now across the plain and strike for the river and the safety of the Gull. I was weary of trying to remain ever watchful, of fearing that behind every tree might lurk a Frank seeking to end my life. But I knew we dared not. It would take at least half a day to cross the plain, if not more, even on horseback. Moreover, our passing would leave a clear trail—visible from a distance and easy to follow—through the tall, dry winter
grass that covered the plain. It was too great a risk to travel in the open, in daylight, in an area that was likely heavily patrolled by Frankish cavalry. We would have to turn back into the forest and hide until nightfall.

  The sun was shining brightly overhead, and the forest alive with the flutter and singing of birds greeting the new day, before I found a hiding place. A ravine, cutting a gash across the forest floor, opened up suddenly before me. Its edges screened by thickets of low scrub, it had been invisible until we were almost upon it. The merest trickle of a stream meandered along its bottom. I could not, at this late hour, prevent someone from finding us here if they were following our trail, but the ravine was deep enough to hide our horses from the view of chance passers-by.

  I dammed the rivulet with stones and mud to form a small pool for the horses to drink from, and tied them with a long lead to a sapling by the water’s edge, giving them room to move about the bottom of the ravine and forage as best they could. I wished I had food to give them in addition to water, for I intended push them hard once night came again.

  I knew that this day I would be unable to stay awake. If the Franks found our trail where we’d turned off the road and into the forest, I would have to depend on my fylgja to wake me and warn me of their approach.

  I kicked loose leaves together into a low pile, spread my cloak over them, and called to Genevieve, who was seated near the horses, eating bread and cheese.

  “Come here,” I said.

  She looked at the cloak, and then at me, with an alarmed expression growing on her face.

  “Why?” she asked. “What do you want of me?”

  “I must sleep. I am too weary to stay awake.”

  “You wish me to lie with you?” she exclaimed.

  “Only to sleep,” I assured her. “I have already given you my word that I will not molest you. I swear to you again I will not. Among my people, if a man breaks his oath, he has no honor. You can trust that you will be safe.”

  “I do not wish to lie beside you,” she said. “I will sleep over here.”

  “If you sleep here, beside me, I will not have to bind you so tightly. I will only tie your hands, and connect them with a cord to my wrist. If you get up, if you try to sneak away, it will be enough to wake me. If you choose not to sleep here, I will have to bind your hands and feet, tie you to a tree, and gag you. It will make for a long and uncomfortable day.”

  Still she sat there, across the ravine, staring at me suspiciously.

  “I am offering this to you as a kindness,” I told her. “It matters not to me. It is your decision.”

  Reluctantly, she stood and walked over to me.

  I fell asleep beside a source of ransom, a hope of wealth. I awoke beside a woman.

  It was late afternoon. At some point, while we both slept, we had rolled against each other, her back pressed against my chest, my legs curled behind hers, my arm draped across her body.

  I climbed from the depths of sleep gradually. Slumber gave way to the pleasant feel of Genevieve’s warm body against mine, and the gentle rhythm of her breathing within my arms. She had removed her hood and mantle before falling asleep, and her hair now brushed softly against my cheek, like the lightest of caresses. The sensation of her body pressed against mine caused my body to stir.

  We both started fully awake at the same time and rolled apart. I stood, keeping myself turned away from her, and fumbled at the cord around my wrist, until I untied the knot securing it.

  “I must go relieve myself,” I muttered, and stumbled away down the ravine.

  We broke fast with the remaining sausages, slices of hard cheese, the last remnants of stale bread, and an apple each. Neither of us spoke, and we avoided each other’s gaze. After we ate, as dusk began to fall, I pulled the padded jerkin and mail shirt on over my tunic, strapped my new sword around my waist, and saddled the horses. A small black toad crawled from a hollow under a tree root nearby, watching my preparations. I smiled at him, then bent down, scooped my hand into the pool I’d made for the horses to drink from, and dribbled water onto his back. He flicked his tongue at a droplet sparkling beside him on the leafy forest floor.

  I loved the forest and all of its creatures. I felt at home here, confident of my abilities. The wild beasts lived a simple, pure life. When they killed, it was solely to protect themselves, or their young, or for the sustenance they needed to survive. Creatures of the forest did not know the meaning of war. I wished I could live so simple a life.

  I dreaded returning to the open plain. I wondered if the Franks would find us there, and if I would have to fight.

  “Tonight we will cross the plain, to the Seine River,” I told Genevieve. “We will push the horses hard, and try to make the crossing swiftly.”

  “I am not a skilled rider,” she protested. It was true. I did not consider myself a skilled rider either, but she was far worse than me.

  “I will not set a pace too hard for you to manage,” I assured her.

  “What will happen at the river?”

  I had been wondering the same thing. Tomorrow would be the fifth day that Hastein and Ivar would have been on the river—the last day they planned to stay there, searching for returning scouts.

  Were the Gull and the Bear still there? Or were the Franks so thick along the river’s banks now that they’d driven Hastein and Ivar back toward Ruda early?

  “A ship will be there,” I told Genevieve. I hoped I spoke the truth.

  By my reckoning we were a considerable distance upstream from the place where the Gull had put me ashore, though how far I was not certain. I wondered if Hastein or Ivar would venture this far upriver searching for me. I thought it wisest to head north rather than cut directly across the plain, and aim to strike the river farther downstream, even though crossing the plain on such a course would take longer.

  The crossing itself was uneventful, although it required most of the night. I steered a wide berth around the occasional patches of trees and undergrowth. In one, I thought I saw flickers of light, as though campfires were burning in its center, partially screened by the bordering thickets. I wondered if a Frankish patrol was camped there, but we were far away, and in the dim light cast by the waning moon we would be lost among the wind-blown patterns of shadow and light rippling across the tall grass of the plain.

  The blackness of night had faded to the gray that presages the coming of dawn when we finally reached the Seine. With every low rise we topped, I’d been hoping to see the river, but when it finally appeared before us I felt no sense of relief. I had never seen this stretch before. I was certain of it. We were still upstream—how far I did not know—from where the Gull had put me ashore.

  “Where is your ship?” Genevieve asked.

  “That way,” I lied hopefully, pointing downstream.

  We rode at a brisk trot until the sun rose above the horizon and lit the land. I had never welcomed the coming of morning less. It was no good. We could not stay out here longer, exposed upon the plain. Since dawn, I had already seen four separate trails left by the passing of groups of mounted men. We had to go to ground.

  We rode past several stretches where wide bands of woods lined the river’s bank, but I passed these by. Were I among the hunters, I would without question search areas such as these. Instead, I chose a long stretch of the river where the bank was mostly open save for an occasional low, scruffy shrub and a single, small thicket of trees and undergrowth. A huge, ancient grandfather of a willow dominated its center, and five smaller specimens had spread in either direction along the bank.

  The cluster of trees and shrubs was no longer than three spears, laid end to end, and little more than half as wide. It would have to do. We could not stay exposed out on the plain any longer. Hopefully, any passing patrol of Frankish cavalry would think this cover so slight that no one could be concealed within it.

  I stopped our horses a good stone’s throw out on the plain. Our peril was great enough without running their trail directly up to
our hiding place.

  “Get off your horse,” I instructed Genevieve, “and walk over there, to those trees.” She looked at me a moment, frowning, but said nothing. When she’d dismounted, I handed her the basket of food to carry.

  I freed the helm and shield I’d lashed behind my saddle, jammed the helm on my head, and slid to the ground. My horse turned his head and looked back at me, blew his breath out in a snort, then reached down and tore a mouthful of dry, brown grass from the ground and began chewing it.

  “I know you are weary,” I told him. “You have carried me far and faithfully, though I have given you little rest, and no food. I am sorry, but I must ask still more of you.”

  A Frankish patrol would find these horses. It was inevitable. It might be possible, though, to make them misinterpret what they found.

  Slinging the shield on my back, I strung my bow and eased two arrows from my quiver. Nocking the first on the string, I fixed my gaze on my horse’s front shoulder, just ahead of the saddle, and drew. I pulled the arrow back to only half its length—I did not wish to kill this poor beast, or even injure it any worse than necessary—and released.

  The horse screamed in surprise and pain at the arrow’s impact. It raised its head, looking wildly around, trying to spy what had attacked it without warning.

  “Hah!” I shouted, waving my arms and the bow. “Hah!” The horse ran two steps then stopped, bucking and kicking, neighing angrily.

  I nocked my second arrow, drew—halfway, again—and launched it into the haunch of Genevieve’s horse. Spooked already by its comrade’s actions and my shouts, it turned and raced off across the plain at a gallop. My horse wheeled and followed in its wake.

  I walked backward, one slow step after another, to the copse of willow trees. As I did, I bent down and with my hand fluffed and rearranged the grass wherever it was bent or flattened, trying as best I could to erase the scant trail left by our passing.

  Genevieve stood at the edge of the trees, staring at me with disgust and horror on her face. I stepped past her, laid the shield and helm on the ground, and unstrung my bow.